“Did I tell you our father passed away?” Regis asked. “Because that is really intuitive of you.”
“Not intuition. “ Dalton peered across Regis to the other solider who was sleeping. After lifting a finger, he took the book from Regis’ lap, lifted a pen from his own front pocket, opened the cover and began to write on the first empty space he saw.
Regis waited, he thought Dalton’s behavior very odd. First quiet, then nervous, now talkative and sharing some sort of message. Then again, he thought, the poor kid was going off to war. Things made a bit more sense to Regis after thinking about that being the case. Dalton was nervous. Perhaps it was some secretive deployment, and Dalton was rushed out before he could bid his family goodbye.
A deployment, a prelude to some sort of conflict wouldn’t surprise Regis. After all tension had been high between US and Russia. Even his father made mention earlier that it was unprecedented and the worst he had ever seen.
Dalton needed to share something with Regis. Something the other soldier couldn’t know he told him. He probably was giving Regis the contact information for his mother.
After he was finished, Dalton slipped his pen back in his pocket, closed the cover of the book, handed it to Regis and stared forward.
Regis flipped open the cover. He expected to see a name, a number, maybe even an email address, what he didn’t expect to see was the first sentence.
‘I shouldn’t be telling you this, but you’ll know soon enough…’
That sentence was followed by a passage that not only took his breath away, it made every fiber of his being freeze. He closed the cover of the book, shifted his eyes once to Dalton and ran his hand over his mouth to hide his heavy exhaled.
‘Dear God,’ Regis thought.
Then after making the sign of the cross, he closed his eyes and prayed.
GROUND ZERO CITIZEN – One
Washington D.C.
Since receiving rave reviews from his mother in regards to his peanut butter and ramen noodle dish, Terrence Hill always wanted to be a chef. Not just some cook in a kitchen flipping burgers and frying wings, he wanted to be the top dog, the one who ran the kitchen, the one everyone called, “Chef.”
More than a great cook, Terrence was a great guy.
The only son of a single working mother, Terrence not only got above average grades in school, but he worked to help his mother pay the bills.
He wanted badly to go to college, more so, culinary school, but it wasn’t in the cards when he was younger. His mother developed breast cancer when Terrance was twenty-one and he held down two jobs to pay the household bills and get her medical treatment.
School would come, it really would.
It was during that rough time caring for his mother, working part time at the discount store and almost full time at Pasty’s Restaurant when he met his future wife, Macy.
She was the same age, was working as an aide in the hospital while going to school.
He envied that, while she envied his strength.
His mother beat the cancer, went back to work, and Terrance continued at the diner.
Three years later, right after her graduation and becoming an RN, Terrence married Macy.
He got a better job at a better restaurant, still making low wages. The dream of being a chef still far away. He could be head cook, line supervisor, but without that education, he would never be chef.
Terrence shared his dream with Macy. She didn’t ridicule, she knew how well he cooked. After all she gained twenty pounds off his cooking the first three years of marriage.
By the time he was thirty-two Terrence had two baby daughters under three and his mother moved in to help.
His dream of being a chef waned, until that fateful snowy night. It was his youngest daughter’s sixth birthday and he wanted to get home. Like most people in the food and beverage industry, Terrence switched jobs a lot. At that point, he was working at a bistro that closed at eight. It wasn’t creative cooking, just burgers, sandwiches and other simple stuff.
Washington D.C. was hit was a crippling storm. Everything shut down. Half of his employees didn’t show and they only had three customers all day.
Terrence wasn’t even sure his beat up Toyota would make it home. He was closing down, the whole street was deserted, and the snow blew hard making it difficult to see. Yet, it was hard to not see when a motorcade showed up.
Four SUV’s and a limo.
Only one person had that type of security in D.C.
A CIA agent accompanied a man that identified himself as the Secretary of Defense. The Secretary told Terrence that the roads were completely impassible and it would take a good couple hours to get to the White House. The president was starving. “What can we do?” the secretary asked.
Terrence replied, “I’ll get my butt cooking.”
Fryers were down, but still warm, he would have everything ready to go again in ten minutes.
He asked the agents, secretary and president what they wanted and they simply replied, that since they already were putting him out, make what he wanted.
Terrence filled with nerves, ignored the menu items and made what he knew he cooked best. After all, the president was seated in his establishment.
It was a bistro and his stockpile was limited. He started them off with his personal specialty of Buffalo Ranch wings, while he made them main entrees.
Everything went off without a hitch. Food was praised and appreciated. Terrence was on cloud nine. He got to not only meet the president, he fed him as well.
Weeks went by, Terrence didn’t think much about it until he was called into the owner’s office. Apparently the Secretary of Defense came by for some of those wings that weren’t on the menu. At the owner’s request, Terrance made them a staple item for the Secretary of Defense only. He came in twice a week for a takeout order of wings.
One day he asked to speak to Terrence. The secretary took interest, asking him about his life. Two weeks later a letter came from the best culinary school not only in D.C., but the top ten in the country. He had a full scholarship, courtesy of the Secretary of Defense.
His dream became a reality. There was no way he could repay him, or thank him enough.
“Keep making those wings,” the secretary told him. “Follow that dream. My son followed his, others dismissed him because he didn’t go to college, but he’s doing what he wanted.”
Making a promise he would make those wings for the secretary wherever he worked, Terrence went to school. With his experience and now education, he was writing his own job ticket as Chef.
For the final year of school he worked at the best hotel in the city, securing the chef job there upon graduation. He had been there for two years when he put in his notice.
He was going to the White House thanks to a recommendation from the Secretary of Defense.
When the morning of war came, he had four days remaining at the hotel. His apartment was a mess, they were moving into a house and boxes were everywhere. After all, he was going to be making the type of money that afforded them the American dream, two kids, a spouse and a mortgage.
It was an early day, Terrence didn’t mind. He would be getting to the White House early when he started there so he had to get used to it.
It wasn’t a typical ‘chef’ duty, going in and getting the breakfast buffet ready, but his main cook was out all week.
Terrance would go to the hotel, unload the deliveries, start the buffet and leave once staff arrived since he had to be back later in the day for meetings.
He kissed his kids and wife goodbye and headed out.
He was a thirty minute ride from work when traffic was good, which was a rarity in D.C. On this particular morning, there was very little traffic.