Ole Red

Ole Red makes himself comfortable atop the soft bale of hay. The sun was setting which meant the fireworks would soon commence, but he didn’t know any of this, as Ole Red was a dog, and dogs have a limited concept of time. The summer heat was causing his fur to loosen. Every now and then a gentle breeze would find its way in the dormer window of the barn, catch a tuft of the soft fur and carry it away dispersing each strand like the seeds of a dandelion after a wish has been made. Ole Red let out a deep yawn, his vibrant tongue like a red carpet being rolled out, as he made his debut into dreamland.

Just as Ole Red was beginning to embark into his deep sleep, and his breathe begins to shallow, he is awakened by the barn door slamming shut and the rapid clicking of shoes going up the stairs. Helen leaps towards him, her face damp causing his fur to stick to it. Helen doesn’t seem to mind as she buries her face into his thick mane along his broad neck. Ole Red lets out a deep sigh as he transitions from startled, to annoyed, to accepting. Helen’s sobbing finally lessens. For whatever reason, petting the big burly mutt relaxed her.

---

Earlier that day, Helen’s two older brothers were helping their mother with chores while Helen did what she normally did, fabricate intricate fantasies. As her mother tirelessly milked the cow and her brothers cleaned the stables, Helen would tell the most fascinating stories. Ever since Bill returned from the war, her imagination seemed to grow equal to the length he would recluse. Initially, it irritated her mom and brothers, both Helen’s storytelling and Bill’s isolation from the family but they all accepted this was the new norm. However, at times Mrs. McCormick was concerned Helen was confusing fiction with reality.

“Man, I sure do miss when dad was around to help us with this stuff.” Sam says, as he sweeps an empty horse stable.

Helen was balancing herself along the wooden fence posts of the stables, her arms spread out like wings.

“Yeah, he’s even more gone now than he was when he went to Germany.” Jacob replies throwing a heavy leather saddle over the door of the stable.

“When I die, I will come back as a bird.” Helen states with excitement as she takes a leap from the post to the ground.

Sam takes a break, resting his hands on the broom, his chin on his hands. He looks over at the stray barn cat. “I’m coming back as a cat, so I don’t have to do anymore work.”

Jacob looks at his younger siblings bewildered.

“That’s enough, all of you.” Mrs. McCormick interrupts as she overhears her children’s conversation. “Kids, why don’t you all give me a hand, Sam, go around back and grab me a new bucket, Jacob, take this milk, you know where to put it, Helen have a seat.” She taps the empty stool next to her and smiles. Mrs. McCormick’s hands move methodically as her and Helen sit in silence.

Finally, Mrs. McCormick simply states, keeping her eyes on the udders, “you’ve got quite the imagination.” She stops milking the cow, wipes her forehead sweat with the back of her hand and looks at Helen.

Helen gets up excited, “I’m going to go see if dad wants to watch the fireworks with us tonight!”

Mrs. McCormick reaches to grab Helen, “Now sweetie, I told you, your father doesn’t do fireworks, they startle him.”

Helen ignores her mother’s caution and quickly makes her way into the house where an impending heartbreak was there to welcome her.

---

It was finally dusk, the rhythmic sound of the cicadas chirped in the distance, stars speckled across the infinite dark sky. Helen and Ole Red were finally sound asleep. Until they weren’t.

The loud crack of the fireworks startled Ole Red awake. Except he wasn’t Ole Red anymore, at least not the way he was before. He had legs, legs that were shoved in boots, boots that were engulfed in mud. He had arms, arms with bloody hands, hands that were holding a riffle. Another loud explosion, this one closer than the last. Suddenly, his world fell silent, with the exception of a continuous ringing in his ear. Ducking, he looks to his left and to his right and he sees familiar faces, covered in dirt, stricken with fear. His friend Tommy mouths something to him followed by hand gestures.

“What?!” Ole Red calls out, except he was no longer Ole Red, he went by the name Mickey.

Another whistle followed by a boom, knocks Mickey down. His buddy pulls him up making the same gesture with his mouth. Mickey shakes his head in confusion and shouts, “I can’t hear you!” He then drags himself to a bail of hay and leans his back up against it. Tommy rushes towards him, twists the cap off his canteen and pours the cool liquid in Mickey’s mouth.

“We need to get out of here!” Tommy yells once more, this time Mickey can hear him.

“I can’t, I’m injured bad.” Mickey says in agony, shaking his head pointing to his leg.

His friend looks at his leg, nods in acknowledgement and replies, “I’ll carry you.”

Mickey picks up a trembling finger and motions to the canteen, Tommy hands it to him.

Crack! Boom! Mickey carefully reloads his weapon with the little strength he has remaining. “No man, just leave me, I’ll only slow you down.”

Tommy looks over at another soldier, the soldier nods, then Tommy looks back at Mickey.

Mickey looks out the window of the old barn he and his friends sought refuge in for the afternoon. As the sun was tucking itself in for the night, the last beam of light through the window began to diminish. Mickey watched as the particles of dust danced in the air.

“It’s ok, I’m ok.” He says calmly as he looks at his friends.

Mickey reaches out his hand to shake Tommy’s, placing a sepia photo in it. Tommy wipes the tear in his eye, leaving a streak of mud across his face. The two gentlemen nod at each other and Tommy tearfully says, “Godspeed, William.”

As Tommy and the other soldier began to make their way out of the barn, the door swings open and a group of enemy soldiers with spider crossed patches sewn to their shoulders enter with guns pointing towards them.

---

Another crack and boom followed by multiple popping sounds. Ole Red is back. He begins to pace the length of the barn, back and forth, rhythmically. Was this a nightmare or a memory? Cortisol was pumping through his veins, his heart thumping so deeply he could feel it in every artery of his body. His flight, fight, and freeze reflexes were on over drive. And when Ole Red couldn’t decide if he wanted to escape or stay put, he felt the gentle caress of a familiar hand. Helen’s hand.

Ole Red’s heart begins to stabilize with each gentle pet from Helen. Her voice reassures him he is safe. Finally, Ole Red’s panic attack diminishes, he is once again grounded and in the present.

“Oh poor buddy, the fireworks sure do scare you, don’t they, old boy?” Sam looks at Ole Red, coaxing the dog to take a seat next to him on the wool blanket.

Helen’s tender touch continues.

The firework show begins to crescendo. Then, finally, like all great finale’s such as the fourth movement of a symphony, or even eating dessert at the end of a meal, truly all the greatest aspects of the human experience, reverberate a common theme - saving the best for last. The Fourth of July celebrations had come to an end.

As the family gathered their pillows and blankets and began to make their way towards the house to retire for the evening, Helen gave one last look of sympathy and understanding to Ole Red.

“Why do you think they get him so worked up?” Jacob asks Sam and Helen.

“I guess we’ll never know.” Mrs. McCormick says looking at her children.

But Helen knew.

---

The next morning, Helen made her way to the barn to check on Ole Red. She found the old mutt lazily watching the sun rise. She made herself comfortable next to him, straightening out her dress in her lap.

Limping footsteps approach and the barn door swings open. The sound of the clinking of a cane making its way up the stairs continues to get closer.

“I thought I might find you in here.” Bill says as he settles in next to Helen. He lets out a sigh and continues, “I’m sorry I lost my temper yesterday.” Bill’s voice had a sense of shame and vulnerability, but also courage. Helen looks at her father with admiration and pride. She scooches in close to him, wraps her petite arms around his shoulders, and squeezes him tightly.

Bill was anticipating Helen to have reticent and reject him, so her response was a pleasant surprise. He reciprocates the hug, his hands locking behind Helen’s back, as he clings tightly to the stem of a dandelion missing all of its seeds.