The tin is rusty barely opening but, he has kept it for all these years as a prized possession hardly ever actually putting it down. There is a dent in one side of the tin where the bullet stopped just short of his heart.
The day he landed on the beach is still fresh in his mind after all these years as he walks along the beach he can still smell the gun powder, hear the bullets flying by his ears as it was still going on if only in his mind.
His frail body still wants to hit the dirt as the sounds bring back the memories of the landing for him. There are still signs of the battle looking like wooden crosses sticking out of the rain soaked sand. Barbed wire entwined upon them rusty and dripping rain as it dripped the crimson rain of the landing.
Each year he has made the trip to walk the beach where the tin saved his life and so many of his brothers in arms lost their lives. Tom always felt a great regret for surviving while so many others were given their medal posthumously. The Colonel had insisted he take his Silver Star despite his pleas to ignore his heroic actions, charging two high ground firing positions at his own risk.
He didn't exactly have a choice as behind him was water, blood and dead bodies as many of his brothers he trained with, traded fishing stories with and played poker with were lying on the sand. Many of them were not moving while others were screaming in agonizing pain from the trauma of war.
After getting his Silver Star he was given a field promotion to Staff Sergeant and reassigned to a training station in the rear area. Training the replacements who were coming in before they were sent forward to the front lines of the battle, many didn't return while others returned to thank him for his training.
It was during this time that he met his wife of forty years, Janice who gave him four wonderful children and six grandchildren before she passed away from cancer. That's why he was walking the beach alone this year; she had usually done it with him except for the last few years before her death. He had to make the trip alone for the last four years as she had insisted he make the journey regardless of how sick she was.
Each visit to the beach he would put a small handful of sand into the tin, each handful covered a small token or memory of that year of his life, a ring, a token from Coney Island, something of value to him.
The last few years they were small memories a quarter he found while playing with his grandkids at the local beach. This year he stuck his left hand into the cold water at the beach to get his wedding ring off before putting in the handful of sand.
His way of finally paying tribute to the life he had with Janice thanks to that little piece of tin. He put a handful of the rain soaked sand over the ring packing it down into the rusty tin slowly tipping it over to let out the excess water from the sand. He packed the tin back into his luggage before heading to the airport.
When he landed back in the United States the customs agent asked to see the tin, inquiring as to what was in the now heavy, rusty tin. Tom replied, "My life sir, my life."
As Previously Published on Helium.com Learn more about this author, J. Lee Kenser.: Short stories: The past
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