Texas Nights - Book 13 of the Damned of the 2/19th

Dignity

417 South 17th Street
Copperass Cove, Texas
CONUS
Saturday
26 October, 1991
0800

The room was silent as I turned off the last monitor and gently unhooked the pads. She was at peace, smiling gently after I pulled the oxygen hose from beneath her nose and the mask from her face. Her hair was wispy gray, her body thin and wasted, her skin felt like onion paper beneath my fingers.

First Sergeant Ramirez was in the frontroom. I knew the man was sobbing, grieving over the loss of the love of his life, but right now there was something that only I could do.

We hadn't called it in yet.

There was time.

I undid my hair, letting it fall to my lower back, then moved over and turned on the lights. They made her look worse, and it rent my heart.

I took the feeling and jammed it down.

I opened the drawers, finding what I needed. Then the standup bureau. I moved it all to the chair beside the bed before pulling the blankets back.

Disconnect the catheter line.

I went into the bathroom, getting a washcloth and pouring warm water on it.

Then I cleaned her.

Afterwards I dressed her. Panties, a bra with tissue stuffed in the cups because she had lost so much weight. A slip. A dress that was stark in its simplicity but was obviously a favorite. A sash belt.

Then makeup.

I used holly berries from my purse for foundation, to red her lips, then carefully did her makeup and eyebrows.

It took me a minute to find her jewelry.

Wedding ring. Bracelet. Necklace.

After that I went back into the bathroom, selected one of her wigs, and carefully put it on her head. Then a light spritz of her perfume. Nothing would get rid of the smell of slow lingering cancerous death, but the delicate fragrance was definitely from her.

When I was done I sat back down.

Mrs. Ramirez had no female relatives present to do what I had done. Nobody to ensure that she still had her dignity when the officials arrived.

She still looked dead. Nothing I was going to do was going to change that. Morticians could, but I was just some useless Warrant from her husband's unit fumbling around and trying to do her best.

At least I'd managed to make her look dignified.

I went into the other bedroom, gathering up a thin comforter, and brought it in, covering her with it.

I sat in the chair for a moment, looking at her.

If I ever missed a step, I'd share her fate. Or worse yet, some 18 year old private would.

She reminded me of my grandma and for a second tears blurred my vision.

you're never too old to ride the merry-go-round, Heather my love

My eyes spotted the mostly empty bottle of Jack Daniels beside the bed. There was, at the most, three shots left in it.

I could taste it and my hands flexed, yearning for the feel of the bottle.

nobody would blame you. nobody would say anything. you're only human. just one drink. it'll help for what's coming next. you know you want to. the taste, that bloom of warmth.

I stood up, picked up the bottle, and stared at it.

The liquid sloshed. Amber in the light. It felt so familiar that my hand automatically went to unscrew the cap.