As Jessica took out utensils, cups, and saucers from a cupboard box, the light shone through the windows and marked her forearms with shadowy crosses. She concentrated on her task at hands until the warmth of the sunlight broke through her sun-burnt skin. She traced her fingers across the panes, feeling the chill of snow and wind outside, and then plowed trails freed of dust along the bare window sill.
She imagined small pots of bell peppers and mints glittering under the sunlight on the window sill. New curtains would flutter with delight against the spring breeze. As the tea kettle whistled away, she would hurry the children along to get ready for school, while her husband read his papers by the kitchen table. How many children would they have? A pair of boy and girl would be just perfect. She smiled at the thought that perhaps she would even catch a glimpse of a cardinal’s flight through the air. Home, at last.
As Jessica resumed unpacking, a delicate porcelain cup emerged in her hands, a precious wedding gift. She sat the cup down just a little too close by the edge, and began to flatten the newspaper wrapper on top of others, unfurling out-of-date news from a desert plateau both alien and known to her.
In one photo, a group of women with burqas knelt in front of a rubble pile, wailing and beating their chests. Another was a close-up of a bare-headed woman, her dark hair set free in the wind, her beautiful cheeks unveiled to the world, yet stained with tears. Her burqa was probably left behind in a hurry, along with her jars of saffron, coriander, cardamom, now under the collapsed house that was once her home. Her eyes were filled with scorn and distrust towards the one wielding the camera. Jessica had seen the same expression on a few locals she came across there, while she and her platoon threaded along a desolate road, with such care as not trigger mines sown by unseen enemies.
Jessica’s breathing quickened. Coughing from the tear gas that leaked from her memories, she tightened her hands into fists. The light reflecting off the snow was as blinding as bomb blasts. Her heart began to pound heavily against her chest. Gun shots rang in her ears. Her hand reached for the gun holster she was not wearing. Her feet stumbled against a duffel bag on the kitchen floor which felt like a dead body. Cold sweats gathered around her forehead. The ringing in her ears continued. She spotted her army knife on the kitchen table.
A jingle of keys shot from the direction of the front door. Jessica grabbed the knife on the table and dived beneath, dragging along the table cloth, and sending plates and cups flying and crashing. The ringing in her ears grew louder, beneath which were faint, quick footsteps towards her. She tightened her grip on the knife.
“Honey? Are you alright? It's me. Can you see me?”
Her husband’s voice came through the thick mental fog. She opened her eyes to the American flag sewn onto the arm of Mathew's combat jacket. He was bending over her, his left hand pressing down firmly on her wrists, his right hand trying to loosen her grip on the kitchen knife.
“Where are we?” Jessica let go of the knife, her tense shoulders slumped back to the safety of the present moment. While her husband walked away with the knife, she looked about at the broken plates and newspaper fragments on the ground. The light through the window panes shone upon the broken shards of the porcelain cup.
“Oh, the pieces glitter like jewels," Jessica lifted herself up so she could kneel in front of what remained of her wedding gift. For a brief moment, her quiet tears were hidden from her husband, behind the veil of her blond hair.