Until Further Orders

 

                          Until Further Orders

                                                    by Michael Curry

In a couple of days, retired Army Master Sergeant Buck Johnson, who has been living alone since his wife died 30 years ago, will spend his 82nd birthday by himself. He feels his time is growing short, but he isn't finished yet.  Not by a long shot. He realizes that Father Time has his eye on him.  Buck is certain that just one sneeze and the game could be over. 

He can't duck what is; he can't dodge the unseen; he can't hide from what surrounds him. He feels the key is to stay relevant by staying busy.  A couple of months ago, his daughter tried to convince him that maybe it's time to seriously consider a nursing home.  

"Well, Marcy", he said, "stop worrying about me.  I feel fit as a fiddle. My doctor says that I'm in pretty good shape for my age; So for now, nursing homes are out of the question." 

Buck still manages to get dressed, put on a tie, and take a walk around the neighborhood with his dog, Banyon. He never forgets to tip his hat to the ladies with a quiet, "How do!" while on his daily walks.

His daughter says that he has expressed fears about losing his independence more than anything else.

He refuses to let go of it.

Still, he keeps his house immaculate, his lawn mowed with geometric precision, and his days governed by a strict routine. He wakes up at around 0430, fixes his breakfast, and slowly sits down by the kitchen window. His knees ain't what they used to be.  As he stares out of the window, he can almost feel his purpose fading, and he refuses to let go.

A chaotic, single mother and her messy, energetic 7-year-old son move in next door. One afternoon, a stray baseball shatters Buck's pristine front window. The boy, terrified but brave, comes to apologize. Instead of getting angry, Buck notices the boy’s shoes are untied, his jacket is zipped wrong, and he has zero situational awareness.

Buck decides this kid is a logistical disaster and lacks "basic readiness." He declares a state of emergency. He tells the boy that to pay off the window, he must report for "Basic Youth Readiness Training" every Tuesday and Thursday after school. Word gets around the neighborhood that there was an old army guy that had a positive influence on the neighbor kids,

Buck’s 82nd birthday arrives. He expects to spend it alone with Banyon and a small cupcake. His daughter had planned to stop by later. Suddenly, his front lawn is "invaded." The neighborhood kids, led by his young neighbor, have set up a surprise birthday perimeter. They’ve brought a cake, and they all stand at attention, giving Master Sargent Buck Johnson a crisp, synchronized salute. For the first time in years, Buck's home is filled with laughter, noise, and life.

Buck Johnson realizes that "not being ready to pass yet" didn't mean he had to fight death—it meant he still had life left to give. 

On Monday morning, Master Sergeant Buck Johnson and Banyon led an entire squad of neighborhood recruits on their daily march to the school bus stop.

As the children laughed and jostled their way down the sidewalk, Buck felt something he hadn't felt in years.

Not youth.

Not strength.

Purpose.

It turned out he wasn't fighting death at all.

He was simply waiting for his next assignment.

And at eighty-two, those orders had finally arrived.

Buck watched his young recruits climb aboard the school bus.

Banyon sat beside him, tail wagging proudly.

The bus disappeared around the corner.

Buck adjusted his tie, straightened his shoulders, and smiled.

Eighty-two years old and will remain at his post until further orders.