Jack and Jill

"Heya, mister. Whatcha readin'?" 7 year-old Jill asked the grayed, leathery old man.

The man looked up from his book and made eye contact with the little girl through the tops of his reading glasses. A smile quickly came.

"Voltaire. Have you ever ready any Voltaire?" he asked.

"Who? No, but I've read some Dr. Seuss!" she replied, and with this began swinging her legs back and forth excitedly from her seat in the booth.

The old man marked his page with a fold and put his book down before folding his hands, sitting back and thinking about his own experiences reading as a child. For him there was no Dr. Seuss – the closest thing he had to that was the pamphlet they handed out for all the kids at the Ringling Brothers Circus performances.

"Do you like reading, miss … what's your name?" he asked.

"Jill," she said, "Jill Werther. That's my mom over there."

The little girl motioned to a heavyset woman helping herself to the collard greens at the buffet bar.

"I love to read! I can read anything" she continued.

"Anything?" the man challenged.

"Anything!" she said.

"Well I bet your mother is proud of you. You seem like a very smart little girl." The man said.

Jill didn't know how to respond to compliments at that age so in lieu of a 'thank you' or even a silent blushing, she resorted to playing with her napkin and looking quizzically at the scar across the old man's right hand.

"Hey mister what happened to your hand?" she asked.

"Call me Jack. I hurt it defending this country, you know. A long, long time ago." He said.

The truth is he nearly lost that hand. One of the first on the ground on D-day, Jack spilled more blood from his wounds than even some of the dead did during their exit from life. The shrapnel he took in his left hand and just below his neck left him with permanent reminders of the value of his, and for that matter Jill's, freedom.

"Ooo so you were in the Army?" Jill asked.
"No, not the Army. The Marines. Say, can you spell Marines?" Jack said in an attempt to change the subject.

"M … A … R … " Jill paused then looked up and to the right for a moment, as if the next letter was floating around the ceiling fan above her.

"E?" she said with obvious reservation.

Jack laughed heartily and finished the spelling for her. His past with the corps left him with vivid memories of times well spent with his brothers-in-arms both during and after World War II, and it was in this little diner and because of Jill that he began reminiscing.

"Your country is the greatest one in the world, Jill. You be sure to remember that. Many, many good men and women have died so that you can be free." Jack reassured.

"Excuse me, but I'd appreciate if you wouldn't say those things to my child," came a voice from their left. It was Jill's mother returning with a plate full of everything from cornbread muffins to glazed ham.

"We don't believe in war. Nothing good has ever come from it. You might do well to keep your thoughts to yourself; not everyone thinks killing is the answer to everything," the woman finished.

She left her plate full of food on the table, scooped up Jill and her belongings and headed for the door. After paying for her food she looked over her shoulder back at Jack and scowled.

Jack watched them as they walked across the parking lot and out of sight. He then pulled up his right shirt sleeve to just below his elbow, revealing the USMC insignia he had tattooed on his forearm many decades ago.

"Semper Fi," Jack said under his breath.

A lump grew in his throat. He swallowed hard, pulled his sleeve back down and picked his book back up.

He located the page he was on and continued reading.