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Donny hated the Fourth of July. Maybe it seemed strange for a vet, but he did. It wasn’t the picnics, or the appearances the band made at various midday events, or the special looks people gave him because they knew he was a vet. That was all fine. Most of it was fine.
It was the godforsaken fireworks display that filled him with a sense of dread so heavy he thought he’d snap.
On the first Fourth Donny and Julia spent in their then-new house, Julia was almost as scared as Donny was when his reality was, essentially, replaced with a flashback. She did her best, and it was good enough, but now, a couple of years later, her methods were refined.
The fireworks were scheduled for 9:00 that year and were being set off from a park much too close to Novitski household. Donny and Julia, sitting on a couch in the living room, were as prepared as they possibly could be, unable to stop themselves from watching the clock.
8:59.
“You’re going to be alright, Donny,” Julia said reassuringly, touching her husband’s hand. She could see the anxiousness in his eyes as he stared ahead and swallowed hard.
“I know. I just...I wish it wouldn’t happen.”
9:00. Nothing happened. 9:01. Nothing yet. Every minute late felt like an hour; each time the minute hand moved to the 12, Julia found herself holding her breath; each tick of the little second hand made Donny so increasingly afraid he thought he was going to start crying before his episode even started.
The fireworks started four and a half minutes late that year. 36 seconds after 9:04, an ear-splitting crack sounded from outside and the house shook. But that crack wasn’t a firework, no, that crack was the grenade that Donny dropped in the trench, the grenade that killed his best friend. The grenade he killed his best friend with .
Just like that, Donny was back in inches of mud and under heavy fire in the Pacific. Debilitating fear gripped him in a choke hold, and he couldn’t talk or move out of his position- curled in on himself and his head in his hands. This time around, it wasn’t so much sight, but that really didn’t make it any easier. The couch and the living room were barely in Donny’s conception of reality. The rain pounded in his head, the smell of gunfire and saturated earth swirled in his nostrils, the sound of the grenade burst in his ears so loud that it seemed like he’d go deaf.
And even though it wasn’t visually surrounding him, Donny remembered . He remembered the scream of “get out!” that ripped through his throat, he remembered rolling away, he remembered looking beside him and feeling sick to his stomach when Michael wasn’t there, he remembered sitting in the mud all through the night trying to keep together what was left of the body, he remembered shivering in his heavy, soaking wet uniform, he remembered not being able to tell what was rain and what was his own tears.
Somewhere in his mind, Donny was aware of how much he hated how out-of-control he was. He wanted to take his brain by the reigns, but he couldn’t. He was stuck. He was paralyzed. He was trapped in his mind.
Frankly, Julia felt overwhelmingly helpless, too, as she watched Donny shaking with his head in his hands, wondering in horror what was possibly happening inside him. But as the only person there for Donny, Julia had a job. The sooner she got him grounded, the better.
“Donny, Donny, you’re in your living room in your house. You’re with me, Julia,” she stated gently yet firmly, having found from previous experience that stating what was real helped bring Donny back. She repeated it over and over. “Donny, can I touch you? Can I rub your back?” Julia asked in the same gentle yet firm voice. She found that asking was the best decision, because sometimes he needed to be held to realize that if he’s in Julia’s arms he couldn’t be in the Solomon Islands, while other times one touch would make him lash out. It took a couple of repetitions, but the question seemed to have registered with Donny as his head twitched in response. It didn’t look like much, but Julia knew it was the only nod he could manage. She rubbed circles on his back with one hand and let him hold on to the other as she continued to tell him he was in his living room with her, Julia. Although, with the growing lump in her throat, it was getting harder to say.
It felt like an eternity for both Donny and Julia before he was grounded. Julia could hardly bear to look at Donny- it looked like his life was sucked out of him and left behind a pale, tired, broken shell of a man.
That wasn’t far off from how Donny felt. His body felt heavy and physically drained, and in the moment, standing up ever again was off the table. Emotionally, too, he was spent, and his brain was a tangled mush of thoughts while fear still lingered in the pit of his stomach. Donny was too exhausted to even try and hold back his crying, and the only move he made was shifting into Julia’s embrace. She held him and stroked his hair as he calmed down, unintelligibly muttering to himself. Julia swore that, somewhere in there, she heard “it should have been me” and had to hold back tears of her own.
Despite their hugging, it was not romantic. Donny was clutching Julia’s shirt too desperately and crying too shakily for it to be anything but harrowing and ugly. But it was real, and it was life. Unbeknownst to an America that was smitten with a band and a sad story, this is what happened behind the glamour of fame.
“Julia, I’m sorry about this,” Donny said, his voice so tired that he couldn’t talk without it cracking.
“Donny, you know you don’t have to-”
“No, Julia, you should be able to stand outside and look at the Fourth of July fireworks with your guy, like everyone else can,” Donny managed, choking on his words.
“We’re different from everyone else. We always have been, and I’m okay with that,” Julia assured him, but she felt him shake his head.
“You don’t deserve this.” It was stated too matter-of-factly for Julia’s heart to stay intact.
“I want this, Donny. I want you , and I’d take you over fireworks any day. Don’t ever forget it.” Donny didn’t say anything, but Julia felt him nod slightly, and it was good enough.
And while spectators stood outside admiring the celebration of America, the veteran cried in his wife’s arms, rocking back and forth on the couch. The irony was not lost on soldier nor gold star wife.