Us

There were only a few checkers left on the board, all kings, with a lot of space between them. Ralph had him outnumbered three to one. It was only a matter of time.

But that didn't bother him. He was happy to just keep playing as long as possible, enjoying the hot summer buzzing around them, until he eventually lost. He liked the park and he liked the company. He'd found these guys by accident one afternoon, when he had taken a walk and noticed them gathered at the picnic tables, playing. When they were here, there were always two or three games going on. And two or three conversations. He'd also noticed that every one of the guys was missing something.

They had all been in the war and had lost an arm or a leg, or part of an arm or leg. A sleeve was pinned up or a pant leg tucked into the seat of a wheelchair. He wondered how they had managed to find each other. But now they were a lively group, gathering here every afternoon when it was nice; not everyone every day, but most of them on most days. And they were always telling funny horror stories about the war, or the latest hernia operation. Or the wife.

He liked them. But he didn't think they completely accepted him. He'd been coming for a while, and had been regular enough that they'd invited him to play. And he laughed at their jokes and even tossed in a story of his own once in a while. But the way they laughed together, or smiled at something one of them said, or even the easy way they sat down when joining the others showed him they accepted each other in a way that they didn't accept him. Ralph was the one he knew best, the one he usually ended up playing with. And today they were at one end of a table, away from the others, so he asked Ralph about it.

"Well," Ralph began, talking in the slow way he did when he was winning and wanted to relish the moment. "It's just a fact of life. People like to be around their own kind. They feel more comfortable with others just like them. Maybe it's about being black or white. Maybe it's about being a veteran--or being distinguished veterans, like us. That's just it. Everyone's got a sense of 'us,' and when someone new comes around, you size him up, 'Is he one of us or not?' Don't you do that?" He looked up from the board and nodded slowly at Ralph. "Yeah, but..." "But nothing. Everyone does it. It's always 'us' and 'them.' You weren't in the war, were you?" He shook his head. "No," Ralph continued, considering his next move. "At first I thought you might have been, with that limp you got. But you know what war is--Us vs. Them. It helps if they look different or talk different, but it's really something deeper. You're either one of us or you're not."

"So, what, since I have all my arms and legs I'll never be part of your group?" He immediately felt ashamed for saying it that way, but he was irritated. Ralph didn't seem to notice, though, reaching across the board with his left hand to move his king, because his right arm ended just below the shoulder. "It's not just that we don't have something," Ralph said. "It's that we lost part of ourself and lived through that and accepted it. That's a life-changing experience we have in common. And it's a fact of life we know that most other people don't. Or at least they won't admit it." "A fact of life?" "Yes, a fact of life. That you gotta cut your losses if you want to survive. The doc cuts off your arm and you thank him, because he saved your life. Or the general points at some guys over there and says that's the enemy, and you say yes sir and fire. Not that you have any personal argument with them, but if you're going to survive the enemy has to go." Ralph had him now. There was only one place to move and he moved and Ralph jumped him.

They stared at the board in silence. Neither of them seemed ready for another game, but they didn't get up from the table. Ralph looked over at some kids playing soccer. "It ain't pretty, but it's a fact of life. Us and them. It's everywhere. In sports, in companies struggling with each other to get ahead, guys fighting for a job so they can support their family, in politics, even religion. Look at those churches over there. Three different churches at one intersection. You don't think they're in competition, fighting to survive? You think someone walking into one of those churches sees someone walking into the other one and doesn't think about 'us vs. them'? And they're all supposed to be Christians. But that's life--you gotta cut your losses."

"Well I'm not cutting off nothin' for you old farts," he said, grinning at Ralph. He got up. "I'll see you tomorrow."

Walking past the churches on his way home, he thought about what Ralph had said. But why couldn't you go to more than one? Was there any rule against that? Then he wondered if maybe there was. He'd have to ask his pastor about that.

He got to his building and took the stairs slowly, holding the rail, as he always did. There were a lot of stairs. Then the long, dark hallway to his room, where he plopped down on the bed and stretched out, his hands behind his head. And who got to decide who was "one of us"--Ralph? The general? The boss? The bishop? It seemed that way. It seemed like a fact of life, all right. But could someone else really cut him out of "us" if he still thought he was in? Or make him cut someone else out, if he still thought they were in? He didn't think so. And he knew he wanted his "us" to be bigger than Ralph's. Much bigger. He was glad to have met those guys, though, and planned to keep going as long as the warm weather lasted.

He sat up on the bed and pulled up his pant leg. Then he released a buckle just below his knee and the heavy plastic ankle and foot, with its shoe, dropped to the floor. He stretched out again. Sometimes he was sure he could still feel that foot.