The Distance Between Dreams

by Sherry L. Brown

  I watch her face a second longer.

  “I don’t know Hanz. I think things would just be a lot simpler if she wasn’t a she.”

  Yea. If she wasn’t a she I wouldn’t be attracted to her.

  “Yea, Chief. She can pull her weight, but let’s be honest. She’s a girl. And that’s complicated.”

  I pulled my eyes from her. Back out the door of the copter.

  “Yea, Hanzo, you know us SEALs hate fucking complications.”

  He laughs at that and all too soon we are making our descent back to base.

  14

  Ryan

  I am slowly fitting in with the team, letting them get to know me, getting to know them. In addition to Reed and T-Rex, I have also thawed Hanzo and Meaty enough that when they break out in their man talk there is enough camaraderie with them to be included as just one of the guys.

  I haven’t cracked the nut that is Chief Broussard, though. He sticks to my ass anytime we are on training missions and he never breaks his professional mask to get personal. SEAL ranks are nebulous in the unofficial capacity. It has more to do with a respect earned seniority system than an actual official rank. And the CO has more respect than anyone else.

  I keep that respect by keeping my distance for the most part. It is on a Tuesday in April, just two weeks before our deployment that some of that distance closes between us. The team is seated around the conference table and I think some of the guys still have hangovers from whatever entertainment they sought the night before. T-Rex is sporting a bruise on his jaw, probably a remnant of a drunken bar fight, and I wonder how his wife feels when he comes home with that. I switch my mind to Broussard briefing us on the training mission -a launch from a submarine. I can feel the fear skirt up my spine as I get the details. We all have fears, and my biggest one is claustrophobia. I’ve confronted it a couple times before, but still hate small spaces.

  “…And our extract point is five miles from the sub…” Broussard finishes up.

  “Ryan, you got that?”

  ‘Yes sir.”

  Even though I had it, I feel a swirl of fear in my gut. I hate fucking subs. Ironic since I am in the Navy – and every ship and submarine is comprised of the smallest of small spaces.

  Broussard

  In the dry dock before my team deploys to the surface I am studying maps and not my team. After all, this type of training mission I have done at least a dozen times before and my team – at least half a dozen. It is my mistake not to be watching the rookies. I should always be keeping my eye on Ryan.

  We are in the holding tank of the sub when T-Rex calls my name.

  “Yo! Chief. A word.”

  “Not now, T-Rex. We have less than three minutes to launch!”

  I don’t even look up from my map.

  “Sir. Please- it’s imperative.”

  His quiet words reverberate off the bulkheads. Barely heard over the water coming in the inlets at our feet. It is a task to get down his end of the tank- full gear and all.

  But once I do, I immediately see the problem. Ryan is hyperventilating and hardly aware that I have sat on the bench across from her.

  Shit. She’d never make it to the surface in this condition.

  “T- you partner with Reed. I’ll take Ryan, and give us your back.”

  T immediately turns his body and it shields Ryan from the rest of the team.

  I pull her hands from where they are clenched in her lap.

  Her eyes are fixated at the water swirling at my calves.

  “Listen up Ryan.” I pull her goggles down over eyes and pull her regulator over her shoulder.

  Her eyes are near vacant, and I tap her chin to get her to look at me.

  “Ryan. Nod your head yes that you can hear me.”

  She does, in a barely perceptible dip of her chin.

  “I’ve got you to the surface. You’re going to be ok – I’ve got you. All I need you to do is breathe in and out and follow my lead. Got it?”

  Her eyes are darting to one side and another watching the water at my knees now.

  “Listen to my voice Ryan. Look at me.”

  She does and our eyes lock. I know this is the crucial time- if I can I get her to beat back her fear- we’ll have no problems.

  “Just breathe. Follow me.”

  I take a deep breath and exhale. One more. Two more, than three.

  Ryan is focused on me, our eye contacting never breaking. I put the regulator up to her mouth, because now, the water is up to my hips. Soon, the water will be over our heads and the bulkhead doors will open, releasing us to complete our mission.

  She puts the regulator in her mouth and adjusts her goggles.

  She seems to be on an even keel now, but still has the water rises, I hold her hand and make sure her breathing is in sync with my own.

  When the bulkhead doors open and we are the last to swim out, I let go of her hand but signal that she is to follow me. She nods and we begin swimming.

  Our mission is to scuba to a ship a mile out, place underwater charges and then swim to an extraction point- just a sandbar in the sea.

  Once we are at the ship, Ryan places her charges without prompting from me, and we take off without anymore issues.

  I’m swimming to the extraction, the wheels turning in my head. This is what I could use to get Ryan off the team. She could fucking compromise a whole mission with whatever that panic attack shit is she just pulled.

  Reaching the surface – I wait till Ryan does too, and then swim in tandem with her to the beach. I keep silent until my feet hit the sand. I pull Ryan in a bit roughly by her tank straps, not giving her a chance to get her own feet under her.

  “You care to explain what happened, Ryan?” She pulls away without a word and plops down in the sand to pull her flippers off. Her goggles are pushed back on her head. It’s a cold night, our breaths are puffing out in little clouds illuminated by the half moon.

  “No, I do not care to explain.”

  I check the GPS on my wrist, we have about a three mile walk to the extraction point. I look at her.

  “Fine. I order you to tell me what your fucking problem was before we launched.”

  She jumps up into my face, the scent of her soap or shampoo or whatever reaches my nostrils and I am in a moment of insanity where I visualize laying her down on the beach and pounding my dick into her. Her quick finger jab into my chest tells me that she’s gone full offensive/defensive mode, and it notches up my anger and sex drive another degree.

  “It’s not your fucking business, Broussard.”

  I grab her wrist and look into her eyes.

  “It sure as shit is my business when you can’t complete the mission,” I tell her quietly.

  She jerks her hand out of my grasp and I let her. Picking up her tank and flippers she begins walking.

  Fine by me. I could use a minute to calm down myself. A half-mile passes in which we walk in silence. I see the dark shapes of the other team members on the beach ahead of us.

  “You going to tell me, Ryan? Or I got to go to the higher-ups with this one?”

  She’s quiet a minute. But then her voice resolutely says, “It’s claustrophobia. I’m…Claustrophobic. I’ve never…It’s never been like that before.”

  A panic attack brought on by claustrophobia. I don’t say anything else to her, just quietly join the team and wait for pickup.

  Ryan

  Showing vulnerability...it’s not something I do, ever. I hate it. Everyone seems to sense the tension between the chief and I, the debriefing is quick and lacking the usual banter. As we break up to go our separate ways, Reed asks me, “Yo! Ryan. You down for a good ‘ole honky-tonk time?”

  “You asking me out, Reed?”

  “Yea, Jessica wants to meet you and a few of the guys from the team.” He replies.

  “Well, far be it for me to deny the lovely Jessica.”

  T-Rex snorts beside me.

  “Hey fuck-face, you should bring Jordan too.�
� I tell him.

  “Oh, trust me. I already got my orders to do so.” He gives Reed a thanks-a-lot face.

  I’m a hundrend and ten percent in. I need alcohol to forget what I admitted to Chief Broussard. I need alcohol to forget how he helped me focus, calmed me down. How his eyes struck into my heart and gave me courage. How we argued on the beach.

  “All right, when and where?” I get the details from Reed.

  It’s how I find myself in probably the only western-themed bar on the eastern seaboard.

  15

  My limited wardrobe had to suffice, and in theme it wasn’t: leather jacket, black t-shirt, jeans, and cross trainers. Amid the cowboy boots and western-style shirts it seemed I was the odd-man-out. Thankfully, T and I had dressed damn near similar. His wife, Jordan though, she embraced the theme with a chambray shirt, skin-tight jeans, and honest-to-god cowboy boots.

  I asked her about them while I sipped on my first beer.

  “Yeah, picked ‘em up in Austin last year. Every girl needs a good pair of shit-kickers.” She replied.

  “Huh.” is all I can think to say. Running through my brain are my own pair of boots, cross trainers and shower shoes. Shit-kickers, yes. But did they make my butt look as good as this girl’s? I doubt it. Maybe it was time I upgraded my shoe collection- or lack thereof. Does Broussard find women in high heels sexy?

  I quickly shook my head. Yea. I definitely needed to switch to hard liquor. I left our table and saddled up to the bar.

  I noticed the looks I got- sure. My height put me above most of the female population- a gargantuan gazelle among lions. The advantage: the bartender acknowledged me almost immediately when I reached the bar.

  I place my order, “A kamikaze...And a vodka tonic.”

  I downed the shot when it was placed in front of me and sipped the drink while the bartender ran my card.

  He returned with my card and another shot.

  “It’s on the house, gorgeous.” He gives me a wink.

  I pick it up and down it. “Thanks.”

  I make my way back to our table, where the guys and their girls are chatting away.

  “Whoa-hoo. Ryan! Hitting the hard stuff already?”

  I tip my glass to Reed’s greeting.

  “Damn right,” I told him, “I need something to prep me for this…” I waved my hand in the air, “... line dancing.”

  Jessica claps her hands together and squeals.

  That is my sign tonight is going to hell in a hand basket.

  Broussard

  Something was dragging my from the deep slumber I was in. A ringing. I roll over, my phone is glowing blue on the nightstand. I grab it and swipe right to accept the call from Reed.

  “Broussard, go.”

  “Chief. We got a problem.”

  I sat up and clicked the bedside light on.

  “Yea?”

  “T-Rex and Ryan got in a brawl. T’s already out, I’m taking him and the girls home. But they won’t release Ryan till they talk to her commander in person.”

  “She alright?” I ask him.

  “Yea, chief. Just some typical asshole bullshit.”

  I run my hand through my hair and pull on the pair of jeans I had left draped on the footboard of the bed.

  “Where is she at?”

  “The townies out here in Princess Ann got her. It’s a small outfit. Shouldn’t be hard to spring her.”

  I throw a shirt over my head and look around for my car keys.

  “And what exactly did she do?”

  Silence for beat. “She just got between T-Rex and an asshole. The asshole apparently is some muckity-muck’s son or something.”

  “Alright. Where exactly is she at?”

  I get the details and gather up my keys and wallet. Even though I just rolled out of bed, I throw a button up shirt on over my t-shirt. Couldn’t hurt to look respectable when you have to break someone out of jail.

  Thank god the local law enforcement are usually accommodating when one of our sailors gets out of line. They’d let us take over punishment for any civil disobedience knowing our justice is quicker and harder.

  Ryan

  The holding cell had four other occupants. One girl passed out drunk, a couple of crack or meth heads, and one girl I was pretty sure was hooker. I didn’t talk to them. Surely, Reed would be here soon to get me out. An hour passed. I laid my head against the wall and closed my eyes. The alcohol was wearing off enough to leave me with a headache and dry mouth.

  “Ryan! You’re up!” A guard’s shout breaks the silence.

  I cross through the door and back into the processing office.

  “Today’s your lucky day, girl. Charges are dropped,” says the processing officer. He’s got a paunch from too many beers on his off day and sitting behind a desk.

  He hands me a baggie that contains my credit card, cash, I.D., and shoe laces.

  “You can exit through here. And remember, stay out of trouble, girlie.”

  He gives me a wink. I wasn’t really sure what to make of that.

  I stepped through the door he indicated and see Chief Broussard sitting in a chair apparently waiting on me.

  His eyes scan me from head to toe. Pause on my fat lip. His eyes narrow.

  I can read the question in the lift of his eyebrow and answer it before he can voice it.

  “Got in the way of an elbow,” I tell him.

  He grunts. Makes his way to the door. I fall in step behind him.

  His jeep is parked at the curb.

  We both get in without a word.

  I buckle up while he reverses. His warm masculine scent envelopes our space in intimacy. I ignore it.

  While we drive down the highway, I notice his hands on the steering wheel. Strong and without a wedding ring. A flutter in my stomach. My brain rationalizes that he probably just takes it off sometimes.

  “Ryan,” Broussard breaks the silence, “You should know better than that. I had to pull some major strings back there and the higher ups are not happy that two of my team got arrested tonight. Shit- I’m not happy.”

  I don’t really know how to answer. I let the alcohol make a dumb decision for me. To step between T-Rex and a little snot nosed college kid...yea that was not using my brain power.

  “You’re right,” I tell him, “it was completely uncalled for- I shouldn’t have done it. God knows T-Rex can defend himself.”

  Broussard looks to me, studies my face as if he is trying to determine my sincerity.

  “I should, by all rights, start your discharge paperwork, Ryan.”

  I don’t say anything to his statement. Maybe he is right. I fucked up. It doesn't feel good and shame keeps me quiet.

  “Nothing to say?” he questions.

  “No sir.” I reply.

  His hand slams down on the steering wheel and he brakes hard, slams the car into park. I brace my hands on the dash.

  “Fuck! WHAT THE FUCK ARE YOU THINKING? HUH? YOU’RE JUST ONE OF THE GUYS?” He shouts angrily without looking in my direction.

  I am frozen. I’ve never seen such an outburst from the chief. Don’t know what to make of it. The headlights from the car shine on the dirt shoulder in front of us. No cars are passing and I just listen to Broussard’s breathing a minute.

  His quiet voice breaks into the tense silence, “You are not one of the guy’s Ryan. It’d be best if you accept that sooner rather than later.”

  After a moment, he puts the jeep into drive.

  We ride silently back to the barracks. I don’t know how he knows what building I’m in, but when he pulls to a stop in front of it, I unbuckle quickly and pull on the handle.

  Just as my foot swings out the door, his voice makes me pause.

  “I hate the fucking silent treatment, Ryan.”

  I only have one response, “Yes sir.”

  He’s looking straight out of the front window.

  “I’ve been over there eight tours, Ryan. I know what it takes. What it’ll do to you. I’
m not saying you have to give up; we can transfer you to a non-combat position. Hell, I’ll advocate for a special support personnel spot so you can still be with the team.”

  I squash my immediate reaction of annoyance. He doesn’t understand. He wants me on the sidelines just like everyone else. But my gut is telling me it’s because for some reason more than because I’m a girl.

  I step out onto the curb and close the door of the jeep.

  “Thanks for the ride, Chief.” I close the door and he pulls away. I handled that badly. I should’ve been more respectful, pleaded my case to him, been more grateful for the pickup- I know his rank and position are probably the only reason I won’t be in front of a judge on Monday morning.

  PART II

  Charlie Foxtrot

  16

  We are a month into deployment. The boredom is enough to drive me bat shit crazy. The boys have an Xbox or some shit in their bunkhouse (and bunkhouse is a generous term for the plywood construction pods set up as our temporary barracks) that they play to keep from going totally crazy. Me? I’ve been running and running. It’s late afternoon, and I’ve been out just thirty minutes. Kicking up dust clouds as the sun sinks, I give a half wave to the guard tower as I go round the interior of the base. Turning a corner, I spot a figure in my path, so I slow, not wanting to run them down.

  As I get closer, I notice that it’s one of the CIA agents I’ve seen around the base. I give him a noncommittal nod while trying to puzzle out what he’s doing in my running path.

  “Ryan, right?”

  I pause in front of him. A trickle of alarm flickers in my brain. I ignore it. CIA is on our side. I place one hand on my hip and wipe the sweat off my brow with the other.

  “Yea. I’m Ryan. And you are…?”

  A sudden darkness blinks out the sunset’s orange glow, and I throw my hands up while running forward. I crash into the solidness of his body, and we both go to the ground. A sharp elbow (or something) clips my left temple and I see yellow fireflies. A knee in my back pins me to the ground, while my arms are snatched behind me in a standard yet painful-restraint.