PART 3 - THE SCROLL ON MY SHOULDER

Carlos came over before either of us moved.

He was the only person under the tent who didn’t look entertained.

“You both understand this is controlled,” he said. “First tap, verbal stop, or my call ends it. Immediately.”

“Understood,” I said.

Ethan nodded.

Carlos looked at him a second longer.

“Immediately, Ethan.”

“I heard you.”

While Carlos cleared the mats, Denise caught my wrist.

“You don’t have to do this.”

“I know.”

“Then why are you?”

I looked toward Ethan.

His friends were already positioning themselves near the mat.

One had his phone raised.

“Because walking away and being pushed away are two different things.”

I had come directly from an Army ceremony earlier that afternoon and hadn’t had time to change before Denise persuaded me to attend the fundraiser.

My lightweight jacket still covered most of my uniform blouse.

I walked toward the mat and reached for the zipper.

Ethan was joking with one of his friends.

Richard had returned to smiling.

The crowd shifted closer.

I slipped the jacket from my shoulders.

That was when the atmosphere changed.

An older man near the first row stopped in the middle of lifting his coffee.

His eyes locked on my left shoulder.

Walt Griffin, my seventy-eight-year-old neighbor and a Vietnam veteran, had been standing farther back near the auction tables.

He straightened too.

Neither man looked at Ethan.

They were looking at the same thing.

The scroll on my shoulder.

I folded the jacket across my forearm.

The older stranger took one step toward the mat.

His face had lost every trace of amusement.

“Wait,” he said quietly.

The people nearest him turned.

His eyes never left the insignia.

Then he pointed toward my shoulder.

“That scroll…”

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