No Man's Land

by S. T. Underdahl

  “Well, you won’t have to put up with it much longer,” I remind her. “When do you leave?”

  She smiles. “Everything’s packed and my parents are coming to get me in the morning.”

  This is our last get-together before she leaves. I’ll miss Scarlett, but I’m happy for her too; she’s more than ready for her family to get back to normal. I can relate.

  Ali arrives a few minutes later and squeezes into the booth. “Hey,” he says to me. “How’s it going at the Groove?”

  “Awesome,” I say. “The new Poisoned Heart CD came in today and we sold out within an hour.”

  “Rats,” he says. “You have to hook me up when the next shipment comes in.”

  “Absolutely.” I don’t tell him that he’ll be finding one under the Christmas tree—one of the CDs I sold this afternoon was to Dr. Gabol, who came in to ask me how Brian was doing.

  “It’s been rough on him,” I told Dr. Gabol honestly. “He feels awful about what happened. But I think he’s getting better.”

  “That’s good,” Dr. Gabol said. “I’m happy to hear that. War, Dov, is a terrible, terrible thing.”

  I nodded. There was nothing more to be said.

  Mom and I drive to Milford to visit Brian a couple evenings a week; Dad comes along too whenever he’s home. That’s where they are tonight, in fact. I had to work, so I stayed back; the Ford pickup I want isn’t going to pay for itself.

  Miranda nudges me. “Hey,” she whispers under the buzz of our friends’ conversation, “something totally amazing happened today.”

  “What?”

  “Mrs. McGinley told me yesterday that they’re going to publish one of my poems in the Leader. And she wants to see my other stuff. ‘Anything I’ve got,’ she said.”

  “Seriously?” I exclaim, lifting an arm to wrap it around her in a hug. I’ve been doing a lot of that lately, and it’s getting easier and easier to not feel self-conscious about it. She’s my girlfriend, after all. “That’s awesome, Miranda! Why didn’t you tell me last night?” We talked on the phone for at least an hour; I’m surprised she didn’t say anything about it.

  “I wanted to see your face,” she says simply.

  “Well, here it is,” I tell her, grinning broadly. “Look how happy it is for you!”

  Miranda smiles back at me, and—I may be mistaken—I think that, for a second, the way she looks at me is an awful lot like the way Victoria used to look at Brian.

  “Anyone get your grades yet?” Ali asks the table in general. “I looked mine up online this afternoon. I was sure I’d get a B in Physics, but it worked out. Thank God … my parents would have killed me.”

  We all compare notes on the semester’s outcome; the truth is, my report card hasn’t been this good since middle school. “All B’s except in art,” I inform everyone. “Ms. Twohey gave me an A.”

  “Yeah, duh,” Miranda laughs. “She practically rubbed Dov’s self-portrait all over her body. What was that word she used again?”

  “I believe it was ‘pimptastic.’”

  Everyone laughs as Miranda rolls her eyes. “Yeah, that was it.”

  Actually, Twohey called my self-portrait “poignant.” I looked it up; it means “affecting or moving the emotions.” I’m not sure that’s what I was going for, but still, I’m pretty happy with how the piece turned out. At the very end, I’d decided that something was missing and impulsively spattered black ink across the image. The ink bloomed in some places and ran in others; I don’t know why, but after that, it felt finished.

  “I heard Twohey got engaged,” Scarlett says. “Apparently the ring was an early Christmas present. She was showing off the ring in the office when I went in there to fill out my transfer papers.”

  “Seriously?” Miranda says.

  Suddenly all my friends’ eyes are on me. I lift my hands helplessly. “Look,” I say, “I told her we should wait until I graduate, but she said if I liked it then I’d better put a ring on it … ”

  “You wish, bro,” Ali says, laughing.

  “So Ms. Twohey’s really off the market, huh?” I sigh with pretend regret. For quite a while now, my crush on Ms. Twohey has been more of a joke than anything. I haven’t even had any dreams about her for a couple weeks. That’s something I actually do regret.

  We hang out, laughing and talking together until the Pepper workers begin emptying garbage bins and making closing-up noises. There’s no choice but to pack it in and reluctantly head out to the parking lot.

  Koby is the first to depart. “See you in anotha life, Sistah,” he says, giving Scarlett a hug. It’s a line from Lost; the two of them discovered a mutual passion for the show and watched re-runs of all five seasons together. In fact, I won’t be surprised if I hear that there was a little something-something going on between them. Being marooned on a mysterious, scary island tends to do that to people.

  A light snow begins to fall and Ali says his goodbyes soon after that; I suspect the medieval forests of DarkScape are calling his name. Now it’s just the three of us.

  “Well,” Miranda says, giving Scarlett a hug. “Keep in touch, girl.”

  “I will,” Scarlett promises. “And listen, keep writing, okay? Your stuff is amazing.”

  Miranda grins, her face flushed and happy under the streetlights. She gives me a quick hug too. “Call me later,” she murmurs.

  “Yep,” I agree. “Soon as I get home.”

  Scarlett and I watch as Miranda heads off to her car. A moment later she drives past, waving at us.

  “She’s awesome,” Scarlett says when she’s gone. “I’m so happy the two of you got together.”

  I nod. “It’s funny how you can hang out with someone every day for years, and then one day you suddenly look at them in a completely different way.”

  Scarlett laughs. “Miranda’s been looking at you for a long time,” she tells me. “I could tell the minute I got here.”

  “Really?”

  “Yep.” Scarlett smiles. “Trust me. A girl knows.”

  “Huh.”

  “Well,” she says, rubbing her hands together for warmth. “I guess I’d better take off too. I’ve still got a lot of stuff to pack.”

  “Yeah, I should get home too.” Mom and Dad will be back from the VA by now, and I want to hear how Brian is doing. If everything stays on course, he could be discharged as early as next week. Of course, he’ll continue his treatment as an outpatient for a long time to come.

  Scarlett holds out her arms. “Hug?” she asks.

  “Obviously.” I squeeze her tight. “You take care of yourself,” I murmur into her ear. “And I expect to see you every time you’re anywhere near Longview. Not every other time … every time. Got it?”

  Scarlett laughs, her breath warm against my cheek. “Got it.”

  On the street, a car rounds the corner and passes the parking lot. “EMO LOVE!!!!!!!!” screams Ray Sellers, one of his horsey laughs trailing after him.

  Scarlett lets go and shakes her head. “That kid is such a tool,” she sighs.

  “Yeah,” I agree. “You know how it is: some things change, and some are Ray Sellers.”

  Forty-One

  Mom is a lot more relaxed about Brian’s second homecoming; no hauling of boxes, no deep cleaning of carpets, no extra measures of any kind, although she does make me go re-shovel the walk after just a light dusting of snow. “He says he wants things to be normal when he comes back this time,” she says. “Not a big deal.”

  I, for one, am happy to oblige. Brian is excited to be coming back, although he tells me during my visit today that he’s a little nervous about it too. “It just seems like everything was so nuts the last time I was home,” he says.

  “Well,” I admit, “it was.”

  Brian sighs. “There was just too much coming at me—the media, the family, Victoria, the wedding.” He shudders. “I was already on overload when I stepped off that plane, and it was all downhill from there.”

  I nod. After every
thing that’s happened, it’s nice to be able to just sit quietly, talking with Brian like this; nice to see signs that my brother is still in there. He says his treatment has a lot of different components: he’s been attending groups to help him develop coping skills and anger management, and he’s doing a lot of exercise, which is part of the treatment program too. The most important part, according to Brian, is the groups where all the veterans sit and talk about the terrible things they’ve seen and done. “You feel like you don’t want to talk about it,” Brian says, “or like you shouldn’t. But getting it out … that’s the only thing that helps you put it in perspective.”

  I think about Scarlett, and how much happier she seemed after she began talking about what had happened to her. This whole psychology thing is really starting to interest me, and I’ve made an appointment to talk with Mr. Kerr about his job. College applications are due soon, and Kerr says it’s a good time to start exploring things like that. Not something that I ever pictured myself doing, but then again, a lot of things have changed.

  “You know, Dov,” Brian says as I’m getting ready to leave, “in the end, you were the one who saved me from doing something really terrible.”

  I shake my head. “Nah,” I tell him, “the person who did that was the cop who shot the gun out of your hand.” I’m only half paying attention, because I’m busy wrestling with my jacket; somehow one sleeve always ends up turned inside out.

  “I’m not kidding, bro,” Brian says. He waits, and when I look up, his face is serious. “I know I was off my nut that day, but I do remember it. The one thing that stands out the most is your voice, and the way you just kept saying over and over ‘you’re in Longview … this is Longview.’ It might not have seemed like it, but it kind of broke through, you know? Made me hesitate.” Brian shakes his head. “I hate to think of what might have happened if you weren’t there.”

  I laugh. “Well, we wouldn’t have been arguing, for one thing,” I remind him. “So we wouldn’t have gotten in the accident, in which case I wouldn’t have busted my lip open … ”

  Brian reaches out a hand and grips my arm. “Dov,” he says. “Stop.”

  I shut up.

  “I know this is hard for you to hear, but you’re a good kid. You really grew up while I was gone. And I don’t want to sound condescending, but I’m really proud of you. Proud to be your brother. I want you to know that.”

  I bite back the dismissive reply that automatically comes to my lips and make myself just accept his words.

  “Even if you’re a big douche,” Brian adds.

  “Thanks. That means a lot, coming from a mental case like you.”

  As I leave my brother for the time being, Scarlett’s words come to mind: Some things change, and some things stay the same, she said.

  We have all changed—Brian, Mom and Dad, Scarlett, and even me. And I realize now what I didn’t before: bad situations can change people, but with a little help from each other, we can all find our way back from No Man’s Land. And when we do, we’re usually stronger and wiser version of ourselves.

  Deep thoughts, Grasshopper. Deep thoughts indeed.

  “Leo?” I exclaim, startled.

  But if it is Leo, he doesn’t reply. He knows I’ll be okay on my own.

  About Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder (PTSD)

  Post-traumatic stress disorder (PTSD) is an anxiety disorder that can develop after a frightening ordeal which causes or threatens serious physical harm. Events that can generate PTSD symptoms include accidents, assaults, natural or manmade disasters, and military combat. It can occur in people regardless of age, including children and teens.

  People who might develop PTSD include soldiers, rescue workers, survivors of accidents and abuse and other crimes, refugees who are fleeing violence, and the people who witness these traumatic events.

  Many people with PTSD relive the frightening event again and again, through painful memories, flashbacks, or nightmares. This often occurs when they experience something that triggers memories of their ordeal. People with PTSD may also experience emotional numbness, sleep problems, depression, anxiety, intense guilt, irritability, or outbursts of anger. Most people with PTSD try to avoid things that might remind them of the original event. Depression, alcohol or other substance abuse, and other anxiety disorders frequently accompany PTSD.

  Research shows that if people talk about what they went through soon after the experience, some of the symptoms of PTSD can be reduced. Also, medications such as antidepressants can help relieve the symptoms of PTSD.

  Due to the number of combat veterans returning from Operation Iraqi Freedom and Operation Enduring Freedom who are experiencing symptoms of PTSD, the American Psychological Association and the National Institute of Mental Health are devoting a great deal of attention to research on this debilitating disorder.

  If you know someone who is experiencing symptoms of PTSD, let them know that there is treatment that can help alleviate symptoms, and that help is available through most local mental health clinics. Veterans can access assistance for PTSD through the nearest VA clinic or treatment center.

  For more information on PTSD

  and/or our veterans, please consult these sites:

  The National Institute of Mental Health

  (http://www.nimh.nih.gov)

  The United States Department of Veterans Affairs

  (http://www.ptsd.va.gov)

  Acknowledgments

  First, thanks go to my personal special agent at Adams Literary, Quinlan Lee, for her patience, encouragement, perseverance, business acumen, and North Carolina charm. Thanks to Flux editors Brian Farrey-Latz, for his enthusiasm and guidance on our first venture together, and Sandy Sullivan, for having the eyes of an eagle and the best “tweaks” around. Thanks to Adrienne Zimiga and Bob Gaul for knowing just how to represent the story visually and for patiently entertaining my ideas, and big thanks to Anastasia Scott and Alisha Bjorklund for getting the word out about No Man’s Land.

  Thank you to Gayle Stordahl for your fierce copyediting skills, honed on each morning’s edition of the Grand Forks Herald. I’ve got you on speed dial. Thanks also to the Red Pepper, a Grand Forks institution, for providing inspiration and great food. Readers, if you’ve never had a grinder from the Pepper, well … get there! And thank you, Miranda Langevin, for the rabid chipmunk impersonation. I promised that if you showed it to me, I’d name a character after you, and I always keep my promises.

  A shout-out to the original Tribes (now known as Paramount) for inspiring me with your music and stage presence. Your shows gave me a front-row view into the hardcore music scene (and a bruise once, when I got too near the mosh pit.) A wink and a thank-you to Jack McGinley and Doug Stangeland for their contributions to No Man’s Land. Good thing you guys know the classics like you do.

  Many thanks also to my entire Facebook cheering section for the support and encouragement you offered during the writing process. Susan Thompson Underdahl LIKES this.

  Endless gratitude to my husband, Shane, and to Navy, Fiona, Beck, Alexa, Chloe, and Jaiden for being my steady source of support, inspiration, love, and laughter. Special thanks to my own in-house illustrator, Beck Thompson, for bringing Dov’s artwork to life on my website. I’d love to work together again in the future, especially if you continue to let me pay you in video games.

  And finally, thank you, gentle readers, especially when you take the time to write or email to let me know how my books affect you. You make it all worthwhile.

  About the Author

  Susan Thompson Underdahl is a North Dakota native who likes to believe she does not have any trace of a Midwestern accent. She once had an eight-year friendship with a ghost, and she can occasionally breathe underwater, but not on command. During the weekdays, she is a neuropsychologist specializing in the evaluation and treatment of dementia and brain injury. On evenings and weekends, she is the keeper of one daughter, two sons, and three stepdaughters, in addition to two cats, two dogs, and o
ne husband. On her lunch hours, she writes.

  Visit Susan online at www.stunderdahl.com.