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Erica peeked into the kitchen, her wide, hazel eyes spotting her daddy standing at the stove. Grilled cheese for lunch. With bacon maybe? Mm, bacon. Or ham. Anything but tomato.
But no time to worry about that now. She was on a mission.
The little wolfess sprinted into her father’s bedroom and wrapped both tiny hands around the brass closet doorknob, slowly pulling it open as if revealing a long-lost treasure trove. Sure, it seemed like just a bunch of coats and shirts and shoes but Erica knew better. She dove into the dark closet and found the big box by stumbling head over heels into the top. A stifled giggle emanated from the closet as she rummaged through the box until, at last, she triumphantly emerged with a toothy smile. Her red dress was streaked with dust, but she was too excited about her new gear to care. Her first awkward step in the combat boots twelve sizes too big for her sent her face-first onto the carpet, the weathered green combat helmet tumbling from her head to the bedside table across the room.
Erica froze, ears perked. Half a minute passed without her father’s heavy footfalls in the hallway. Exhaling in relief, she pushed herself to her feet and took it slower in the boots, keeping her arms straight out to her sides for balance as she retrieved the helmet and plunked it back over her ears. The brim kept slipping down over her eyes and she kept pushing it back up until she decided to just hold it up with one hand.
“Okay, men,” Erica whispered, propping her chin up on her father’s bed and looking it up and down as if surveying a battlefield. “This is Captain Erica Everett. We have orders to take that…” Her eyes darted around the room and she snagged a thick book from the nightstand, hefting it up onto the mattress. “…bunker! Sergeant, take your squad that way. I’ll go right with the rest of the men.” She scowled as her invisible sergeant hesitated. “That’s an order! Remember your training and we’ll win the day! Go go go!”
Captain Erica Everett’s band of heroic little soldiers stormed the bedspread, braving the machine gun fire that poured from the book bunker. She pounded her fists on the bed, shouting, “Pyow! Pyow!” as mortar fire rained down on her troops. “AAHHHH! Take cover! Look over there! It’s a…” She dropped to her knees and peeked under the bed, finding a misplaced toy of hers that would suit her needs. Pounding the blue stuffed unicorn beside the book, she continued, “…tank! My goodness, sergeant, it’s a new supertank! We don’t stand a chance!”
The unicorn looked back at her with its big, innocent plastic eyes.
“But wait! Planes! We’re saved!” Erica ran to her father’s dresser, the helmet bouncing on her head with each clunking step, and grabbed his model P-51 Mustang off its display stand. “Eeeeeyyyyeeooowwwwww!” she howled in her best airplane mimicry as the fighter took flight and divebombed the unicorn tank, turning and soaring with grace as she ran around the bed with it held high over her head.
“Erica!”
The wolfess and the skirmish at her fingertips halted in their tracks. Erica turned wide-eyed to where her father loomed in the doorway. She threw her arms behind her back to futilely attempt to hide the Mustang, only to allow the unsupported helmet to slip down over her eyes. Colonel Lawrence Everett stood a tall, intimidating figure, no less so in his jeans and plaid shirt than when he was on the base in his uniform. He strode over to his daughter and yanked the helmet off her head so he could look her in her sheepish eyes. “What did I tell you about that closet?”
“I’m sorry,” Erica squeaked, averting her eyes. “I just wanted to see…”
Lawrence eyed the confusing setup on the bed and, judging from the high-flying antics he’d walked in on, pieced together what she was doing. He gently coaxed Erica’s arms out in front of her and took the model plane before putting the helmet back on her head. As he placed the model back on its stand, he said, “This is fragile. It belonged to your grandfather, you know.”
Erica nodded enthusiastically, pushing the helmet back so she could see him. “P-51D Mustang. Six M2 Browning machine guns, two thousand pounds of bombs, and T64 rockets.”
Lawrence grinned. He knew his daughter was interested in army men rather than Barbies and tanks rather than unicorns and tended to watch GI Joe or the History Channel after school rather than whatever programs little girls talked about on the playground. He also knew he should have still been upset about Erica’s delving into his box, but it was hard to stay mad at that cute face rattling off warplane specifications. “The M2 is one of the longest-running weapons in the Army. We used to call it the –”
“Ma deuce!” Erica yipped with a big smile.
Lawrence grinned again and rubbed her helmeted head, her giggles muffled as it slipped down over her face.
“Daddy?” Erica removed the helmet and held it aloft, upside down. “What’s that square spot in there?”
His smile faltered a bit. Simply seeing the worn leather and frayed nylon inside the helmet brought back the heat of Da Nang – humidity thick as fog, sweat on his brow that never seemed to let up. In the center of the dome was a squared off section far less discolored than the rest. “I used to have a photo in there.”
“Of what?”
Lawrence sat on the edge of the bed and picked up his daughter, placing her on his knee. They cradled the helmet between both their hands. “Your mother. I kept it here so that every time I took this helmet off to wipe my face or lie down, I’d see her in that striking blue sundress smiling at me. It’s what got me through the war.” He wondered if he was approaching a subject above Erica’s age, but she didn’t seem put off or confused, but rather more curious. He always knew she was a smart cookie.
“Where is it now?” she asked.
“Framed on my desk at the base.”
“Do you have any pictures of me there?”
“Of course. Pictures are as important now as they were back then.”
Erica’s hand brushed the inside of the helmet where the lighter spot was, her brow wrinkled in thought. She hadn’t known her mother for very long before the accident took her, Lawrence knew. As much as he tried to be the family she needed, he was born to be a soldier and he sometimes wondered how good of a father he really was. Days like this gave him some relief, seeing what a thoughtful and happy girl she was growing up to be. He must be doing something right, or maybe Carol was giving her a guiding hand from above.
The way Erica contemplated the spot in the helmet, trying to remember her mother, Lawrence wished he could give her more than the pictures she’d already seen a hundred times and the stories he’d already told a hundred times. Hesitantly, he said, “Loving someone keeps them alive, in a way. Your mother helped me be the man I am and I remember that every day. Maybe someday you’ll get married and you’ll want to carry around as many pictures as you can of the person you love.”
Erica wrinkled her nose. “Ew…boys are gross.”
With a chuckle – and secretly hoping she’d hold on to that attitude and save him a lot of stress in her teen dating years – Lawrence replied, “I’m not gross, am I?”
“I guess not. Mommy didn’t think so.”
Lawrence placed her on the carpet, clunky boots first, and stood. “Think your men here can take cover in some foxholes until lunch is finished?”
She nodded and dropped the helmet back over her head. Before following her father out toward the kitchen, she said, “Daddy…can I be a hero like you and grampa someday? A soldier?”
The wolf grinned. “Kid, I promise, you’ll be a hero no matter what you end up doing. Now double-time it to the kitchen before I forget to add the ham.”
“Ahh!” Erica screamed and sprinted out the door, spry in the boots now that grilled cheese and ham was on the line.
Lawrence opened his muzzle to shout after her to take the items off first, but just sighed. Let her keep them on just a bit longer.
-
Characters belong to me
Art belongs to
JaiJai
Erica peeked into the kitchen, her wide, hazel eyes spotting her daddy standing at the stove. Grilled cheese for lunch. With bacon maybe? Mm, bacon. Or ham. Anything but tomato.
But no time to worry about that now. She was on a mission.
The little wolfess sprinted into her father’s bedroom and wrapped both tiny hands around the brass closet doorknob, slowly pulling it open as if revealing a long-lost treasure trove. Sure, it seemed like just a bunch of coats and shirts and shoes but Erica knew better. She dove into the dark closet and found the big box by stumbling head over heels into the top. A stifled giggle emanated from the closet as she rummaged through the box until, at last, she triumphantly emerged with a toothy smile. Her red dress was streaked with dust, but she was too excited about her new gear to care. Her first awkward step in the combat boots twelve sizes too big for her sent her face-first onto the carpet, the weathered green combat helmet tumbling from her head to the bedside table across the room.
Erica froze, ears perked. Half a minute passed without her father’s heavy footfalls in the hallway. Exhaling in relief, she pushed herself to her feet and took it slower in the boots, keeping her arms straight out to her sides for balance as she retrieved the helmet and plunked it back over her ears. The brim kept slipping down over her eyes and she kept pushing it back up until she decided to just hold it up with one hand.
“Okay, men,” Erica whispered, propping her chin up on her father’s bed and looking it up and down as if surveying a battlefield. “This is Captain Erica Everett. We have orders to take that…” Her eyes darted around the room and she snagged a thick book from the nightstand, hefting it up onto the mattress. “…bunker! Sergeant, take your squad that way. I’ll go right with the rest of the men.” She scowled as her invisible sergeant hesitated. “That’s an order! Remember your training and we’ll win the day! Go go go!”
Captain Erica Everett’s band of heroic little soldiers stormed the bedspread, braving the machine gun fire that poured from the book bunker. She pounded her fists on the bed, shouting, “Pyow! Pyow!” as mortar fire rained down on her troops. “AAHHHH! Take cover! Look over there! It’s a…” She dropped to her knees and peeked under the bed, finding a misplaced toy of hers that would suit her needs. Pounding the blue stuffed unicorn beside the book, she continued, “…tank! My goodness, sergeant, it’s a new supertank! We don’t stand a chance!”
The unicorn looked back at her with its big, innocent plastic eyes.
“But wait! Planes! We’re saved!” Erica ran to her father’s dresser, the helmet bouncing on her head with each clunking step, and grabbed his model P-51 Mustang off its display stand. “Eeeeeyyyyeeooowwwwww!” she howled in her best airplane mimicry as the fighter took flight and divebombed the unicorn tank, turning and soaring with grace as she ran around the bed with it held high over her head.
“Erica!”
The wolfess and the skirmish at her fingertips halted in their tracks. Erica turned wide-eyed to where her father loomed in the doorway. She threw her arms behind her back to futilely attempt to hide the Mustang, only to allow the unsupported helmet to slip down over her eyes. Colonel Lawrence Everett stood a tall, intimidating figure, no less so in his jeans and plaid shirt than when he was on the base in his uniform. He strode over to his daughter and yanked the helmet off her head so he could look her in her sheepish eyes. “What did I tell you about that closet?”
“I’m sorry,” Erica squeaked, averting her eyes. “I just wanted to see…”
Lawrence eyed the confusing setup on the bed and, judging from the high-flying antics he’d walked in on, pieced together what she was doing. He gently coaxed Erica’s arms out in front of her and took the model plane before putting the helmet back on her head. As he placed the model back on its stand, he said, “This is fragile. It belonged to your grandfather, you know.”
Erica nodded enthusiastically, pushing the helmet back so she could see him. “P-51D Mustang. Six M2 Browning machine guns, two thousand pounds of bombs, and T64 rockets.”
Lawrence grinned. He knew his daughter was interested in army men rather than Barbies and tanks rather than unicorns and tended to watch GI Joe or the History Channel after school rather than whatever programs little girls talked about on the playground. He also knew he should have still been upset about Erica’s delving into his box, but it was hard to stay mad at that cute face rattling off warplane specifications. “The M2 is one of the longest-running weapons in the Army. We used to call it the –”
“Ma deuce!” Erica yipped with a big smile.
Lawrence grinned again and rubbed her helmeted head, her giggles muffled as it slipped down over her face.
“Daddy?” Erica removed the helmet and held it aloft, upside down. “What’s that square spot in there?”
His smile faltered a bit. Simply seeing the worn leather and frayed nylon inside the helmet brought back the heat of Da Nang – humidity thick as fog, sweat on his brow that never seemed to let up. In the center of the dome was a squared off section far less discolored than the rest. “I used to have a photo in there.”
“Of what?”
Lawrence sat on the edge of the bed and picked up his daughter, placing her on his knee. They cradled the helmet between both their hands. “Your mother. I kept it here so that every time I took this helmet off to wipe my face or lie down, I’d see her in that striking blue sundress smiling at me. It’s what got me through the war.” He wondered if he was approaching a subject above Erica’s age, but she didn’t seem put off or confused, but rather more curious. He always knew she was a smart cookie.
“Where is it now?” she asked.
“Framed on my desk at the base.”
“Do you have any pictures of me there?”
“Of course. Pictures are as important now as they were back then.”
Erica’s hand brushed the inside of the helmet where the lighter spot was, her brow wrinkled in thought. She hadn’t known her mother for very long before the accident took her, Lawrence knew. As much as he tried to be the family she needed, he was born to be a soldier and he sometimes wondered how good of a father he really was. Days like this gave him some relief, seeing what a thoughtful and happy girl she was growing up to be. He must be doing something right, or maybe Carol was giving her a guiding hand from above.
The way Erica contemplated the spot in the helmet, trying to remember her mother, Lawrence wished he could give her more than the pictures she’d already seen a hundred times and the stories he’d already told a hundred times. Hesitantly, he said, “Loving someone keeps them alive, in a way. Your mother helped me be the man I am and I remember that every day. Maybe someday you’ll get married and you’ll want to carry around as many pictures as you can of the person you love.”
Erica wrinkled her nose. “Ew…boys are gross.”
With a chuckle – and secretly hoping she’d hold on to that attitude and save him a lot of stress in her teen dating years – Lawrence replied, “I’m not gross, am I?”
“I guess not. Mommy didn’t think so.”
Lawrence placed her on the carpet, clunky boots first, and stood. “Think your men here can take cover in some foxholes until lunch is finished?”
She nodded and dropped the helmet back over her head. Before following her father out toward the kitchen, she said, “Daddy…can I be a hero like you and grampa someday? A soldier?”
The wolf grinned. “Kid, I promise, you’ll be a hero no matter what you end up doing. Now double-time it to the kitchen before I forget to add the ham.”
“Ahh!” Erica screamed and sprinted out the door, spry in the boots now that grilled cheese and ham was on the line.
Lawrence opened his muzzle to shout after her to take the items off first, but just sighed. Let her keep them on just a bit longer.
-
Characters belong to me
Art belongs to
JaiJaiCategory All / All
Species Unspecified / Any
Size 798 x 1280px
File Size 92.3 kB
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