Landslide

by Jenn Cooksey

  I copy the picture and another one into the photo album that I use to help me remember what I need to print and what I’ve sent and what I haven’t yet, saying more or less to myself, “I don’t know why I haven’t sent these to her yet…”

  Cole’s response is the barest shrugging of his shoulders and a slight shake of his head. From the kitchenette table, I frown up at his profile where he’s relaxing shirtless with the computer on his lap on the overhead bunk-bed that sits atop the cab of the camper. Tendrils of sun-lightened brown hair bend up at the ends, curling this way and that to flirt around his ears and tease the back of his deeply tanned neck. He needs a haircut; his occasional subconscious scratching or irritated hair ruffle agrees with me, although every molecule of his glowing bronze body that has ever been allowed exposure to a beam of sunlight concurs with his insistence that sunblock is for pussies. I’ll give him another week before suggesting again that he reacquaint himself with what hair clippers are for; however, my still slightly sunburnt butt is done trying to convince him and his stubborn, completely and totally healthy looking skin that the sun can be harmful. I mean, as long as he doesn’t take another picture like one my eyes just now fall upon of me asleep on the beach getting redder than an over-cooked hotdog that is.

  Going through pictures and being reminded of the recent good times makes me smile in my heart and appreciate Cole. He’s become a wonderful friend. Not that he hasn’t always been, but these last weeks of being with each other constantly has made for a bond to be forged between us that most people will never have in their friendships. With him I can be myself, regardless of whether that’s a good thing at any given moment or not, like when I reach PMS bitch mode, which I can now admit to hitting the status of like clockwork. He takes me, my ups and downs and sideways moods, and each and every road trip hiccup we’ve encountered along the way in quiet stride without ever losing his temper. He provides everything for me; food, shelter, comfort…just, everything, and I know in my soul I’m safe with him. He’s selfless and I’ve come to appreciate qualities he possesses that, because we haven’t spent this amount and kind of time together since we were younger, I haven’t really had a chance to recognize in him before.

  Lately, though, there’s been something not quite right with him. There’s something off. I can’t quite put my finger on it, however it almost feels like he’s drifting away. Like a distance has sprung up between us somewhere on the road and it’s too wide a gap for me to bridge if I were to try to. I don’t though. We talk, about a lot of things actually, but, verbalizing our thoughts or emotions really doesn’t seem to be our thing. Still, I wish he’d let me know in some way what’s bothering him so that I can for once be there for him like he is for me day after day, and…night after night.

  Hearing the screen door of one of the deluxe RVs camped next to us open and slam shut again, I think back and determine that Cole started changing right about when we pulled into this campsite and met the group of early to mid-twenties jarheads who’re camping in the two spaces next to ours. Actually, the guys aren’t Marines and their hair is just buzzed really short all over rather than the signature high and tight haircut, but they’re still members of the Armed Forces and they’re just…too much. There’s five of them—well, five guys. Two are cousins and one cousin is married to the sister of one of the other guys and has a three-year-old, and one of the others has his long-time girlfriend with him, so altogether, Cole and I have seven next-door neighbors. Or, seven and a half, counting the cutie-patootie toddler.

  And although I really like the girls and the little boy is freaking adorable, the guys irritate the crap out of me and I have a really hard time understanding how these two women can stand the constant, over the top bravado and measuring of penises that these guys do. What’s worse is that Cole seems to have found his people. He latched onto them almost immediately and they welcomed him into their little pride without question, leaving me to either fend for myself or suck it up and sit around the fire every single night listening to the guys tell what, sadly, could qualify as tall tales, but I honestly think the stories they’ve told have all been 100% true, embellished for effect as they may have been.

  Thanks to the blown water pump on the camper that resulted in a cracked radiator, we’ve been stuck here for a little over a week now, waiting for the radiator and some other assorted parts that needed to be ordered from the local automotive shop in town; local being approximately forty-five minutes to an hour away of course. It’s picturesque here, however, and not a half-bad place to be stranded; although when our neighbors are around, which is almost always, or when we’re all hanging out together, I get the distinct impression that I’m being ignored by Cole, or…neglected. At least that’s how it feels sometimes. Like Cole would much rather spend all his time with them than he would five minutes with me. I haven’t said anything to him about it though because it’s nice to hear and see him laugh, not to mention that he seems to have formed some kind of closer-knit friendship with one of the guys over the others, and I don’t begrudge him that.

  He and Wyatt will sometimes break away from the rest of us and when that happens, the two of them can usually be found talking in either our camper or Wyatt’s RV, or sitting in silence on the bank of the cove together holding fishing poles. Wyatt’s girlfriend, Kylie, and I went in search of them one evening to let them know dinner was ready, and we couldn’t help but stand there and watch them enjoying the peace and quiet of a summer sun setting on water. It was actually really touching how they just sat there saying nothing as they cast their lines out time and again in what looked to be perfect contentment. And I think it’s healthy for him to have a guy friend, I do, but I just wish that the friend and the others would stop encouraging Cole to enlist. By telling him how well he’d fit in, the world travel he’d be able to do, and reminding him of all the great and exciting stories he’d be able to tell by sharing all of theirs with Cole, I worry about him being enticed to take a job that will put his life in jeopardy every minute of his work day, and let’s not forget what the commute to that job would probably be like too.

  We didn’t argue about it at all, although I did make my feelings on the topic clearly known to him one night after the routine of sitting around smoking and downing beer after beer while military machismo bedtime stories are told, which is always followed by the guys putting the fire out with their penile fire hoses. I tearfully told him that I would never forgive him if he left me to play with real bad guys and guns; that I wouldn’t be able to handle the everyday stress of worrying about whether he was okay or even alive while deployed in some far-off war zone on another continent. He’d laughed a little about how serious I was being, but he understood and reassured me that being a soldier wasn’t part of his game-plan for the future. Later that night when I was having a hard time falling asleep and he heard me tossing and turning, he had me get in bed with him, and he finalized his promise by holding me tight, reiterating what he said, and placing a tender kiss on my shoulder.

  Cole’s irritated muttering draws my eyes to him once more. “Everything okay up there?”

  “Huh? Oh, yeah, I just can’t win a single goddamned hand at this level. It’s pissing me off,” he answers without looking at me.

  “You wanna come with me? I’m gonna go into town with Kylie and Amanda. I wanna get these pictures printed and we need some groceries…” I ask hopefully and with a smile.

  “Mm-mm. I think I see a nap in my near future.” His answer is mumbled, if even that, and I don’t mention that it’s only nine-thirty in the morning.

  “Well, is there anything you want from the store? I can buy you some of those raspberry-filled powdered donuts you like if I can find them,” I offer, trying to not feel guilty or dwell on the fact that I sort of misspoke because I’m not actually the one paying for anything I purchase.

  Cole has paid for almost everything this whole summer, and even though he hasn’t said word one about it and I argued and won the fight to trea
t him to lunch at The Stage Deli in New York followed by a matinee Broadway production of Les Misérables, I still feel guilty, like I’m a monetary burden to him. Plus, I have a sneaking suspicion that he’s becoming concerned about his bank balance dwindling lower than where he’s comfortable having it. When we first started off, my jaw dropped at the amount of zeros I saw printed on his most recent ATM receipt. But, driving across the country is expensive even without automotive trouble, which we haven’t been so fortunate as to avoid even before this most recent bout with it, so, maybe that has something to do with whatever is going on with him.

  “Sure. Card’s in the glove box,” he reminds me, like that’s necessary. He made me memorize the pin number the morning we left home, and ever since, his wallet and therefore debit card is always in the glove box, where I have twenty-four-hour access to it and the constant ability to take advantage of his never-ending generosity.

  I watch him plump up his pillow and then roll over, putting his back to me as he gets comfy for his nap. A quiet, yet dejected huff escapes me. “I know.”

  Having grabbed the stupid card, I’m about to walk out the door of the camper when Cole halts me momentarily by commanding over his shoulder, “Get beer. Oh, and some smokes.”

  Looking to the packed earth just outside the camper steps and the Hefty bag slumped over it, already more than half filled with aluminum just from yesterday, I try my hardest to not sound condemning when I mutter, “You got it.”

  Tapping the card in the palm of my hand, I walk over to Brian’s and Amanda’s Jeep to meet up with Kylie who’s waiting for us there. “I’m gonna have to hit the ATM when we get into town so I can give you cash…Cole wants beer.”

  “No problem. That’s on Wyatt’s and Dean’s wish lists too…they drink like fish when we all vacation together, I swear.”

  No sooner are the words out of her mouth before Cole bounces out of the camper and cheerfully greets Brian from across the campsite, apparently foregoing his nap to do God only knows what with five alcoholics while I’m gone.

  “Wass'up, my man?!” Brian shouts, his booming voice reaching the tippy-tops of the trees, “Want a Coke?” he asks Cole, handing him a red plastic cup at the same time.

  Cole takes the offering and tips his head back; coughing, laughing and almost spurting the beverage from his mouth when he goes to swallow. “Coke, huh?”

  Chuckling, Brian pats Cole on the back, and then takes the cup from him and sniffs it. “What? There’s Coke in there.”

  “True, there is. I think. Little warning might’ve been nice though,” Cole laughs and then catches a cold one that’s tossed to him by the unmarried cousin, Alex, who’s just waking up and evidently about to drink his breakfast.

  Just then, Brian and Amanda’s son, Cody, comes jetting out of their RV, only one shoe on, and with Amanda on his heels, scurrying to catch him before he stubs his toes, falls face first on a rock, or trips into the still smoking fire pit. Raising his cup to the side and up past his head, Brian catches and lifts Cody off the ground by the back of his shirt with one hand as the rug-rat tries flying past his large-framed father.

  “Whoa, Son…where’s the fire?” Brian rhetorically asks his squirming son.

  Cody giggles and points to the fire pit, making Cole, Dean, and Alex all chuckle.

  “Yeah, that’s right. That’s where fire lives, Son, and it’s hot, okay? You gotta be careful or you’ll get hurt. ‘Manda, you gotta watch him better,” Brian chastises Amanda, who just nods and takes Cody after he gives his dad a kiss and hug goodbye. Then Brian downs his Jack and Coke, afterwards tossing the ice cubes into the dirt as he says to his wife, “I’m out.”

  Amanda nods again and smiling, she kisses his cheek. “Okay, you want another fifth, or should I just go ahead and get a handle this time?”

  “Get the handle,” he answers and then gives his son a hair ruffling as he quickly kisses Amanda goodbye. “Wait, you better get two of ‘em.”

  With a wife, a son, and a dog, Brian is like the patriarch of the group. No one questions him, ever, not even Amanda, and as she juggles Cody to get her keys into her other hand and heads our way, I muse to myself that having mutual respect in their marriage must’ve been left out of their vows. I mean, honestly, I can’t ever see myself putting up with that kind of bossy, dominating treatment from my spouse. No way.

  “Wish there was a Liquor Barn close by,” Amanda mumbles as she buckles Cody up in his car seat.

  “Did I hear him ask for two handles?” Kylie asks with raised brows, to which Amanda answers with a resigned head nod and starts the Jeep. “Damn, that’s a lot.”

  Amanda concurs by nodding again. She starts pulling forward and waves to all the guys except Cole, because he’s the only one not watching us leave and waving to begin with, as he’s currently engaged in playing fetch with the dog with his back to us…to me. Sitting in the backseat, I blink away a couple renegade tears before turning to sit straight again and notice Brian holding up two fingers in the driver’s side review mirror.

  Amanda gives him the thumbs up out of the window and sighs with what sounds to me a lot like compassion. “Yeah, well…you know. Today’s the day…he’s gotta get numb somehow to make it through to tomorrow.”

  “Oh my God…I’m so sorry, I totally forgot. Let me and Wyatt pay for the Jack, okay? I mean it. If you say no, you’ll just end up with four handles of whiskey, so you may as well just agree now,” Kylie insists kindly.

  Amanda smiles at her and feeling like I’m prying but annoyed at having to listen to adult conversation from the backseat like I’m the one who should be buckled up in an infant safety seat, I question, “Today is what day?”

  Kylie turns sideways to face me and winces. “Brian’s best friend from Basic and another guy from his unit were killed…it’s the anniversary of their deaths.”

  “It was really bad. I had just had Cody so Brian was home with us for a couple weeks and he missed the whole thing. He has survivor’s guilt because he feels like he should’ve been there, even though there wasn’t anything he could’ve done if he had been. I mean, Alex was there and he’s told Brian a million and one times that there wasn’t anything anyone could’ve done, but…Brian feels like he should’ve at least been there and I think he’s jealous of Alex in a way because he got to hold them when they took their last breaths. Although, to this day Alex still has nightmares about that, so… The whole day is just really messed up for both of them,” Amanda graciously explains further.

  Hearing the story, gut wrenching as it is to think about and even worse I imagine to have lived it, I now know some of the motivation behind the scene I just witnessed among others this last week. The knowledge gained gives me a whole new perspective of every one of the men left standing in our dusty wake, and as we head in search of succor and balm in a bottle for them, my mind drifts to Cole and wonders…wonders if Cole is feeling guilty for something that has nothing to do with me. Something, though, that my very presence isn’t allowing him to move past.

  13

  “Story of My Life”

  —Cole—

  The road so far…the time spent with both Erica and just my thoughts these past two months or so hasn't been what I expected it would be. Endless hours of sitting in traffic that looks to stretch for miles until the ends of the Earth, Erica's predisposition to having some seriously nasty bouts of PMS that no amount of chocolate or Midol can seem to ease, and the breaking down on the side of the road or in the middle of nowhere have all added up to some pretty shitty days. However, there have been some sights seen of beauty unsurpassed and moments of freedom and sheer exhilaration experienced as well, and I think if given the choice, I'd choose to double the crappy parts if it meant I could have the epic ones too versus not being able to have the memories of either.

  Walking back up the hill from the cove from where I’d just taken a dip to cool off with Cooper, Brian’s dog, I hear a couple of the guys laughing in camp as they show each other pictures
on their phones.

  “Ohoho! Hey, in this one the way you’re sitting in front of her makes it look like you’re wearing her ass as a hat, dude! Or you’ve got Mickey Mouse ears,” Dean laughs.

  I’m barely through the tree-line when Chad calls over to me and says, “Hey, Cole! Come check out this picture of your sister’s ass!”

  Even knowing he isn’t intending to be a dick, I bristle instinctually. I really don’t need to look at a picture of Erica’s ass at the moment and I’d kind of prefer that Chad didn’t either. Even though he’s been told by both Wyatt and Brian that Erica is only eighteen and still out of his league, and he’s done nothing in the realm of trying to get in her pants or even pay attention to her really since then, the fact that the twenty-three-year-old had to be told at all still grates.

  I don’t let my reaction show though by waving the request away and responding with, “Thanks, I’m good, I’ve seen it. She is my sister you know…”

  Once out of necessity, I claimed Erica as my sister. The camper’s septic tank needed to be emptied desperately, but it was late, nothing was open, and we couldn’t find a legal or suitable place to do it, so rather than suffocating on the rank odor, we tried checking into a bed and breakfast for the night. We were deep in the Bible Belt at the time though, and the elderly woman running the kitschy little place made a stink about the sanctity of the marriage bed. With an inherently censuring frown, she’d pointed to a sign on the flower-papered wall heralding God’s severe opinion about those couples who live in sin. I’d taken one look at it and started laughing. A light bulb had gone off in my head though, so I apologized for my reaction and explained there had been a misunderstanding...that Erica and I are brother and sister. I smoothed things over even more by solemnly agreeing with her staunch and archaic opinion on sharing sleeping space out of wedlock, and I openly and outright accused my own parents of spending their afterlives in perdition for not ever being married and creating bastard children, even though I have no clue whatever became of my mom or whether I might have a half-sibling somewhere out there. But I also used that conjecture to further explain away the difference in Erica’s and my last names.