Free Broken Wings by Alexandrea Weis Page A

baby out of the small clear plastic container. His eyes softened as he handled the tiny creature. And when he put the nipple into the animal’s mouth and watched it eagerly begin sucking down the formula from the syringe, he smiled.
    “You really enjoy this, don’t you?” she asked, observing him.
    “Yes, I really do,” he said, briefly glancing up at her. “Makes me feel like I’m doing something worthwhile. I’m not standing behind a bar mixing drinks with names like ‘Demolition Brew’ to serve some moron who defines having fun as getting stupid drunk in a bar every night. It’s very simple with these guys. Life is about staying full, finding someone to rub your belly, and having a warm place to sleep. Having the right kind of car or wearing an expensive designer label is not important to them. They already know what matters. And that makes you remember what is important in life.”
    “And you got all that from feeding baby squirrels?”
    “And being here, in your place.”
    Pamela reached into the closest container and picked up the baby squirrel inside. “I’m happy your time here has helped you gain a better perspective. Shame it doesn’t do that for everyone.”
    He nodded in agreement. “Most people are too afraid to look at who they are on the inside because they won’t like what they find. Instead they concentrate on their reflection in the mirror, and believe that by making themselves prettier, thinner, or younger, they will be more admired by others, and become a better person in the process. The world would be a better place without mirrors, in my opinion. It would force everyone to see who they are through the eyes of others, like animals do. The world would then prize actions and not looks. And change would be a process everyone would embrace, not run away from. Imagine how much we could grow if we learned to do away with our vanity.”
    “When did you learn that?” Pamela asked.
    He flipped the baby in his hands gently over and started rubbing its pink belly with his fingers. “After I came back from Iraq, I saw people as they really are. Always living on alert in Iraq taught me to scrutinize faces for the slightest hint of a possible threat. And I started seeing other things in peoples’ faces, like their hopes, fears, and frustrations. Before I left I was exactly the same as all the other kids at Harvard. I never looked at the person standing before me. I only judged people based on their clothes, or the type of car they drove. When I came back, I didn’t see the material things anymore, only the faces of the people. I couldn’t tell you half the names of the people I went to high school with, but I could describe to you every person I’ve encountered since I came home from the war.”
    “I can’t imagine what it was like for you. I saw so much on the news, but that was the watered down version of the war. I did get a taste of what it must have been like for you after Katrina. Destruction and death were everywhere in the city, but I’m sure nothing like what you encountered.”
    Daniel stared at the squirrel in his hands. “I lost a lot of good friends over there. Most were guys I would never have associated with prior to Iraq. But fighting side by side with anyone makes you like family.” He paused and his eyes seemed to darken slightly. “What haunts me to this day is the smell. I wake up sometimes in the middle of the night, smelling the odor of charred flesh and burning buildings.”
    “How did you adjust to being back in the states after going through all of that?”
    He shook his head and gave a discouraging sigh. “People who have never been there think you get off of the plane and because you’re home, everything is fine. But it’s not that simple. You walk around in open public places and you’re terrified because you feel you’re an easy target for a sniper. Every noise makes you jump. Every loud bang makes you want to dive for cover. Hell, I couldn’t drive