SOBERING APPLAUSE

I first noticed him when we were boarding:  the strapping young man, a boy really, in his army uniform, buzz cut, carrying a wooden box wrapped in what looked like Saran-Wrap.

A distinguished older gentleman stepped up to him in the line and asked "Where are you sitting, soldier?" 

"28-F, sir,"  the soldier responded, checking his ticket to make sure.

"I’ll trade with you," the older man said, handing him his first class ticket.

"Oh, you don’t have to do that." 

"It’s an honor."  The man said, walking away before the soldier could argue.

So we boarded and the soldier was seated one row back from me, on the other side of the aisle.  After the cabin doors were closed, the captain’s voice came over the speakers:

"Ladies and Gentlemen, welcome to flight 1433, we’ll be taxi-ing in just one moment, but first I’d just like to say that we are honored to be carrying the remains of a fallen American soldier on this flight.  We are also equally honored to be carrying the soldier who is the escort for these remains today, a fine soldier who was the best friend of the soldier whose ashes he carries."

I glanced over my shoulder at the somber look on his face.  It felt incomprehensible that the small wooden box he was carry contained his best friend,  I wondered what their history had been.  Had they met at boot camp?  Maybe they had grown up together, playing army as kids and dreaming of the day they enlisted together.  Possibly they had not met until they were being shot at by opposing forces.  I wondered if they had admitted to each other how scared they really were and if they talked about what would happen if one of them made it and the other one didn’t.

The pilot continued:

"Once we land in Dallas, I would like to ask you, if I could, to remain seated out of respect  and allow this soldier de-plane first."

The flight was to Dallas was about an hour and a half and once we landed and taxied to the gate, many had forgotten the Captain’s request.  I might have forgotten too, if I had not been sitting close enough to the soldier to have eavesdropped on much of the conversation he had been having with his seat-mate.  When the fasten seat belt sign was turned off, most people remained seated but a few people hopped up and began getting their luggage from the overhead bins, as they normally would.

The Captain’s voice was heard again:

"Folks just as a reminder, please remain seated so the soldier escorting the remains of the fallen soldier can exit the plane." 

Those who had gotten out of their seats quickly sat back down and the most reverent hush fell over the plane.  All eyes were on the young soldier who stood slowly and very ceremoniously positioned his hat on his head and then reached back into his seat for the box — I wondered where it had been during the flight — and held it sacredly in front of him as he walked slowly toward the front of the plane.  As he waited for the door to be opened he stood, eyes straight ahead, unblinking.  I wondered if the family of the fallen solder would be waiting for him. 

The plane was silent.  No one talking.  No one moving. 

Then as the door to the plane opened and the soldier started to exit, from the back of the plane, one person clapped their hands together.  Then another.  And another, and soon we were all clapping but it wasn’t a joyous, celebratory applause.  It was slow and mournful and sobering.  The soldier seemed embarrassed but looked back at the plane filled with grateful Americans and, just before he stepped out the door, nodded.

Most of the people around me had tears in their eyes and I had that suffocating feeling in my chest that happens when I feel overwhelmed.  I, too, was wiping the tears from my own eyes as I walked up the jetbridge and on to my connecting flight.

I felt very proud to be an American. 

I also suddenly felt very angry.  I don’t understand this war.  As many times as it’s been explained to me (by some of you,) I don’t understand it.  I feel deceived and manipulated and let down.  (And, please, I’m not asking for further explanation here, or political debate, I’ve been down that road too many times.)

I also felt ashamed.  Ashamed for sometimes forgetting that we are at war.  That men die.  That boys die.  That families are devastated and wives are forced to raise children alone and children grow up fatherless.  That mothers and fathers who always assumed they would go first have to face the unthinkable tragedy of losing a child.  And that best friends are forced to carry the remains of a fallen soldier on an American Airlines jet from Nashville to Dallas.