The Journal ~ The Adventures of Gabriel Celtic

The fun kinda tapered off though after Bill Shelton caught one in the neck. We patched him up as best we could, but it didn’t look good for him.

The rain is back now, and we are stuck outside, leaning against the slimy wall of the trench. I have found a small amount of protection from a walkway board overhead, allowing me a small area to write.. We are all smoking, nothing else to do. My biggest joy at the moment is watching the smoke gather under the lip of my helmet, creating my own little cloud around my head.

Wishing I were home.

“Gabe …You up there?”

I put the old book down with a sigh.

“Yeah…I’m here,” I said, wishing my mom had forgotten about me.

I heard her coming up the steps. “What are you doing up here by yourself?” she asked as she turned the corner into my room. “Everybody is asking about you downstairs.”

I shrugged indifferently as I rolled off of the bed.

Noticing the journal lying on the bed, she asked, “what do you have there son?”

Shrugging again, “Granddad’s journal, from when he was in the war. He said I could have it when he passed,” I said, suddenly defensive.

She walked over to the bed and picked up the leather-bound book, studying it intensely. “I’ve never seen this before,” she uttered as she slowly sat on the bed, never taking her eyes off of the volume. She ran her fingers tenderly over the cross on the cover as I had done earlier.

Snapping out of her trance, “Where did you find it? I’ve never come across it in the twenty years I’ve lived here?”

“He had it in his safe,” I mumbled, “he showed it to me a long time ago.”

Mom smiled sadly, patting the bed beside her for me to sit. Looking up at me with her large brown eyes, I saw tenderness in them as she smiled at me.

“He sure loved you,” she said, taking my hand, “I know you will miss him more than anybody. You two were always thick as thieves.”

Putting the palm of her hand on my face lovingly, “And that’s why I’m more worried about you with all of this…I don’t want you to withdraw from life because he’s gone. He wouldn’t have wanted that either.”

“Your grandfather could get more life out of things than anyone I have ever met. I would hope that if you change in any way because of this, it would be to be even more like him than you already are.”

“I’m ok mom, I just miss him is all.”

I leaned over and gave her a peck on the cheek.

“Good! Now come down and visit with your family…they all loved him too.”

“I will, I promise,” I said standing up, “in a minute, I just want to read a little bit more, ok?”

She smiled, “ok, but not too long, we will be eating soon.”

I nodded at her before she turned and made her way back down the stairs. Sitting back down on the bed, I again picked up the journal and turned to where I had left off.

July 4, 1918

All thoughts of  Independence Day festivities were dashed early this morning when we were awakened at sunrise by a loud noise approaching overhead. The lightening sky was darkened by an armada of German Zeppelin and Gotha bombers as they rained our positions with deafening and deadly explosions.