Her Invisible Soldier: A Military Romance with a Twist

by Grace Risata

  Dixon stared at the pretzel on his plate as though it might stand up and bitch slap him across the face.

  “Do I dare?” he asked, seeking advice.

  In reply, I merely shook my head. I didn’t like the odds. If everything else was crap, it was highly likely that the pretzel would taste like tree bark.

  Bravely ripping off a piece, smelling it, and boldly popping it into his mouth, Dixon began to chew recklessly.

  “It’s actually really good, Alyce. Want a bite?”

  “No?” I squeaked in sort of a cross between an answer and a question. “What if you’re just lying so I’ll die with you? Like some sort of Romeo and Juliet tragedy? I can see the headlines now. Murder suicide at the racetrack. Death by pretzel.”

  “How the fuck is it a murder?” he asked, breaking off two more bites and handing me one.

  “You knew the pretzel was toxic, so you made me eat it.”

  “No, sweet cheeks. I may be an asshole, but I’m not a liar. I wouldn’t tell you something was safe if I knew it wasn’t. You can trust me.”

  I ate the pretzel while wondering if his words carried a deeper meaning. Could I really trust him? Did he feel like this bizarre chemistry we had might actually lead to something down the road? Did I want that?

  As I pondered life, it slowly sunk in that the pretzel actually did taste pretty delicious. Maybe I could trust Dixon after all.

  He continued to break off pieces and feed them to me, while we watched the go-karts loop around the track. There was also a quarter mile straight away for people to bring their modified cars and race against each other. I never paid much attention to that, since I liked to speed around the turns instead of just hitting the gas and going straight as fast as I could.

  I pointed to the drag strip and explained, “I never saw the appeal of that. What’s the fun of seeing how fast you can go in a short time? It’s boring. I like the surprise of twists and turns and not knowing what’s ahead of me.”

  “This from the girl who’s afraid to live because she’ll die any day of an unknown disease.”

  “I’m not afraid to live,” I said defensively, not knowing where he ever got such a crazy idea. “I take risks all the time. For example, I’m going to kick your ass when we do another race. Double or nothing?”

  Yes, I was desperate to change the subject and not have to talk about anything too deep. The whole point of this field trip was to get out and do something fun and adventurous…not to sit around and analyze our feelings.

  “How can you do double or nothing when you won the last race and don’t owe me anything?”

  “I’ll figure it out,” I advised, getting up and throwing the inedible food in the trash and marching off to the race track.

  “I’m sorry about wasting your money on food that tastes like shit,” I said in a sincere apology. Then a thought dawned on me. I had no clue what he even did for money. “Um…I hope this isn’t too personal, but do you have a job? You’ve never mentioned it and I assume you have bills to pay…”

  Dixon’s demeanor instantly changed from a carefree dude eating the last bite of a pretzel to a man that had an eighty foot tall wall around his emotions.

  “You don’t have to answer that,” I sputtered, instantly regretful of my prying question. The man’s finances were none of my business at all, it’s just that I had no clue what he actually did all day besides watch porn and sit at the veteran’s center while staring out the window.

  “I get a check every month that takes care of things,” he replied icily, indicating that there was no more to discuss on that topic. “The track is filling up with drivers. Let’s line up and get this over with so I can go home.”

  Okay then.

  We managed to somehow become the final two drivers before all the karts were full, and I lamented the fact that I had to take the last vehicle in line. What are the odds that this is the fastest one? Not very likely.

  I smiled at Dixon since we were directly across from each other, but he refused to make eye contact. Had I somehow insinuated that he was a loser due to lack of steady employment? This is why life was so much easier when I was anti-social. The less people you had to talk to, the less of a chance of putting your foot in your mouth.

  With any luck, this race will go smoothly and he’ll cheer up a little.

  Chapter Fourteen

  I counted eight other racers ahead of us, but we were the last in line so I couldn’t size up my competition. I did see a mom with her two sons and the same old man from last time, but everyone else was a mystery.

  The referee told us the rules again, reciting his well-rehearsed speech, and then we were off and racing. Well…nine of use were off and racing and one of us puttered along like her kart was going to fall apart.

  Yes, lucky kart number thirteen turned out to be a total dud. It felt as though every other kart shot out of the gate going ninety miles per hour and I was stuck at a snail’s pace.

  What the hell was wrong with this thing?

  There were no gauges so it’s not like I could see if it was low on gas, about to overheat, or blow up. It was against the rules to turn around, so I had no choice but to carry on while going a speedy four miles an hour. At least that’s what it felt like.

  I had the road to myself as I meandered around the figure eight and prepared to go over the bridge. My kart sputtered and shuddered as it went up the hill, thankfully making it onto the bridge. For a second, I thought it might roll backwards or something.

  As I heaved a sigh of relief that I was still moving forward, there was one final sputter and then she gave out entirely. That’s correct…I ran out of gas.

  I know you’re not supposed to leave your kart, but there was no way in hell I was staying stranded on the bridge. Standing up and shouting to get the attention of an employee, I let him know that I was broken down.

  “Come on back,” he yelled, “Just be careful.”

  Really? Did he think I was going to lay flat on the track and scream, “Please run over me?” I’m not a total moron.

  Making sure to watch out for any karts that might be coming, I stayed on the grass and appreciated my vantage point. I had a pristine view of the entire course. I took the opportunity to find Dixon among the other drivers and see how he was doing.

  Oh fuck.

  Dixon’s kart was wedged in between a cluster of three other drivers and they were all shouting and gesturing wildly at each other. Let me further explain that the gestures involved the middle finger he was so fond of using. Let me also clarify that the other guys looked like trouble making punks.

  I took off at a run and arrived at the scene just as they were all pulling over, per the demand of the referee.

  “Who taught you how to drive, dumb fuck?” punk number one asked, getting up in Dixon’s face. Out of all three guys, he seemed to be the one in charge.

  “Yeah, you piece of shit,” punk number two chimed in, puffing out his chest to appear important. He was the shortest of the group and the least threatening.

  Their third friend just hung back with his hands in his pockets, evidently wanting no part of the whole mess. It would appear that my original assessment was mostly correct. They did look like punks. Okay, frat boy punks who had possibly started drinking at noon and were feeling no pain at the moment.

  Dixon’s face began to turn red and I could tell he was holding back his anger, but how long would he be able to keep it in check?

  “It’s a racetrack,” he snapped, in a tone that meant to convey that the man wasn’t to be fucked with. “It’s not my fault that you three dipshits don’t know how to drive and I cut you off. Get over it.”

  “Why don’t you get over this,” the first guy suggested, reaching out and forcefully pushing Dixon. Even though the other dude was bigger and bulkier, he barely managed to move my battle-trained soldier.

  Well, that escalated in a hurry, didn’t it?

  “Stop it right now!” I screamed, desperate to intervene and prev
ent a bloodbath.

  Dixon immediately reached out a hand to pull me out of the way of danger.

  “Yeah, man,” the second guy taunted, “Listen to that Jap bitch and don’t make things worse than they already are.”

  “What the fuck did you just say?” I asked, wishing I could stop what was about to come next, but knowing it was unavoidable.

  He opened his mouth to reply and I popped him right in the jaw with a left hook. This wasn’t my first fist fight, and I had some power behind my stance. In other words, the guy staggered back and stumbled into his friend, nearly knocking them both over.

  “Who else wants a piece of this?” I shouted, hopping from one foot to the next like a prize fighter desperate to face his next opponent.

  I had a bad tendency to go from calm to violent in about two seconds anytime I was on the receiving end of a racist slur. I saw red and didn’t stop until my fists did the talking for me.

  Punk number one began to back away while shaking his head.

  “Wow, I didn’t see that one coming. Big tough guy has to get his attack dog to do all the work for him.”

  Dixon literally growled and would have lunged forward to beat the guy, had it not been for a large group of employees that had descended upon the scene to break up our fight.

  Two men wearing referee shirts got in between us and the punks, while another two tried holding Dixon back.

  I put my hand on his chest and pleaded, “Back down. You’re on probation, Dixon. You can not afford to go to jail. If anyone dares to press charges for anything, I will get my lawyer up in here so fast and we will rain hell down upon these assholes and let the world know they tolerate hate crimes. Racist bastards!”

  “Hey,” one of the referee employees quickly spoke up, “we don’t want any trouble. Just leave now and no one has to know this ever happened.”

  Dixon struggled to break free of their hold on him, eventually shrugging out of their grasp. He stormed off in the direction of the parking lot without another word.

  Running to catch up with him, I began to apologize for the whole commotion. While it wasn’t my fault, it always caused me embarrassment when anyone said anything negative about me being Asian. I didn’t like to stick out as being different. No one does.

  “Dixon, I---”

  “No, Alyce. I’m barely keeping my shit together as it is,” he seethed through gritted teeth. “Here’s what’s going to happen. We’re going to get in your car, you’re going to drive us home, and no more words will be spoken.”

  I respected his wishes, even though I was dying to talk about what just happened. Was he mad at me? Embarrassed? I didn’t know what thoughts were going through his head. One of the lessons I actually learned in life was to choose your battles. It seemed like the best course of action was to give Dixon his space.

  As we approached his apartment building and I parked in the spot closest to the door, he finally broke the uncomfortable silence.

  “I wanted to kill them with my bare hands, Alyce. Do you know what it’s like to have to hold back and let your girl do your fighting for you? Or how it feels when she’s disrespected and you can’t do anything about it because you know once you start swinging, you’re going to send the guy to the hospital and end up in jail?”

  “It’s---”

  “No, I’m not done yet. I’m a giant piece of shit, Alyce. I know it, my family knows it, and the entire rest of the world knows it. I don’t understand why you haven’t realized it yet. Let me make this absolutely clear so it finally sinks in. I don’t want you trying to fix me anymore, don’t ever talk to me again, and most of all, do not come back to the veteran’s center. Get on with your life and forget I ever existed. No one else seems to have a problem doing that. Just move on and find a decent guy who has a job, pays his bills, treats you right, and isn’t fucked in the head beyond repair. Goodbye.”

  He didn’t even look at me as he got out of my car, slammed the door, and stormed into his apartment building.

  Wow. I wonder if that charming little speech was a spur of the moment kind of thing, or if he’d been planning that for a while. If I said it didn’t hurt me a little bit, I’d be lying.

  What shocked me the most was the fact that Dixon thought he could tell me what to do and I’d actually listen and follow his orders. Pfft. Dude had a lot to learn if he thought he could get rid of me that easily.

  Chapter Fifteen

  I reached into my pocket and checked my phone for the tenth time this afternoon. This was no easy feat while holding a giant ice cream cone in my other hand.

  “Are you expecting a call from the president?” my grandpa asked, raising a bushy eyebrow as he slurped up a bowl of vanilla ice cream.

  “No, sir. I wouldn’t take that call. You know I hate politicians.”

  “Then how come you keep checking that damn telephone every five seconds?”

  Busted. I wasn’t about to admit that I texted Dixon this morning to let him know I wouldn’t be at the veteran’s center due to an afternoon off work to take my grandpa to some doctor appointments. The stubborn beast never responded. I think he was taking this whole ‘never speak to me again’ thing pretty seriously.

  “I’m just checking it,” I replied, unable to finish the sentence. If I said I was expecting a text from work, he’d know I was lying because I would ignore it completely. When I punch out from my job, I’m gone with the wind. That’s how much I hate that place. Plus it was Friday. No one is thinking about work on a Friday afternoon, unless they’re still stuck there and staring at the clock.

  “Mmhmm,” he mumbled, clearly not done with the topic. “What’s new in your life, baby girl? You got anything you want to talk about? You win the lottery yet? Any marriage proposals I should know about?”

  I shrugged my shoulders, staring straight ahead at the family of ducks swimming in the pond at my favorite park. It was a ritual of sorts for us. My grandpa had a few doctor appointments every month in order to check his bloodwork and make sure everything was still operating properly. When he got good results, we always stopped for ice cream as a reward and came to the park. If he got bad results, we went to the bar for a shot of his favorite whisky. Today was a positive day.

  “Nothing too earth shattering,” I mumbled, avoiding direct eye contact. The man could read me like a book and I wasn’t ready for him to know I had a special gentleman friend. Not that I did. Yet. I mean…I was working on it.

  “Alyce, I haven’t seen you in almost two weeks and you haven’t had any adventures in that entire time? A beautiful young woman such as yourself should be out seeing the world and raising hell. What’s the matter with you?”

  Had it really been so long since we’ve spent time together? Ah, yes. Last weekend I dropped off his food as he was rushing out the door to play in a Euchre card game at the senior center, not really giving us a chance to talk.

  “Hey, did you end up winning the big prize at your tournament last week?” I asked, feeling like a jerk for not bringing it up sooner. Grandpa loved to brag about his card playing skills.

  “We took fourth place because that damn Arthur Connors thought he was holding an ace and it was really a ten. I’m never playing as his partner again. Old coot needs a new pair of eye glasses. It was a disaster!”

  “I’m sorry. I keep telling you to get them to allow any age to play. If I was your partner, we’d wipe the floor with everyone.”

  He nodded his head in agreement and then paused to take another large bite of his ice cream treat. Once he sucked down the entire bowl and licked the spoon, he began badgering me with more questions.

  “Don’t think I didn’t notice you changed the subject, baby girl. I still don’t know what you’ve been up to lately. How’s work? Any car problems? You been eating healthy? Staying out of trouble? You didn’t get arrested, did you? Nope. I didn’t get any calls for bail money.”

  My eyes lit up and I blurted, “I got mad and punched a guy yesterday. So, I suppose I do have a good s
tory for you.”

  Since he was the one to teach me how to fight, I figured he’d appreciate hearing about my fists of fury.

  “You punched a man?” he asked, shaking his head in disappointment. “Sometimes I worry that you’re going to take on more than you can handle one of these days.”

  That’s what makes life interesting.

  “He deserved it, grandpa!” I exclaimed angrily. “I was actually at our old stomping ground minding my own business and racing around the go kart track. There was a bit of a commotion due to some road rage, a fight broke out, some jerk called me a disparaging name, and I let my fist do the talking.”

  “Hmm. Let me guess, his remark was racial in nature?”

  “Yeah,” I admitted quietly, hanging my head.

  Grandpa patted me on the knee in understanding of my situation. He knew how upset I got when anyone targeted me solely for being different. Before I was born, he was very racist. He never cared for people from other ethnic backgrounds, especially Asians. I suppose the prejudice was passed down due to his father also judging others based on their skin color, but my grandpa hated Asians with a passion after serving in the Vietnam War. It was extremely difficult for him to understand how his son could marry ‘one of them.’ He viewed my mother as ‘the enemy’ and it broke his heart when my dad got her pregnant.

  How do I know all this? My mother told me. She had a lot of hate and negativity in her soul, so maybe it’s for the best that she took off when I was six. It’s also a damn lucky miracle that my grandpa and grandma were kind enough to take me in. Yeah, that’s right…the second I was born and my grandpa saw this cute little baby, he melted like the Grinch on Christmas morning. Since my dad was a truck driver and rarely home, and my mother got a job to get out of the house, I went to stay with my grandparents every day. I toddled around after my grandpa like he was the king of the world, and he couldn’t help but fall madly in love with his little shadow. This slowly ended his hatred of Asians, and forced him to realize that we’re all the same underneath different skin. Everyone wants to be loved and respected.