Window

After visiting Dad’s grave in the national cemetery, I decided to drive up the road to the row of old barracks. I had been there once before and was looking forward to visiting the grounds again.

Barracks Row as it is locally known was home to the 10th Regiment of Cavalry. They were composed of Black horse soldiers, commonly referred to as “Buffalo Soldiers.”

I pulled up near a building that is known as the hospital barracks.

The sound of my wooden heeled cowboy boots echoed on the rough plank flooring. It brought a sense of nostalgia and a hint of sadness to think any number of soldiers passed their final breath in one of the open-bay wards.

Jus’ like the time before, I felt as if I were entering a crowded facility. While I knew no one other than myself was there, I couldn’t help but be impressed by the thought that I wasn’t actually alone.

Then my thoughts turned to Albert Einstein and his theory of parallel universes. While I’ve never fully understood what it was he was proposing in his mathematic equations, I did understand his notion that the past, present and future are side-by-side in an ever-present time-line.

This caused me to have an even crazier thought: perhaps I might be a ghostly feature to a sick cavalry soldier, who couldn’t focus on me, but detected my presence in the corner of his eye. In short, the present had crossed with the passed for an instant in time.

I laughed at myself as I continued to wonder through the ground floor ward.

There was rope across the stairwell leading to the second floor. Hanging from the rope was sign: do not enter.

Since no one was around I stepped over the barrier and proceeded up the steps. Once on the second floor, I found nothing remarkable about the place, other than it had been vandalized by perhaps some teens using the building as a place to party and make-out.

Back down stairs, I wondered over to one of the two, multi-paned windows that over look the parade ground. The glass was obviously crafted by hand as it made everything wavy and disfigured.

As I started to turn from the window, I saw a line of 16 horses and riders forming in a column of two, trotting out onto the parade field. It was a group of reenactors practicing.

They were only a couple hundred yards away as the squad leader put the unit through their paces. I was familiar with this activity as I had once been a member of the 5th Regiment of Cavalry, Reorganized at Warren AFB, in Wyoming.

Then from my left side came a young African-American man, no older than 20 years, perhaps. He was dressed in a traditional cavalry uniform of dark blue trousers and shirt, cloth suspenders, and boots with the leg of his pants tucked in them.

On his head was what looked to be a very well used forage cap. Obviously he was dressed the part for whatever event was taking place out on the parade grounds.

He looked up at me, smiled and nodded. I returned his smile and nod.

It suddenly occurred to me that I was about to let my chance to talk with one of these reenactors get away. So I rushed out of the build and down the steps.

I looked in the direction he had been walking, but he was nowhere to be seen.

Then it dawned on me that the unit on the parade field was no long there as well. I was busy thinking about the fact that they had been able to withdraw from grassy flat so fast, that I didn’t hear the ranger approach me from behind.

“Sir, we’re about to close for the night,” he said.

I jumped as I turned towards him and I must have had a wild look on my face as I made eye contact with him.

He smiled slightly and asked, “You saw them, didn’t you?”

“I — I’m not sure what I saw,” I answered, still feeling a bit confused.

“Yeah,” the ranger replied, “It happens like that.”