Kyle

As I read the story about the "Marlboro Man" on World Net Daily, it reminded me of a Viet Nam vet that I knew some years ago. It was during the time I was a paramedic in Alaska. His name was Kyle. He was a "regular", we were called to pick him up for a trip to the ER, usually to have his stomach pumped and be put on more medication.

I was one of the very few that could talk to him while he was in a state of having drank too much and taken most of his medication. The senario was usually the same, he would be hunkered down on his porch, his mind consumed by what he had experienced in the war and just about everyone looked like the enemy.

Everytime he would have a loaded gun, no matter how many the police took away from him, he was always able to get another. He was defending his position and desperately trying to get his buddies medical help. He trusted no one, for in his mind he was surrounded by the enemy.

We finally figured out that it was my red hair that to him, made me look different from everyone else. Usually when this would happen he had been awake for days, his mind clouded with alcohol and meds, and replaying his experiences from his time in Viet Nam. He would usually awaken his neighbors with screams of "Medic, I need a medic over here, my buddy is dyin"!"

None of the cops could get anywhere near him. But I could. I have lost count of how many times that this scenario was replayed. It never got any better for him. But at least I could get close to him and defuse the situation. He trusted me, and I did my best to never let him down. Even when I was not on duty, the police would come and get me, to go and help Kyle.

I could take his gun away from him, after having him aim it at me. It was always loaded and he was always ready to shoot. But like I said he trusted me. He knew, somewhere inside, that I would come and take care of his buddy and get him out of there.

Then I would stay with him in the ER, while he had his stomach pumped. He would hang onto my hand and cry because he wasn't able to save his friend. He would thank me for doing all I could to try and save his friend and to get him to safety.

I saw a picture of him once, of the person that used to be before he went overseas. A proud and handsome young man, with life and light in his eyes. What I saw in the reality of the time was very different. A worn out and gaunt old man who looked like he was 100 years old. The light had gone out of his eyes and was replaced with a saddness that went straight through to his soul. At the time he was in his 40's.

I vividly remember the last time I saw Kyle. As usual he was on his porch fighting off the enemy and trying to save his friend. With everyone else out of sight and me walking towards him, he became very calm. He stood up, which was highly unusual, and stated "I can't save my buddy, I promised him I would, but I can't. I am so tired and I can't do this anymore. Forgive me."

Before I could get to him, he raised the gun to his temple and pulled the trigger.