Fragged: A BWWM Military Romance

by Paige Notaro

  “Yeah, I’m fine.”

  “That’s good.” His eyebrows arched. “You, uh, dealt with things already?”

  It would have been arrogant, but given the seriousness of what he’d shown me, I was willing to understand. “I’ve made peace with it.”

  “You’re a strong woman.” He smiled, looked down and tapped his feet.

  Just ask me, you idiot, I was thinking.

  But this was my fault. He couldn’t even know whether I was open to seeing anyone, plus I was too harsh before. Good men shouldn’t have to come begging for my hand.

  I gathered my breath and touched his shoulder gently. He perked up right away.

  “Lem,” I said. “Would you like to go-“

  “Saturday at seven thirty?”

  I smiled. “Sure, that would work.”

  “Perfect.” He smiled a dazzling smile. It was not gorgeous, but it was genuine, and it was bright enough to get lost in if I only let myself.

  “Alright then,” I said. “No pressure.”

  “None at all.”

  Still, as he walked away, and I felt my heart go light, it wasn’t just at the idea of the date. It was to see how much of Calix I could find in him.

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN

  Calix

  I passed the streets of Atlanta in silence. The car I drove rattled and shook with age, but it was silent compared to a chopper engine. My father sat in the passenger street, swelling the stillness. He had on a charcoal suit and stared straight ahead. I simply wore my military fatigues.

  My father had asked me to drive so he could sit in proper reflection. It was the anniversary of my mother’s death. The last two, I had missed while overseas. Now, I could continue our tradition.

  Driving wasn’t enough to dim my own thoughts. This day left room for too many. We had just finished the memorial at my mother’s grave. My father used to give long speeches about the cause. Today, he had simply murmured a few words about “carrying her torch.”

  Perhaps I wasn’t enough of an audience. It was hard to ignore that two years ago, there had been three of us attending and not two. I had been thinking about Vaughn plenty already. Standing at my mother’s grave, I could only wonder if he had been struggling as I was now when he had been here last.

  The sky was overcast. It was just a product of the season, but I remembered it usually being like this. The world always seemed to weep for Dolores Black. Or perhaps for the things that happened in her name.

  I turned into the gas station parking lot. The place had been rebuilt beyond recognition. Clean white signs advertised prices in bright yellow LEDs. A slick plastic roof stood over the pumps. Even the convenience store exterior had been redone in a residential brick and mortar.

  For a moment, I wondered if the address was wrong, but the landmarks around were right. The world simply moved on.

  I parked in an empty space by the store. My father groaned as he climbed out. He looked around, almost as disoriented as myself. The changes here must have been recent.

  I went around to help him, but he shrugged me off. He hobbled, proudly erect, toward the pump where my mother had died. He had shown weakness that day, he told me once. He had not been there for his family when they needed him. He’d said it was the worst feeling in the world.

  But being there for him did not make feel any better about days passing without Rosa.

  The pumps were all empty, this early on a Saturday. On weekdays, he might just spend a moment touching the pump, but today he sat on the curb by it. I watched him tremble and bow his head into clasped hands.

  For the first time, I wondered how exactly the murder had changed him. Of course, he hadn’t been a white nationalist before. But he wasn’t far away either. I had a black friend or two when I was much younger. He hadn’t been fond of them, but he had allowed it.

  After my mother’s death he had made me say goodbye. Few of even my white friends had stayed after their parents met my father, but by then I was deep into the cause as well. The few that stayed and the new ones I made became the first Storm’s Soldiers - with my father’s blessing.

  Those were all surfaces changes though. Something had broken with him that day. Rosa’s words had cut deep, but she was wrong. I wasn’t the one wracked over not protecting my mom. That had been my father.

  Now, watching him shiver and shake in the warm sky, I felt helpless. He held on to his grief too tight. Try as I might, I couldn’t protect him from facing it.

  I remembered now, what came before the white nationalism, what came before the fire and brimstone and the rallies and the Storm’s Soldiers. It had been this. Days, weeks, maybe even a month of my father lying like death on his bed.

  I was twelve and I’d had to run the house. I took Vaughn to school. I fed him and my father both. I couldn’t cook well, so I mostly bought food. My father’s school had put him on bereavement leave and still paid him. But I had been the one who kept us all going.

  Somewhere in the middle, he had realized and apologized for what he was making me do. But he hadn’t risen.

  It’s ok, Dad. I remembered saying. I mouthed the words standing by the car, watching him now. It’s ok. I’ll be here until you’re ready.

  I hadn’t been broken. I had grown up. That’s what adults did. They rose up and took care of the people who needed them.

  I wanted to tell Rosa. I wanted to call her and tell her right away. But it did nothing to answer her question.

  The store door by me jangled open. I spun towards it sharply, reaching for my empty waist. But there was just an old black woman standing in the space. She had on a faded corduroy dress, thick glasses and a weathered face.

  It was the old store clerk. At least some things hadn’t changed. I almost started to smile.

  “Hey,” she yelled to my father, “What are you doing?”

  He didn’t even give her a glance. She turned to me, her eyeglass chains jangling.

  “You.” She stabbed at me with a finger. “I remember you. You’re that biker boy.”

  “Yes, ma’am,” I said.

  “Your mother died here.” She turned back. “That’s your father.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  “It’s been a long time since I seen him here,” she said. “I guess he doesn’t do this most years.”

  “No, ma’am.”

  She snorted. “‘Ma’am.’ When’d you get so polite?” She looked me over. “So you joined the army, huh? Well, good for you.”

  We both watched my father awhile. She shook her head. “Well, it’s a slow day. You can stay for a bit longer if it helps.”

  “He appreciates it,” I said.

  “Aw, like hell he does. I’ve seen him in the news.”

  She turned and hobbled back towards the store. I had come here often when I was a biker. I had thought I was remembering my mother. I might have been searching for fresh reasons to support my father.

  The clerk had tried to talk to me once, but I had cast her aside. I remembered now what she’d said. The robber who killed my mother had also been the one who gave her that limp.

  “I’m sorry,” I said, suddenly.

  She glanced back, startled. “What? You ain’t done nothing to me.”

  I cocked my head. “For the things my family said.”

  “Aw, words are wind, boy - the good and the bad. You want to apologize, do something.” She gave my father a piteous look. “Don’t do this. Don’t fall into his grief. It don’t help a damn thing.”

  Her words lingered on the ride home. I bought subs for lunch, and my father and I ate quietly at the dinner table. My father had been facing the store the whole time, but he didn’t ask about the conversation. He might not have even seen it.

  He was still wrapped up as tight in his grief as he had been on his bed. Anniversaries were meant for celebration and renewal. All he renewed was the hold his grief had over him.

  We ate in silence, and I washed up the few plates.

  “I’m going to rest fo
r the day,” he said, drifting through the kitchen.

  “It’s only one in the afternoon.”

  He turned to me. His face looked aged, no longer well-worn, but like cracked rust. “Is there something you’d like to do?”

  “No. I’ll head back to base.”

  He nodded. “Yes, that’s for the best. You can work on getting our weapons with renewed vigor now.”

  I wasn’t even in the armory today. It was my last day of partial duty. Starting tomorrow, I’d be back to full capacity. It would mean little time at my desk position and even less time off.

  It was good. I had no idea what to do but my duties anymore.

  I turned to finish the dishes. Behind, my father shuffled off towards the stairs, but then I heard him stop.

  I glanced back to see him lift a piece of paper. He ran a finger along what lay underneath. Then he continued on his way.

  I waited until he was clomping up the stairs, then went to check what he’d touch. He had enough photos of my mother around the house, though another would be no surprise.

  I lifted the sheet. It wasn’t my mother.

  It was Vaughn.

  He stood against some curtains in the house, wearing his Storm’s Soldiers jacket, his palm resting on a ‘White Pride’ banner. The picture had been taken poorly. His eyes glowed red. His lean, muscular face looked weak and wolfish. His jacket looked cheap.

  I could not stop looking at it.

  Once, I had seen this face almost every day, peering up at mine asking for help. He had eventually grown level with me, but even then he had looked to me for what to do.

  Once I had protected my brother from my father’s grief. I had not let him into my father’s room the entire month he lay on the bed.

  Then, I stopped. I became a conduit for what my father’s grief turned into. I passed it on unfiltered, made Vaughn listen instead of protecting him. The cause became the only thing uniting us.

  My throat felt like it had been shredded. I wanted to swallow, but I didn’t. It could set off something I couldn’t control.

  I covered the picture and stepped far away. My father visited it here like Vaughn was buried. But Vaughn wasn’t dead. He was out there.

  And despite the way he had left. Despite how my father had raged at Vaughn, he could not let his son go completely.

  Only family had that effect. You might disagree with who they’d become. But you stood by them, you did things for them that you didn’t believe in yourself.

  I would not abandon my father to this empty house full of sorrow, to the grief of this day. But for the first time, I let myself realize the truth:

  White nationalism was truly his cause. Not mine.

  ****

  I ate at the mess hall because I had nowhere else to go. Raynor was seated already, and he waved me over like I was a jet landing on an aircraft carrier. I had seen too much darkness today to handle his face in rejection, so I went over.

  “Hey man.” He clasped my hand and tried to pull me in, but just ended up rising a bit. “Where you been?”

  “It’s my day off,” I said.

  “Right, right.” He whistled and shook his head. “Man, it’s been wild here, let me tell ya.”

  I plugged my mouth with Salisbury steak and let Raynor talk about his day. Apparently, it was just a lot of training. The challenge seemed to stem entirely from keeping his mouth shut about his racial opinions during it.

  His voice drifted off, and I knew my peace was at an end.

  “So this next operation’s going down in a couple days right?” he asked, staring out in some misguided attempt to conceal our obvious conversation.

  “We’ll see,” I said.

  “Oh shit, is something wrong?”

  “It just doesn’t seem smart right now.”

  “Too dangerous, huh?”

  I gave him a long, somber look. “Right.”

  “Aw, damn. The guys were really looking to get involved quick.”

  “What guys?’

  He beckoned to someone with his hands. Suddenly, three other privates were clattering plates down around me. They were all like Raynor: lanky, milky-pale teenagers. I felt like a drug dealer in a high school.

  “Sup fellas,” Raynor said. “This is our top man here. Our Afghan war-hardened Aryan.”

  “Yo, it’s an honor, man.” The kid across from me slung out his hand. His face was lean and hungry. It reminded me a lot of Vaughn.

  I clapped Raynor on the back. “I need to take care of some other thing,” I said. “I have to go.”

  “Oh, yeah, sure, man.” Raynor was flailing around. “Of course, of course. Sorry for springing it on you.”

  “It’s fine.” I rose with my food. “Carry on, privates.” I tipped my head at them.

  They might have been swearing at me behind my back, but I didn’t care. The hall was full of empty tables and I looked for one quiet and far away. Then, I spotted a more interesting option.

  I took my tray over to the seat across from Dennis. His face was calm as polished wood and his eyes were half shut. He seemed lost in the bliss of his food.

  “This seat open?” I asked.

  Dennis looked up, mouth full, like a startled chipmunk.

  “Sure…” he said.

  I sat down and continued eating. I didn’t have anything to say. Dennis would understand. He had been in combat. He knew that being in the presence of the right people was enough of a relief.

  After a while though, he spoke up. “Everything going ok?”

  “Ok enough.”

  “So why are you here?”

  I looked up with a fork to my mouth. “To eat.”

  “But with me?” He glanced over my shoulder. “What about your boys back there?”

  My hands trembled. Was I getting rejected here too? I had earned it, but I thought our bond went deeper.

  “They’re not my boys,” I said. “Where’d you hear that?”

  Dennis barked out a laugh. “Man, every black and brown fool here knows the crowd you run with.”

  “It’s that obvious?”

  “Not you. That kid that follows you always run his mouth off though. It ain’t hard to put two and two together.”

  I sighed. “I really wish they’d stop following me.”

  Dennis laughed and forked in some green beans. “Guess you just got that primo Aryan look to you.”

  “I’m not blond,” I said.

  “No.” He looked me over and shook his head. “I got a cousin who does hair though. He can fix that right up.”

  I chuckled. “I don’t get it. If you knew, why don’t you treat me like shit? Fuck, you even stood up to Montego for me.”

  “Hey, I will stand up for any nazi-ass white boy against an MP, alright? Short of, you know, actual murder and genocide. That’s the soldier’s code.”

  “Hoo-ah,” I said, still smiling. “That’s quite a code you got there.”

  Dennis’s beaming face suddenly went very flat. “It’s a new one, you know. It’s one I’ve had time to make while I was recovering back in the VA med center north of the city.”

  I swallowed my food and squared myself. I had never known what happened to Dennis after he was evacuated, only that he survived.

  “That’s where you were rehabilitated?” I asked.

  He nodded heavily. “Rehabilitated, because someone didn’t let me die.”

  I said nothing for a while, then shrugged. “I’m glad you didn’t.”

  Dennis rolled his eyes. “Glad, my ass. Man, you like to be all fucking cool, don’t you? I’m saying I owe you my life.”

  I swallowed hard. “You don’t owe me shit, private.”

  “Yeah, I know that, too. But I do owe you a chance to break bread.” He forked another piece of meat into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully. “So you want to know why I don’t treat you bad cause of who you are? Cause when it came down to it, you did the same damn thing for me.”

  My mood was flying all over the place today.
I couldn’t do anything more than put food silently in my mouth for a while. Maybe by body always knew deep down what I’d always been too dumb to admit. Even as the Soldiers descended into naked racism and violence, I had stayed clean.

  But my words could not be so easily forgiven.

  “I don’t know, man,” I said, shaking my head. “I’ve hurt people. Words can be harsher than a fist or a blade.”

  Dennis shrugged. “Maybe, but it doesn’t matter. You’ve never said any to me. Actions, they always speak the truth if you see them enough. And I’ve seen enough of who you are to know you’re a guy to be trusted.”

  It was hard eating at all after that.

  Instead I wondered how I could ever show Rosa. She said she wanted just words, but I owed her more than a yes or no. I owed her penance.

  Even if she never took me back, she had let me see who I’d become. For that, I owed her everything.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Rosa

  I fastened the belt on my cream-white polo dress and twisted this way and that to see myself in the mirror.

  I’d tried on a few things, but this one was perfect. My waist wasn’t especially dainty, but my chest and thighs swelled out enough under it. The white was warm enough to contrast my rich skin, and it didn’t look bleached with my pitch-black hair above it.

  Most of all, the dress made me look sweet.

  That was the effect I wanted. Looking at me in this, you’d never guess I was born in a poor country, or lost my father, or was a gangster girl who kept dating rough guys for far too long. I looked like I could have stepped out of Grease - well, other than the fact everyone in it was Barbie and Ken white.

  I sieved my hair until it fell down straight, put on a bit of foundation and just a smidge of eyeliner. I wanted to look good, but I didn’t want to be too bold. A tonight would be the most I’d allow tonight. It wasn’t like I was in any rush to jump Lem.

  I laughed at the idea of holding back from a guy. Could I really be this girl? I’d already picked up the pieces on most of my life. This might just be the last bit of me I had left to redeem.

  It was the deepest and darkest part of me though. Just the thought had me seeing Papá again, turning and clutching and falling.