The Brain Speech ~ Remembered

(June 6)

         We are made of three things. Breath, body, and brain. Society stacks a lot on what our bodies can do. But don’t assume that your brain is there for nothing. It is your most powerful weapon.

         Boy, those words would come running in on him right now. But he’d allow it this time because his train of thought was running out of cars. Connor’s chin dropped to his chest in a brief moment of relief.

He felt the moistness of blood where his chin touched, his skin opened to the tender muscle beneath. His mind had been traveling from one thought to the other, blinding his nerves to the pain as the skin had been burned away. And thank goodness, he had a lot of thoughts to choose from. He’d had twenty-four years to read, watch, and listen, building up the maze of knowledge the world had to offer him.

         Every body has its limit.

         Didn’t he know it. For all the tough talk he’d been putting out, Connor wasn’t positive how much more of this he could endure.

         Not ‘everybody’ but ‘every body’. The brain, the brain is different. It’s more expansive and adaptable. The only one to set a limit on it is you.

         “Pick your head up!” the voice shouted with a yank of Connor’s hair. Connor’s chin rose, clenched with the rest of his jaw, as his green eyes met black ones. They glowered and glinted, happy at the sight of him. “I want to make your eyes dance.”

         And the jagged ends of the probes hit his chest again. Connor’s muscles seized, everything turning hot white in the agony of five seconds. He involuntarily jerked back as the probes were retracted. His head fell back and he felt the heat of sun on his forehead. But he needed to put it out of his mind. Where… where had he left off?

         But you can push. You can push and push, always keeping that limit in front of you. The body may reach its limit, but the brain won’t.

         Right now, his brain was having trouble pushing through anything. Connor drew his eyebrows together, imagining his thoughts collecting- however roughly- the same way. Four days, this had been his routine; pain, thought, rest, pain, and repeat. It was the cycle of his captors, supposed members of the jihadist group his company had tracked into southern Syria.

         “How many men did you bring with you?” they took turns asking him. “Which base do you report to? What is your station? Are there any convoys headed this way?”

         Any questions he didn’t answer- and that had been all of them- got him an electrocution, an injection of ecstasy to induce seizing, or a severed finger.

         Four days. Connor recalled, ticking the four fingers of his right hand that were left. What’ve I… learned in that… time?

         God filled this world with facts that show us truth. It is through our brains that we take in these facts and gain our opinions. If you want those truths and opinions, then you soak up all the knowledge and wisdom that comes your way.

         There were five different men he’d seen, two of them his interrogators. They answered to someone else via their communications, though. A modified CB radio transmitter, no more then 3 watts of power, Connor was sure. They were in the skirts of Mount Al-Duruz, which would allow them longer range… but not long enough.

You use your brain by taking it all in. Anyway you can, from anywhere and anyone you find yourself faced with.

         “Those eyes.” The voice yanked Connor’s head up again by his exhausted neck. “They jump around like marbles as the electricity jerks your body around like a toy.”

         This interrogator liked to talk, paint pictures of others pain with his tongue. The other, he was quieter, more direct. Connor preferred the former. He brought him more to work with, more information to gain.

         “A few simple answers, my friend.” The voice was taunting Connor now with the promise of release. “A few meager words, and I make this end for you.”

         Don’t ignore what God’s using to teach you, to make you better. He is a teacher, He doesn’t stop. So don’t you stop being a student.

         Connor could almost hear his mother’s twang bouncing the words up and down off her tongue. And it was enough to crack a grin through his dry lips. “Do I look like I’m begging? Try listening to my mother for a few hours. See if your ears don’t bled.”

The brash whipping across Connor’s cheek broke their conversation. The terrorist gave a dry cackle. “No respect among you Americans for the elderly.”

No respect? It was Mother’s lecture running through his head, hour upon hour. His mother was a lecture. And he called her Mother, because you showed her respect. And you listened when she talked to you… no matter how long she drew it out. Connor swallowed at the sting across his skin, refocusing his mind. He had heard this speech since he was seven, prepping for the district spelling bee…

Never stop learning, never not take something into your brain.

His room faced the west… he hadn’t seen a sunrise the length of his captivity. He’d heard a lot of wind, placing them on the north side of the hills…

Your brain doesn’t run out of room. It is a coffer, meant to be filled over and over; there’s always room for more.

More. Connor was convincing his tired cells, no matter how weak the word felt. Keep watching, storing it away, with everything else. It’ll come in handy.

No one can tell you not to take that knowledge, or stop you from doing it.

Connor couldn’t help himself. He grinned again. His reward was another sharp jolt, this time below his ribs. He gasped, the shockwaves caging his lungs, robbing him of air.

“You are Army.” That hated voice stated at him.

Connor blinked up, only to feel moist spit wet his bruised face. It was as hot as the air… he would have to get himself captured in the summer. Syria carried a delicate contrast of climates, between its Mediterranean coast and meeting the deserts in the east. He had to be right on the edge…

“This!” his captor gripped his neck this time, keeping Connor upright, for their eyes to meet again. The captor brought a piece of paper up beside his face. A crumpled map, coated in plastic to avoid water damage.

“Your handwriting, I think.” The terrorist nodded, a dark and dirty finger poking the paper. “You wrote these symbols… what do they mean?”

Yet, no matter how much, or how little, what’s there is yours to keep. Once something’s inside your brain, no one can get to it…

Connor eyed the paper, trying to synchronize his breathing once more. It was so painful just to breath… What else could he do?

It’s hidden away, unmeasured by others. Open the door if you want, but they are powerless to break it down.

“Whi-,” Connor formed the words slowly. “Which symbols?”

The paper and finger came closer, expectantly. Connor spotted them, knowing their meaning instantly.

What’s inside is yours.

Connor lashed forward, seizing the map and finger in his mouth. He bit at both like an animal, tasting the oil of skin, and iron of the plastic and blood. His captor howled, jerking his finger back. But Connor held firm.

Use your brain. Protect it. Nurture it, and don’t you dare neglect it.

Connor munched the map between his teeth, hoping some pieces might climb down his throat, but it was yanked out before he could tell. Then came the beating; night stick, fist, Connor couldn’t tell.

Give it rest, give it practice, keep your brain sharp. Take care of it. This is what God has willed to you, Connor.

Connor’s muscles stayed taught, protecting where they could, what operating organs were left of his body. But he was hitting in the wrong place.

I’ve got my brain all tucked away, Mother. Connor assured her- assured himself. I’m taking care of it.

~To Be Continued~