by Megan Green
Ryan,
I took your advice. I got some sleep. Well, sort of. Most of the night was spent staring at the ceiling, replaying yesterday over and over again. But I did manage to get a little. Now it’s morning, and I sit here, trying to find the right thing to say. What do you say to the person you made a complete fool of yourself in front of, just last night? To the person who, despite what a disaster you are, still says he wants to be your friend? Do you tell this person thank you? That it means more than he could know to have such a friend? Or do you tell him he must be a little crazy too, to want someone like me in his life? I still don’t know the answer to that question. Let me know if you do.
You asked me to tell you something. I can’t tell you everything. But I will tell you something. My mother blamed me for my father leaving. And that made things…tense, at home.
That’s all I’m ready to tell you, for now at least. I look forward to hearing from you soon. Keep yourself safe.
Always,
Haylee.
I read her words over and over. I read the part about her mother so many times, I can see the curve of her handwriting when I close my eyes. Tense. What does she mean by tense? Was her mother abusive? Neglectful? There’s so much I don’t know about her. But I’m determined to find out. I grab a notepad from the trunk at the foot of my bed.
Haylee,
You’re in luck. I do have the answer to your question. I am a little bit “mad,” as they say. But I’ve always heard that the very best people are.
It’s been almost two weeks since I saw you, and I can’t tell you how much I miss you. To say you are one of my best friends seems like an understatement. I feel like I’ve known you forever. And I can’t imagine the thought of not seeing your smiling face for the next eighteen months. Would you mind sending me a picture? Don’t worry. If Chris weren’t here with me, I’d ask for one of his ugly mug too. I like to keep my friends close.
I have so many questions regarding the last part of your letter. I’ve played through just about every scenario in my head since reading your words, none of them painting your mother in a very flattering light. I’d like to know more. But I won’t push you. You tell me when you’re ready. Know that I’m always here to “listen.” I’ve often found writing something down helps get the words out easier. If that helps you, I’d love to be the one you share it with.
Chris and the guys are waiting for me, I’m sure. I’ll admit, I’ve been a pretty shitty comrade since we got here. I was worried I wasn’t going to hear from you. I don’t ever want to lose your friendship. If I ever overstep my bounds, tell me. I’ll back off. Just don’t cut me off, okay?
Better go make it up to the guys. You keep yourself safe too.
Yours,
Ryan
I fold the letter, carefully printing her address on the envelope. I stuff it under my pillow, deciding I’ll drop it at the mail room tomorrow morning. My step feels much lighter. I hate the thought that Haylee had to endure anything horrible at the hands of her mother. But I can’t help my buoyancy at the thought that she trusted me with that small tidbit of information. It gives me hope that, despite my slight lapse of judgment, she still wants to be in my life. I haven’t lost her.
I walk out of the barracks, heading toward the mess hall. I’ve got a lot of groveling to do. And these guys aren’t going to make it easy. But I’ll make it up to them. Brothers always forgive.
“Pass me that bottle of water, would ya? It’s hot as fuck in here,” Rhodes grumbles. I pick up the water and toss it over to him. He pulls off his helmet, taking a long drink from the bottle. “Thanks, man. I always forget how fucking hot it gets over here. All this shit doesn’t help, either,” he says, gesturing to the gear we’re all wearing.
It’s almost a hundred degrees today. And we’re all in full uniform and combat gear. The helmet, coat, and jacket make it seem at least twenty degrees warmer. Adding the fact that we’re stuffed into the back of a truck with supplies, and yeah, you could say it’s pretty miserable. The warm water doesn’t help cool us off much, but at least it keeps our mouths from feeling like sandpaper.
I smile at Rhodes. We’ve seen a lot of horrible shit together. But he always acts like the weather is the worst part all of this. “C’mon, man, this isn’t even that bad. Remember last time? One hundred and twenty degrees, plus all this heavy shit, and we were out trudging through the desert with fifty-pound packs on our backs. We all nearly passed out from heat exhaustion. I’ve never been so happy to see my cot in my life. That shit was brutal.”
“God, I thought I was going to die a few of those times,” Roberts pipes in. “Carrying those packs was fucking awful. Hell, there are a few times I don’t even remember getting back to base. I think I was delirious.”
“And that’s different from any other day how, exactly?” Chris chimes in from the front passenger seat. He’s up there with Sergeant Wells, who’s driving the truck.
“Bite me, Daniels,” Roberts says to Chris, giving him the finger. “Who’s the one who walks around in a daze for hours after getting a letter from home? Fucking singing in the shower and spouting off lame poems that don’t make a damn bit of sense. And you have the nerve to call me delirious?”
“He’s got a point, Chris,” I say, giving him the most serious look I can muster. “Have you had a mental workup lately? I think you’re teetering on the edge of sanity, my friend.” Rhodes starts to laugh and gives me a little fist bump.
Chris turns and gives us all the finger. “Fuck you. You’re all just jealous because I have an amazing girl—who adores me, by the way—waiting for me back home. All you guys have waiting at home is a bottle of lube and a tube sock. Although I’m sure those socks are getting pretty lonely by now. They might not even be waiting by the time you get home. Hell, I’ve seen your asses naked. They probably took off the second you walked out the door.”
Joey mumbles something under his breath that only Chris makes out. And then the two of them are off, poking and ribbing each other like only they can. Scott and I grin at their exchanges, throwing out the occasional jab of our own. But deep in my head, I’m lost in thought. Because what Chris said is true. Well, not that shit about the socks. But deep down, we are all sort of jealous of him. Joey and Scott don’t have anyone at home. Scott is a few years older than me. He used to be married, but the military life got to be too much for his wife. She said she couldn’t take the deployments and never knowing if he was alive when she went to bed at night. She gave him an ultimatum. Either retire from the Army, or she was leaving. Their divorce was finalized during this last leave. I know it’s hard on the guy, but he puts on a brave face.
Joey is the same age as Chris and me and he seems to be enjoying bachelorhood. I don’t think he’s had a relationship that lasts longer than a few hours. And he says he’s completely satisfied with that. Still, I see the look he gets when letters come in. He never really gets anything. I can tell he wishes he had at least a little something to look forward to each day.
And then there’s me. Haylee writes to me at least once a week, letters penned in her polished script. And with each one, I feel myself falling a little deeper into this hole. I miss her laugh. I miss her smile. Hell, I even miss her erratic mood swings whenever the conversation swings into the personal territory she’s not ready to divulge. I enjoy reading about her life back home. Her letters are never very long, but I hear her in them. I see her sitting there, twirling her hair, as she tells me about the assholes at work, or whatever she and Emma have been up to lately. Those letters are the highlight of my day when they come in.
The problem is, she’s not waiting at home for me. At least not in the sense that I wish she could be. But she’s made it very clear she’s not interested in that sort of relationship. And I have to keep reminding myself that I’m not either. It’s become my personal mantra. Keep a safe distance. You don’t want a relationship. You will not hurt her. I say this to myself at least ten times a day. More when the letters come.
Still, it doesn’t seem to work. No matter what I do, I can’t keep myself from thinking about her. From wondering what it would be like to hold her close. Caress her cheek. Kiss her lips.
God, I’m pathetic. I shake my head, trying to clear my thoughts.
A voice breaks through Chris and Joey’s digs at each other, effectively pulling me from my pondering. “You boys will realize it someday. There’s nothing that makes a man stronger than a strong woman standing next to him.” Sergeant Wells. He’s been silent throughout this whole exchange until this point. “I’ve been married for twenty years. And I wouldn’t have survived this long in the military without knowing my wife was waiting for me back home. She keeps me grounded. Helps me remember what’s important in life. I hope to hell you all have that someday.”
Sergeant Wells has been our commander for all three of our tours. He’s about twenty years older than all three of us and treats us like the sons he’s never had. I love the man. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for him. And his wife. We’ve met her a few times at different military events. I can understand why he loves her so much. They truly are the definition of a happy marriage.
We all nod at his words. He can bullshit with the best of us. But when he’s serious like this, we know to sit up and pay attention. He doesn’t add any more though, and again I’m left to sit in silence with my thoughts. I’ve always respected Sarge and his wife, but since meeting Haylee, I definitely understand what he means about a strong woman. Haylee makes me want to be a better person. Stronger. More deserving. At the end of her letters, she always writes, “Keep yourself safe.” I’ve never wanted to stay safe so much in my life. I don’t want to risk disappointing her.
Haylee’s second letter flashes to my mind. Her response to my request for a picture. Laughing at the image of her in my head while writing it, I pull the letter from my pocket and read it over once more.
Ryan,
Since I’m trying to be upfront with you, I’ll admit, your request caught me off guard a bit. Sending you a picture feels a little more intimate than “just friends,” if you know what I mean. But since you insist you’d want one of Chris too, I guess I’ll oblige. This was taken a few nights ago. Emma and I went out to dinner and a movie. Snapped this pic with a cardboard cutout advertisement of Channing Tatum’s new movie. Better tell Chris he needs to hurry back or he might lose his fiancé. wink
Em’s become a good friend these past few weeks. She misses Chris like crazy so she’s over here a lot. Which is great because Amanda has been super busy with Justin. I’m so happy for them, but Amanda has been my rock for the last few years, so her being gone hit me kinda hard. Em being here helps.
I’ve been thinking about your suggestion that I write out my thoughts. That it might help. It’s not the first time it’s been suggested to me. My therapist (yes, I’ve had a therapist—several, in fact) always told me to try it. But the thought of putting it down on paper scares me. Like it somehow makes it more real. Permanent. I know what happened. I know I can’t change it. But talking about it, writing about it…I don’t know. I just can’t bring myself to do it. But I’ll try. I promise.
Since I just mentioned Amanda and you don’t know a lot about the details of our friendship, I’ll start with that. Something happened in high school. I had a lot of issues after that, and Amanda was the only thing that kept me going. I can honestly say I would not be here today without her. She’s the only real family I’ve ever known. And the absolute best friend a girl could ever ask for. It’s always been her and me. At least since that night. And like I said, I’m so happy she’s found Justin. She deserves all the happiness in the world. But it does scare me a bit, being alone again.
And that’s it for now. If you could only see me now. A tiny paragraph and I’m already shaking. On second thought, I’m glad you can’t see me. I’m being irrational and I know it. But try telling that to my psyche, you know?
Let me know how you’re doing when you have a chance.
Keep yourself safe!
Haylee
The picture she sent is in my helmet. I take it off, looking at the picture taped firmly inside. Haylee and Emma are in a theater lobby, standing on each side of the cutout of Channing. Emma is leaning over, pretending to kiss him on the cheek, her leg kicked up behind her. Haylee is facing the camera, the smile on her face as genuine as I’ve ever seen it. The laughter in her eyes causes me to smile. It’s not exactly the type of picture I was expecting. I definitely never thought I’d have a picture of Channing Tatum in my helmet. But the pure happiness on her face is breathtaking. So I guess Channing is staying.
I turn my attention back to the guys in the truck. We continue to ride in silence until we reach the village we’re taking the supplies to. When Sarge pulls to a stop, I hop out of the back, reaching behind me to grab a box. The other guys follow suit. Chris and Sergeant Wells head over to the group of people who are standing outside a building, waiting for us. Rhodes, Roberts, and I start hauling the boxes over to them. I see a few familiar faces. This is the third supply run we’ve done in this area. The women are all covered by their burkas, but I’m able to recognize them by their husbands. And there are several children playing on the sidewalks. That’s the joy of childhood. You can be in the middle of a war zone but still find happiness in simple things like seeing a friend.
I see two boys standing by a rundown building, kicking a soccer ball back and forth. Both look to be around twelve. They each have dark skin and dark hair, but you can tell they’re definitely not brothers. The boy on the right kicks the ball toward his friend. It flies over the boy’s head and he dives for it, missing it by several feet. He shouts at his friend before chasing it down. As he bends to pick it up, he looks over in my direction. When he sees me watching him, a smile breaks out on his face and he straightens. One of his front teeth is missing, but it doesn’t seem to bother him in the slightest. His grin widens and he looks back at his friend when he sees me smile back and wave. His friend looks unsure, but it doesn’t deter the boy. Turning back to me, he puts the ball down in front of him and kicks it toward me. I stop it with my boot and hold it there for a second. When I look back up at him, he’s gesturing for me to kick it back. He starts bouncing, hopping from foot to foot, waving his arms around in a clearly teasing gesture. I have no idea what he’s saying, but whatever it is, he finds it hilarious. So does his friend.
I get a sudden flash of Chris when we were this age. He was always clowning around, trying to taunt me and our friends into doing something we didn’t really want to. The boy reminds me of him. I laugh and kick the ball back to him. He stops it with his foot this time and kicks it up into his arms. Tucking it close to his body, he gives me a mischievous smirk before giggling and running off to rejoin his friend.
I look back at Chris. He’s still standing with the others, but now he has his helmet off and is making silly faces at a little boy in his father’s arms, trying to get him to laugh. The boy just looks at him with a bewildered expression. Chris puffs out his cheeks, crosses his eyes, and pulls out his ears. At this, the boy screws up his face and buries it his father’s shoulder. Chris looks a little defeated. He’s always been the happiest when he’s making someone laugh. Especially kids. I think about what a great father he’s going to make some day. Well, as long as the kid gets his personality. Otherwise, the poor kid might be traumatized growing up with a dad like Chris. I laugh under my breath and head over to the guys.
“Stop terrifying the kid, Chris. He’s been through enough in his short life,” I say when I reach him.
“Man, he’s a tough one to crack. My funny faces usually slay kids. This little guy just won’t crack a smile for me.”
“Your face is funny-looking enough as it is. You don’t need to pull any faces to make it even weirder. Maybe the kid just doesn’t like you. They do say kids are excellent judges of character.”
I slug him playfully in the arm and he drops down into a fighter’s stance. “Oh, that’s how you want
to play it, huh, Porter? Bring it on, grasshopper.” He starts waving his hands around wildly, making those ridiculous noises you hear them make in bad kung fu movies. I look over at the group of locals still standing near us. They’re looking at him like he’s insane.
“Chris, probably not the best place for that. Stand up, you moron,” I say, nodding toward the growing group of people.
He turns and sees the confused faces of the people standing there. He immediately jumps up and bows at the waist. “Sorry, folks, nothing to see here.”
I grab his arm and pull him back toward the truck. “Way to go Chris, now they probably think all Americans are insane.”
“Whatever. That was badass and you know it. They’ll probably all being signing up for karate lessons now.”
I hand him another box. “Just take this over there and keep your mouth shut. Sarge will never forgive you if you ruin relations with this village.”
“Fine, fine. Holy hell, man, when did you become such a downer? You used to find me hysterical.”
“There’s a time and place, Chris. This isn’t it.”
We finish unloading the truck and head back over to Sarge and the others. Sergeant Wells speaks Arabic and stands over to the side, talking with the village leader, Aasif. It looks like they’re wrapping up though. They exchange a few more brief words before Sarge shakes his hand firmly and turns to join us.
“Alright, boys. They should be good for another couple of weeks. Only thing they were running low on was water. We’ll have to remember to bring a few extra cases next time. Aasif said things have been relatively quiet here. No gunfire nearby for over a week. I told him we’d be back two weeks from today. He thinks they’ll get along just fine until then.”