How Can You Mend This Purple Heart by T. L. Gould

off the radio.
    An hour later, the double doors banged open. The corpsman pushed Earl Ray’s empty wheelchair onto the ward and locked it in place at the foot of Earl’s bed.
    â€œShe’s doing fine, Earl,” he said. “The doctor on duty wants her under observation for a couple of hours. I’ll go down and check on her when I get off my shift.”
    The two hours passed and there was no word about Jennifer.
    â€œI’ll go down and see what I can find out,” the corpsman said.
    Twenty minutes later, he was back on the ward.
    â€œThe doctor in the ER says she’s doing fine. He sent her back to the motel to rest. You should hear from her tomorrow.”
    Late Sunday evening, Jennifer Ann Cooley’s mother phoned Earl Ray from her home in Parsons, Florida. Mrs. Cooley thought it would be best for Jennifer to rest at home.
    â€œJennifer is doing fine, Earl, and there was no serious injury. No, she couldn’t come to the phone, she still isn’t feeling well. She will call you as soon as she feels better. She promised.”

H.M.F.I.C.
    MONDAY EVENING CHOW was like eating quicksand. The ward had been quiet most of the day, as every one of us desperately avoided talking about the past two days.
    â€œFuck ’em! Fuck ’em all! I don’t give a shit about any of ’em!” They were the first words Earl had said since the phone call from Jennifer’s mother Sunday evening. “I didn’t need their help in ’Nam and I sure as hell don’t need it now. They can kiss my ass! All of you can kiss my ass!”
    Ski was the first to say something. “Did Marines help dyou in ’Nam?”
    â€œThat’s a stupid fucking question. You got any more like that one?” Earl was sitting up with the head of his bed cranked at about 45 degrees.
    â€œWell then, Madrines are going to help dyou now.” Ski was lying almost flat, looking at the ceiling.
    â€œWhat the fuck you gonna do? Wipe my ass the rest of my life?” He rolled over, trying to get his ass facing Ski, pointing to it with the stump of his left arm.
    â€œNo. And don’t expect anyone to keese it either!” Before Earl could say anything, Ski headed him off. “Deed you get letters from Jendeefer in ’Nam?”
    â€œYes, I got letters from Jendeefer in ’Nam. Jesus, you’re just full of dumb questions.”
    â€œThen she helped you in ’Nam, deedn’t she?” Ski’s stare was still fixed upward.
    Ski had forced Earl’s thoughts back to Jennifer and to the bundle of letters lying in the bottom drawer of the nightstand, along with her photograph.
    The letters had kept him from going crazy in ’Nam. The arrival of each one brought him closer to Jennifer and closer to the day they would be together again. She had swabbed the inside of every envelope with her favorite perfume. Earl would slip each new letter and envelope with its sweeter, fresher fragrance inside the rim of his combat helmet, replacing it for the last one. The last letter he had gotten from her in Vietnam, just before the explosion, was left near a thicket of bamboo, along with his helmet and his arm and legs.
    â€œYou don’t know shit about it!” Earl spat the words at Ski.
    â€œDon’t dyou tell me I don’t know sheet about it!” Ski snapped back, glaring at Earl. “You can keese my fauwcking ass! Don’t ever tell me I don’t know sheet about eet!” His face had turned crimson. The quick turn he had made toward Earl Ray jerked his legs, and the pain was searing through his body. He wasn’t about to let Earl know it.
    â€œShut the fuck up down there!” A voice from the south end came booming down the ward like thunder.
    â€œWho the fuck are you? And who made you H.M.F.I.C.?” Earl Ray boomed back.
    â€œI’m Moose Johnson, and I made me Head Motherfucker in Charge!” he laughed out loud.
    â€œWhat the