A Tale of Two Soldiers

Now he rides his bicycle to class and bounces on weekends. He has told Young that he won't openly protest the war, but Soden agreed to enlist in Iraq Veterans Against the War. They are the only members in Kansas City. Like Young, he says he's anti-war but supports the troops because he was a soldier. As for his direct challenge of the president, Soden says he wouldn't do it again. "There's still a lot of things I question, but I don't do it the same way."

After throwing out the Saturday-night drunk at the Granfalloon, Soden took his usual post by the door, scanning the crowd for other threats. It has become an involuntary reaction since he left the war zone.

Almost two years after he was injured, Tomas Young woke up on a Tuesday and got ready to go to the Veterans Affairs hospital. He yanked one leg and then the other over the side of his bed and pulled himself into a waterproof wheelchair. He rolled the chair into an oversized shower stall, where he sat and washed.

He moved back to bed to dry himself, then pulled on a gray T-shirt and a pair of warm-up pants. The pants were seamless to prevent sores and baggy enough to cover the catheter strapped to his leg. He tugged a pair of low-top Chuck Taylors (high-tops no longer fit) onto his feet. He moved to his regular wheelchair and secured his feet in a pair of homemade stirrups. He fastened a seatbelt loosely across his waist. He pulled up to a dining room table with a pill organizer. Four times a day, he takes a total of three kinds of pain suppressants, two anti-spasm medications and one antidepressant. He swallowed some tablets.

He lit a cigarette.

Young takes care of most of his morning routine himself. Brie has started waiting tables again, working nights at the Majestic Theatre in Zona Rosa. Twice a week, she takes him to the VA hospital for rehabilitation.

The house has been decorated according to the couple's own patriotic vision. There's Dubya toilet paper in the bathroom, a Bob Marley flag in the kitchen. Living room shelves hold his Purple Heart, a folded American flag and their wedding presents to each other: for him, a framed, autographed picture and cigarette filter from Hunter S. Thompson; for her, a guitar autographed by feminist rocker Ani DiFranco.

When it was time to leave, he opened the garage door and rolled down a homemade ramp to a handicapped-accessible van. At the bottom of the ramp, one of the wheels on his chair brushed the wall. The chair pitched him forward. Tossed against the seatbelt, he nearly toppled over. After three tries, he aligned his wheels onto the van's retractable lift and rolled inside. He heaved himself into the passenger seat. When they reached the VA, Young repeated the whole operation in reverse.

He pushed his wheels along an inclined sidewalk toward the front door. Near the entrance, his hands went numb, so Brie pushed him. The numbness may have been a side effect of the heavy lead poisoning that doctors recently found, caused by the shrapnel in his knee — more stress contributing to his recent mood swings and crying spells. In a few weeks, he may have another surgery to replace the joint.

Young took the elevator to an office in the VA basement, where he met Rob Garmon, a stocky physical therapist. Young swung his butt from his wheelchair onto a blue stretching mat resembling a low king-sized bed. He reached down to lift one leg and then the other onto the mat. His left leg caught the bottom of the mat, making a thudding sound.

"Be careful now," Garmon said casually.

They worked on reaching exercises to increase his mobility and then self-rescue techniques for when he falls out of the chair. Then they practiced "log rolls," Young hooking one foot over the other and flopping onto his stomach. "That used to be a bitch," Young said optimistically.

They moved to a weight machine, where Young pulled a bar toward him to strengthen his back. He laughed. "I'm laughing because it's not how it used to be. I used to be able to do pushups, and now I'm doing girl weights."

After the appointment, his spirits seemed improved. He will practice pushups at home to increase strength — a huge advancement from the smaller neck exercises he had been assigned to do weeks earlier.

Near the entrance, Young piloted his chair past a sea of older veterans. When he reached the sliding glass door, he sped up, passing larger-than-life portraits of George W. Bush and Dick Cheney.

Every week, this part of his visit is the same. Without looking up or looking around to see who he might offend, he raises his middle finger toward the smiling faces: his personal salute.