Image by 👀 Mabel Amber, who will one day from Pixabay
Life with ten little children who were neighbors and close friends often had its surreal moments that made sense if you remembered that none of them were being raised by everyday people.
Sgt. Vincent Trent, with his 20 years of military service and “average” PTSD, was the second most everyday person on the cul-de-sac, and that alone was disturbing in some ways. Capt. R.E. Ludlow his actual neighbor had 33 years of service, had seen a murder at five years old, and had lost first wife and children – complication scale that much higher, and then Sgt. Trent's own wife Melissa had some complex overlapping mental health issues that while not as utterly deadly were still serious.
But still, there was always another level, and Sgt. Trent's former commander having taken over for a few weeks with the Ludlow's grandchildren represented that next level … a combination of inherited issues, 24 years of Special Forces and JAG, and just that extra something that gave Colonel H.F. Lee the nickname “the Angel of Death.” By comparison, Mrs. Maggie Lee, like Mrs. Thalia Ludlow, was just as level and normal as they come … but there was just no accounting for how necessary that was until one walked up on the oldest Ludlow grandchild washing the ears and heads of one's son and his own brother with the hose, and then explaining.
“I keep trying to explain – it's not safe to be eavesdropping on the Angel of Death, so I gotta wash out their ears to make sure they survive!”
Ten-year-old Andrew Ludlow was working that hose, and nine-year-old Milton Trent and his best friend nine-year-old George Ludlow, Andrew's brother, were just soaking wet and waiting their respective turns to get wetter still as Andrew went from one ear to another on both of them while the water ran through the Trent garden – at least Mrs. Trent and eleven-year-old daughter Velma would not need to water that day!
Sgt. Trent was momentarily confused, as people generally were, because Col. H.F. Lee, from cadet days throughout his active duty career, was never known to curse, and rarely raised his voice outside of emergency situations. His manners were angelic. His command style made one think he knew the Captain of the Hosts of the Lord personally and had been thus tutored – again, mighty, but still angelic.
But then there was that “death” part … Col. Lee's manners were real, but also a part of the element of surprise built into his nature. His speech was just as urbane and smooth and even as it could be, and so when he turned his words into his weapons, his targets were never ready for it. His Ludlow cousin could remind you quickly, with his massive basso profundo voice, that you were not even close to man enough to get into an ego challenge with him, but the Lee cousin talked to you from a place of making you doubt that you were even of the same order of beings. An angel could stay calm, for no mortal was his equal – that was the psychological trauma you walked into if you came incorrect at Henry Fitzhugh Lee.
“So, what had happened was,” Milton said to his father while George was getting another head wash, “someone called Col. Lee, and he went into the study and shut the door, but George and I were curious, and we forgot what Andrew had told us, so then... .”
Andrew moved the hose over to douse Milton again, and George picked up the thread.
“Whoever it was, he was plenty hot and had plenty of language that we don't use around here, and he was just going and going on and on until he got tired, and then just got destroyed,” George said before Andrew brought the hose back over to him.
“So, what had happened was,” Milton said, “Col. Lee waited and then said in that angelic voice, 'I appreciate you illustrating a sidelight on what it means to have a table prepared before me in the presence of my enemies – the difference, my enemy, is that you have served up far too much, and a blocked bowel is a hazard of eating the wrong things at the wrong time in the wrong amounts. So, be advised: when I make you eat all this piping hot crow, it is going to roast your entire body and soul, both going down and coming right back up again.' ”
Vincent Trent was a 20-year military veteran and did not expect that much could stagger him …. but that staggered him.
Andrew just lifted the hose, and so Sgt. Trent went from staggered to soaked.
“We gotta save your life too,” Andrew said. “I'm OK because I already understand the situation, but when you're not ready, you're just not ready. I'm sure the man on the other end of the phone just died of terror, but see, George and Milton just walked themselves into being collateral damage.”
“And this is why we don't eavesdrop, Milton – just like here if I go into the studio for a call, just understand we don't need to hear all that,” Sgt. Trent said.
“Got it, Dad,” Milton said. “I mean, I didn't know how serious it was before today, but, sheesh!”
“I've been telling y'all!” Andrew said as he finished dousing George and went back to the Trent father and son.
“Ain't it the truth,” eight-year-old baby daughter Gracie Trent said as she came out and put out some towels on the porch for her father and brother. “You're going to need these, so here you go! Mom said take off those soaked shoes and socks before coming into the house, too.”
“Oh, we're going to be here for a while!” Milton said, and then wrapped his arms around his father for support, which meant Sgt. Trent stayed put, and got doused for the next ten minutes.
Andrew just lifted the hose, and so Sgt. Trent went from staggered to soaked.
You just never know what these boys are going to do next. lol
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You just never know ... and so Sgt. Trent is never ready ... 20 years of military service ain't got nothing on this!