Flag Presentation

Amelia stared at the motionless body that used to belong to her father. He now looked like he belonged in the Madame Tussauds Wax Museum. It was like she could dig her nails in the body and it would break up the same if she did it to a thin layer of a candle. Amelia couldn’t tell whether she loved him or hated him. He was supposed to die after she figured it out. His class A uniform was crisp like he did it himself. The rows of ribbons looked heavy over his heart. On the other side of his dress jacket, other side of his chest was a name tag that said ‘Kindell’. The last time Amelia saw that suit was for one of Uncle Ricky’s weddings. He would stay up late the night before polishing the medals and shoes, steaming the jacket and trousers, and ironing the shirt. He would then put it in a dry-cleaning bag as if something in the night could ruin all his hard work.

He would always tell Amelia, “You have to anticipate everything that could go wrong and prepare for it.”

“Doesn’t he look peaceful?” Amelia’s mother said, coming up from behind her. Mrs. Kindell had pockets full of the travel size Kleenex. She was handing them out to everyone who talked to her. She also already used one packet herself.

“Yeah.” Amelia watched her father’s torso expecting it to rise or fall any second as a surrender to breathing. The vent blew cold air on Amelia. She wondered if the flag draped on the mahogany casket would slip off during the ceremony onto the red carpet. The casket was on the one inch raised chancel. The room had the same smell as every building on base: musk and distress. The smell made Amelia unable to take deep breaths. This suffocating state reminded Amelia of her childhood bedroom.

They were the only ones near the casket, besides the seven guards of honor. Everyone else was whispering at the other side of the room like they were afraid of the body. Amelia eyed the soldiers. They all stood in a line on the other side of the casket like they were part of the military propaganda disguised as decoration hanging on the tan walls. Amelia was pretty sure none of them had even met her father. They still looked innocent as if they hadn't grown into their uniforms yet. Amelia couldn’t help but to wonder if her dad ever looked like those soldiers. Her father was deployed three times after Amelia was born – once in Iraq and twice in Afghanistan. Each time he was gone for a year. Amelia wasn’t scared when he left because she thought he just did the same job he did when he was home; sit next to other soldiers while doing computer work. It wasn’t until she was much older when she came to terms that her dad held a gun overseas and probably killed someone. Amelia was too afraid to ask about the last one.

“He would have loved that everyone showed up to be together,” Mrs. Kindell said. That was a lie. Amelia’s father always said he didn’t care if they threw him in a trash bag and called it a day. He would have hated the service. He never liked family gatherings of any sort because he grew tired of the artificial people. Everyone pretended to be interested in everyone’s lives but really it was a competition on who was doing better. Or how everyone pretended that they liked Uncle Ricky’s new wife but as soon as Uncle Ricky and his wife were out of ear shot, everyone said how much they liked the last wife better. For the same reasons, Amelia was hesitant to go to family gatherings as well.

“Yeah.” Amelia remembered the times she would sneak out of bed to find her dad watching the History Channel. She would crawl up next to him and raise his arm over her so she could sandwich herself between his chest and arm.

Everyone shuffled to their seats as the pastor stood by the casket. He had greasy black hair, slicked back and his frown looked permanently etched on his face. After everyone was seated and quiet, he pulled out the Bible from his pocket and curved the cover with half the pages to the back.

He sighed into the book, “We meet here today to honor and pay respects to this virtuous veteran. It is a sad day. It is always a sad day when anyone brave enough to fight for what is right passes on. We must also bear the weight to comfort those deeply hurt by this enormous loss.”

Amelia rolled her eyes in remembrance of her dad sneaking to her room after her mom was asleep. Amelia could see her dad’s face peeking out the coffin. It was similar in the way he would peek his head in her door and 7-year-old Amelia’s room was cluttered with the art project she started that evening. He woke Amelia up by grabbing from the back of her collar, lifting her up so she was eye level with his. The front neckline choked her.

She grasped for air as he angerly whispered, “When I tell you to do something, I expect it to be done.” He would finish each secret visit telling Amelia if she told her mom then next time would be twice as bad. Amelia believed him.

The guards of honor started the flag folding ceremony. They all held the same blank expression that was displayed all day. Three stood on either side of the long sides of the casket, all pinching the edges of the American flag. One lone soldier stood at the head of the casket, watching them. The six robotically lifted the flag from the casket and the three with their backs turn towards the mourning, brought their edge to the other side. Amelia started to think about how in high school she made sure her grades were perfect, her room clean, and her personality hidden. Her father did not find her funny at all. She only slipped up once. She overslept. Then the guards repeated the process of folding the flag vertically. The two soldiers at the end next to the lone solider worked together as they brought one corner of the flag up and folded it down, aligning the edges and creating one less corner in the long rectangle. As she rushed towards the back door, with her hair not even brushed, her dad asked her if the glass of water on the counter belonged to her. Then they folded along the internal edge created by the flap. This continued until they produced a triangle.

“I don’t know,” Amelia said, only thinking about how she would have to speed to school. She opened the back door.

“Wait, hold on a second,” her dad said. Amelia closed the door. Her dad left the room and came back with the glass. He lifted it and wiggled it at her as to say, ‘this is the glass you know nothing about’. The guard at the end, with his back turned, held the flag without help this time and presented to the soldier at the head. “Does it look familiar?”

Amelia felt her neckline choking her again and her airways wouldn’t allow her to breathe. The soldier that didn’t help fold accepted the flag and walked it over to Amelia’s mother. The soldier kneeled in front of Mrs. Kindell. This was the only solider there that had medals, but nothing compared to her father. “I asked a question, Amelia. Answer me now.”

Amelia tried so hard to talk but she was also trying not to gasp for air to show weakness.

“As a representative of the United States Army, it is my high privilege to present to you this flag. Let it be a symbol of the appreciation this nation feels for the distinguished service rendered to our country, and to our flag by your loved one,” the soldier said. He placed the flag on Mrs. Kindell’s lap, who was sobbing again. Amelia stared at the flag. She could see the stitches in the opaque nylon. This was supposed to be a symbol of her dad’s honor.

Amelia felt her throat restricting again and each deep breath she tried to take was cut short with another shallow intake. She stood up and walked out the building as the pastor began talking again. She wished she had listened to her dad and prepared. Once she was outside in the warm breezy air, she was able to take a full deep breath through her nose and smelled the fumes from the cars driving by.