Page 3 of Lost Lyrebird

I step forward cautiously, and eventually, the sand beneath my boots stops shifting.It turns solid, like wood or stone.The stillness stirs unease deep in my gut.Then it hits me—the oppressive, stifling heat of the Iraqi desert has vanished.The air no longer tastes of copper, sulfur, and gasoline.My fatigues aren’t clinging to my sweat-soaked skin.

The voice calls out again, as if nowhere and everywhere all at once.No matter which direction I turn, I get no closer.

The fog thins, and the scent around me changes.It’s teakwood and pine.Home.

My chest aches, not from the pain—though the pain is there, a fuck-ton of it, especially at the back of my head—but from loss.It dawns on me then that when I turn around, I’ll see something that will hit me square in the chest.

But I have to look.

When my father finally steps into view, the sadness in his eyes shakes me to my core.

“No,” I say, shaking my head.

I sense it too.The wrongness of it.I don’t belong here.But how can I deny what I’m seeing?My father’s face is the same but different—more youthful.His onyx hair is full and thick, just a slight wave, like my own.

The thought would be comforting if it weren’t for what it means to see him again.

He strides toward me, and as he closes in, I start forward to meet him.

When we collide, it’s like two boulders crashing together.I melt into the embrace I thought I’d never feel again.His hug is the kind only a bear of a man can give to his grown son.The peace in that moment is everything.It fills the cracks in my heart that have been there since the day he died.The day I held his fragile hand as he slipped away.

The fights.The harsh words.Everything I never said.In that hug, it’s all forgiven and forgotten.It’s the best thing I’ve felt in months.

“You’re not supposed to be here,” he says gruffly, pulling me even tighter.I don’t mind one bit.

“Honestly, I don’t understand what’s happening.”

He grunts, a sound that carries so much weight.

“Is this… it, then?”I ask.

I feel more than see him shake his head.“No.”

“Then what?I don’t understand.”

He pulls back, one hand gripping the back of my neck as our eyes meet.His stare drinks me in, his jaw tight with something like pain.

I try to finish my thought, but the words won’t come.“Am I…?”

His eyes narrow, grief lining his face.He touches my cheek, my jaw, then lets his hand drop to my shoulder, gripping it tightly.“I’m sorry.”

“It’s not your fault.”

He stands two inches taller than me, and I remember how, as a kid, he seemed like a giant.

He shakes his head again, his voice thick.“Not for this.For the time we never had.The time we don’t have now.For the time we wasted.”

“Dad… what time?I don’t understand.Am I… dead?Because I can’t… I can’t be.There’s someone… someone I made a promise to.I told her… nothing would stop me from making it home.”

He smiles, just barely, one corner of his mouth lifting as he nods, but the grief never leaves his eyes.“I know.Your little bird.”

Choked up now, I say, “Yeah, Dad.My little bird.She’s waiting for me.”

“Go to her, son.”

I stare at him, trying to make sense of it all.

“I love you.You know that?”His voice cracks.My throat tightens as he turns his head, nodding toward the misty horizon to his right.“You need to fight, Finn.It won’t be easy, but you can make it back.If we had more time, I’d tell you everything, but we don’t.Just know I love you, and I’m so fucking proud of the man you’ve become.Keep helping the people who need it most.Keep pushing for what’s right.”