[ RF ] Take one more step . Just one .

When I was going through my rebellious teen phase, which everyone does at some point in that hormonal maelstrom, I remember the biggest fight I had with my mom. It wasn ’ t about some crazy hair style, since I kept mine buzzed at a 1 on the sides and a 2 on the top, and it wasn ’ t about wanting to drop out of school to become an artist. 
 
 Hell, in most regards I was a boring and pleasant teenager. I wanted to be an archeologist. What kinda kid dreams about that? 
 
 I didn ’ t buck my daily routine, or my daily chores, or my schoolwork. 
 
 What I bucked was the smallest boundary. 
 
 Literally. 
 
 If I was told I couldn ’ t go a certain route or follow my natural curiosity ( which was tempered enough, since I was all about self-preservation ) I ’ d become so stubborn a mule would blush. 
 
 That big fight had been at a literal fork in the path while our small family of three had gone out for an evening walk on a newly completed bike path through the woods behind our cul-de-sac. It had only been officially opened for a week before we had our chance to walk it, and that fork was just before the path either into the unpaved wood path meant for mountain bikes or the flat paved path for street bikes and pedestrians. 
 
 As we ’ d approached no one had spoken, which was normal for my reserved family, and I ’ d naturally veered to the right side of the path which would take me onto the unpaved portion. My parents had veered to the left, and just as we neared the fork my mother had begun to give me the stern you-know-what-I-want-you-to-do look I was far too familiar with. It often worked, since I really am an amicable person at heart, but this was one of those few moments when my only rebellious tendency was being put to the test and I would not be moved from my path. I ’ d merely raised my eyebrows, bit my tongue, and continued to walk along my merry way. I ’ d say my parents made it about five feet and I six before they stopped and my mother said just a touch louder than her speaking voice, “ Joshua, stop right there! Come back here and walk with your family! ” 
 
 Now, I stopped. 
 
 I always stopped when she spoke with that tone. 
 
 But I sure as sugar wouldn ’ t be joining them if they were taking the boring route. 
 
 “ We should walk where there ’ s more nature. ” I ’ d replied with crossed arms. 
 
 “ This isn ’ t up for discussion, young man. We are having a leisurely stroll then finishing our chores. ” 
 
 “ The stroll will be just as leisurely if we go this way. ” I ’ d said as I began to walk again. 
 
 “ Joshua James, do not keep walking that way! ” She ’ d raised her voice to one I knew meant business. 
 
 I ’ d stopped. Looked back at her. I can ’ t quite remember what I ’ d thought, but I remember the feeling that had bubbled up from my gut. It was the same thing I always felt when a boundary was placed which I whole heartedly opposed. It was a bodily pulse of righteous objection. 
 
 I ’ d taken another step toward the woods. 
 
 “ Joshua James! Take one more step, ” Her glare had implied consequences followed. “ Just. One. ” 
 
 And I think the reason this fight stands out in my memory is because of how that made me feel. Not only brimming with righteous objection, but almost overwhelmingly sure I would take another step no matter what would follow. No matter what, my gut always said that next step was just going to be another in the direction I was already going. 
 
 So I ’ d walked into the woods without them. Not to say she was right, but not a week later a young boy about my age was abducted along that path by a psycho. Raped, murdered, mutilated. Whole nine yards. They found him buried about a hundred yards from the path under a bunch of dead possums and cats. The psycho was killed by inmates after being sentenced to life. 
 
 But I wasn ’ t that boy. 
 
 I was Joshua James Witherspoon, and I would always take one more step down the path I ’ d chosen. 
 
 Weirdest thing about the situation is that I heard that phrase a lot in my life. I heard it when the first real girlfriend I had, and she was a piece of work, hit me with an ultimatum of getting married or walking away. 
 
 I liked her, sure, but I was only twenty, still working through college – Still going to be an archeologist, too. – And had only been with her for two years. It ’ s not like I was a party animal and didn ’ t want to be ‘ tied-down, ’ but I knew that being married and probably having kids just wasn ’ t in me. Not at twenty, anyway. So I ’ d gotten up and said, “ If that ’ s how it has to be. Thanks for being straight. Good luck. ” 
 
 And I had started toward the door. She was baffled, since I am sure she didn ’ t expect me to just up and take the exit. 
 
 “ Joshua James! Don ’ t you dare take one more step! ” 
 
 I already had the handle gripped, but I stopped and looked back at her. She was a fiery little thing when her temper got up, and I could see that rage coming out. 
 
 “ Just one more step. That ’ s it. Then we ’ re through. ” 
 
 I didn ’ t bother answering. Just raised my eyebrows like I had all those years ago on the path with my mother, then I was out the door. 
 
 I ’ d heard it when I refused job offers, accusations from colleagues, even jokingly with my small circle of friends when we ’ d be drinking or training. 
 
 It wasn ’ t always negative. As time went on, I heard it less and less. I never had to use it, myself, and I ’ d explicitly told folks on my digs that I wouldn ’ t threaten them with not coming back on if they walked away. Some of the areas we dug were dangerous. 
 
 Just look at Aleppo. The place is a hell hole, but when a precarious calm came over the area and peace keepers were plentiful our team was in the dirt finding pieces of history that could be saved before the gears of war smashed them into oblivion. When most of Iraq was annexed by the Iranians and Baghdad was no longer under the thumb of destructive extremists, our team was there with official recognition of the Iranian government to preserve their proud history. 
 
 “ If you feel like you ’ ve done all you can do, I ’ m not going to loom over you and say ‘ don ’ t you take another step, just one more and you ’ re through, ’ because that ’ s a load of horse shit. ” I ’ d said before we flew into the Caucuses, “ If you back out I ’ m not going to be your professional sword of Damocles. We all have limits, folks, and if you think that stepping away from this is your best option then by God I want you to do it. I ’ ll not have a thing to say about it when someone asks, I ’ ll only have words on what professional exposure you ’ ve had with me. Cut and dry. ” 
 
 A couple people had decided they weren ’ t comfortable going to Georgia for a dig, since we were after some Karian forts that had only been found by satellite imaging a few weeks before. Georgia was a powder keg for Russian sleeper agents and incognito rabble rousers. Trouble could turn up at any time, just like our Middle East digs. But that wouldn ’ t stop me. I ’ d already taken steps toward my goal. I wouldn ’ t change direction. 
 
 Things went wrong on that dig. The Russians had been planning another stab at Georgia since the last one had gone off the rails. While we were out on the dig a mess of gunfire and explosions had seemed to erupt all around us. There were some Georgian guards with us, just as a precaution, and I guess it drew attention from the Russians. All I remember after the initial explosions was one of the guards telling me to get down, then an explosion seemed to pick me up and toss me across the site like a child throws a toy during a tantrum. 
 
 Turns out I was near a mortar impact. The guard that had shouted at me was killed instantly, but I was lucky enough to wake up in a Russian hospital under the care of a grim and mean nurse that poked me with needles far more than I think was necessary. 
 
 The United States had to negotiate for my team ’ s, and my own, safe return. Most of my team made it back without a problem, but it was not as easy for me. I was in Intensive Care. The explosion had broken my back, so I was told by an equally grim and unfriendly Russian translator. 
 
 Eventually I did get shipped back, though I had to be transferred to a United Nations medical convoy at the Turkish border, then ferried to Greece, then packed up to Italy, through France, into England, then a very long and painful trip on a carrier back home. I ’ ve been cooped up in an in-patient program complete with physical rehabilitation since I got back. I ’ ve had so many surgeries I stopped counting. The doctors were all sure to tell me there was a chance I ’ d never walk again, but they ’ d do all they could. 
 
 That was almost a year ago. 
 
 My father is long gone, died of a heart attack after my first dig in Crete, but my mother has hung in there all these years. She ’ s been with me at the hospital every day. I never would ’ ve thought how much she cared, but she insists that she has to be there. 
 
 “ I was there when you took your first steps, Joshua James Witherspoon, ” She was saying just before rehab today. “ And so help me God I *will* be there when you get better. ” 
 
 I was struggling to force my legs to hold me. It ’ s miraculous what we can do in regards to medical science, these days, and I ’ d made marked progress in rehab. I could move my legs, but they didn ’ t always do what I wanted. 
 
 But I finally got them moving under me, and I put both feet flat on the ground. My mother ’ s eyes were glistening with tears as the rehab trainer encouraged me, but you know what really drove me? 
 
 It was my mother glaring at me much like she had the day on the path. 
 
 “ Joshua James, take one more step. ” She'd choked past her tears as I worked my leg forward, “ Just. One. ”
