~Occhi~

"Who was what guy?"

First Lieutenant Don Travers sat at the head of the small, round dining table that was the epicenter of all the family's conversations history in their house. A lot happened around the Travers' dining table. Many events, celebrations, and familial moments.
Such as the announcement of Erik's graduation and Lisa's graduation.
Thousands of arguments between Lisa and Erik, about the war, about Erik going into the Army, about dad.

Debate over whether Erik should go in the place of dad.

Dad and mom arguing long past Lisa and Erik were done and finished squabbling.

Lisa sobbing by herself.

Erik sitting by himself.

Dad and mom holding hands across the table.

Then Lisa, Erik, and dad having one last meal before Private Don Travers was to be shipped overseas.

A lot happened at the Travers's dining table.

"I didn't recognize him," Lisa began, spooning her ration of green peas, sliced carrots, more-mushy-than-usual mashed potatoes, and a two by three by one inch slab of dark chicken meat. It was all served on a delicate paper plate. Erik and Don had already devoured theirs. Lisa wasn't as devastating in her appetite. She could only stare back at the glowering peas. "He was wearing a faded corduroy jacket; gray. I couldn't get a close look at his face."

Lisa put down her plastic spoon, sniffing. Erik fidgeting in his wheelchair, readjusting his place across from Lisa. He was seated to the left of dad.

Erik said, "How could you not see his face? He sounded like he was right next to you."

Lisa shrugged, glancing at her father then rebounded her gaze back to Erik.

"And you didn't see him either?"

Lisa's brother tilted his head in a sheepish manner, his mouth a thin slit showing yellow teeth.

"My line of sight was. . . sort of preoccupied."

Lisa nodded, rolling her eyes and pushing her plate away from her. "Yeah, preoccupied in some woman's chest."

Erik scoffed. "You didn't see anything!"

Lisa raised an eyebrow, sitting up and taking away Erik's and her father's plate, as well as her own.

"But I did see that blonde lady reporter about to smack you."

"She wasn't going to smack me." Erik said, waving his hand in the air, his other hand attached to a can of beer. "She was going to give me her number."

Lisa gave him a sidelong glance as she walked with her hands full over to the trash bin, dumping the contents into it. Erik tilted his head back and forth, and then succumbed.

"Okay, fine. She was going to slap me."

A smile broke onto Lisa's cheeks, and so did Erik's. It had been awhile since they shared a smile together, much less a joke. It had been far too long. Maybe Erik was finally warming up.

"So?" Erik prompted with a wave of his fork.

"So what?"

"What this mysterious guy want? What did he say?"

"Actually, it was about dad-"

Lisa turned to face her father, then stopped when her eyes met his. Lisa's father was staring, not at Lisa or outside the window, but at something a million miles behind her. His eyes had a terrified, sullen glaze that pervaded his vision. It looked as if he were trying to burn the window behind Lisa with his gaze.

"Dad? Dad, what's wrong?" Lisa said.

First Lieutenant Travers blinked.

"Wha-? Oh. . ." He blinked hard and swallowed, his gaze filling with depth as he flicked his eyes back and forth from both of his children. "Oh. . .sorry." He chuckled. "I must've. . .dozed out. I'm sorta tired, if you'll excuse me." Lisa could hear a discordant tone of worry and mellowed sorrow in her dad's voice.

Erik chewed his upper lip; now he was the one staring. Not at the window, but at dad. Just as Lisa was doing.

"You kids clean up" Lieutenant Don Travers said, rubbing his left eyebrow as he stood from his place at the table.

"You okay?" Erik asked, but the way Lisa's brother said it sounded more like a demand than a question. Their father nodded tersely, then sidestepped out of his seat, knocked his foot against one of the table legs, and plodded out of the kitchen. Once their dad's tall, squared shoulders passed out of view, both Travers kids looked at each other. 

Erik and Lisa just looked at each other for a long time, sharing concerned expressions. Then Lisa broke the silence.

"Did dad go to the . . .psychologist yet?"

"Dr. Donnelly? Yeah, all soldiers do before coming back home." Erik responded as he scanned the entrance to the kitchen, making sure their father wasn't overhearing their conversation.

Lisa frowned, her brows shadowing her eyes. "What did he say?"

Erik shrugged, "He said dad was normal looking enough according to his rudimentary tests. 'Only sleep is all he needs' is what he said."

"Dad looks like he needs more like sleep." Lisa scoffed, putting a hand on the table. "It looks like he's seen a ghost; I've never seen him like that before."

Erik nodded, a pensive shimmer in his eyes. "Maybe I'll make another appointment. They say it's not really necessary, but it is optional. At least, that's what they say in the brochure. He didn't come back with any damaging wounds, just superficial ones. Nothing really serious." Erik scooted away from the table, shrugging his shoulders.

Rubbing her elbows absently, Lisa stared at her brother. "The most dangerous wounds are the kinds that we don't see."

Erik looked up. "What?"

"It was something I read once, long time ago. I think it was in another informational brochure-it's somewhere with the others in the shelf-but it was talking about soldiers coming home after combat and the signs of side effects or something. There are physical wounds-" Lisa looked over her shoulder, as if expecting to see her father behind her. "And psychological wounds."

"Well," Erik said, wheeling himself to out of the kitchen. "If anything, I'll make a call for an extra psychological evaluation for dad with Donnelly."

No other words were said that night, and each family member went about their own habitual evening habits. Even though the head of the Travers family was finally home, Lisa and Erik worked their night schedule around their father. They saw him walking back and forth from the master bedroom and the hallway carrying his things. They sometimes bumped into him if one of the siblings had to use the restroom. But for the remainder of that night, he stayed in his study with the door closed. Lisa found that strange, since their father rarely closed the study doors, and the only times he did were either in an emergency or if he were in a private meeting. Everything that their father did all that evening and into the night was strange. Lisa noticed his behavior was tense and unusually brooding. Whenever she tried to peek into the master bedroom to say hi, their father would be crouched at the end of the bed, staying silent. Even when she coughed to politely let him know that she was standing there, her father would stay quiet.

On her third visit to the master bedroom, she didn't find him there. After looking through all the rooms in the house, she finally found him closing the doors to his study. She knocked on the doors, once, twice. Three times. No answer. It was five minutes after eleven. After whispering a "Goodnight" between the minuscule crack of the study doors, Lisa decided to go to sleep. On her way to her room, she passed by Erik. His face was filled questions, but only one surfaced at the edge of his eyes.

How is dad?

 The answer was written on both their faces. No words needed to be exchanged between them that evening.

That would come later.