with the basics already accomplished,
Cole and I made it all about nuance.
I WAS UP IN TIME FOR CLASS
Darian, who had missed Monday,
missed Tuesday, too. I have no idea
if she and Spence slept all day,
emerging like vampires when the sun
went down, or what. Neither do
I know for sure how Cole entertained
himself while I was at school.
All I know is, he was waiting for me
when I got home. Some nights,
we had dinner out. Others, we cooked
together like a regular committed
couple. It was a pleasant holding pattern
until the fledgling soldiers had to return
to Pendleton for SOI—School of Infantry,
where recruits learn vital warfare skills—
Machine Gun on the Run or Grenades 101.
Cole and Spence would sort into
different groups there—Cole to the
Infantry Training Battalion, and Spencer
to the Marine Combat Training Battalion,
before moving on to his chosen
Military Occupation Specialty training.
AT THE TIME
I was clueless about such details.
All I knew about the Marine Corps
was that it was about to swallow
the new guy in my life. The tall,
serious one from Wyoming, who
enjoyed staring me down with amber
eyes and making me come, first
with his tongue, and then the magic
way only he knew how to do.
I wouldn’t have used the word “love”
then, but I was well on my way there.
It would take several days of silence,
brooding about what our time together
actually meant, for the first real pangs
of love to strike. But as Cole tossed
his things into his backpack, this little
voice kept whispering, “God, you’re
going to miss him.” And when he
went to pee before leaving, I slipped
one of his T-shirts back out of his
pack, stashed it beneath a pillow.
I wasn’t exactly sure why then, but
later, when my bed seemed terribly
big and lonely, Cole’s shirt, still smelling
of him, brought comfort. And when
he finally had to say good-bye, a river
of emotions—sadness, joy, regret,
hope—permeated our last kiss.
I couldn’t make it last long enough.
When he turned away, he left me breathless.
A RIVER
Threads the desert
landscape, splinters
desolation,
an artery of life
blood,
silver-blue. And carried
in its tepid flow,
a promise of one
more tomorrow,
each apricot dawning
soaked
with hope for the young.
History is an unkind teacher.
The elders are wise
and well beyond
dreams
of glory, riches,
or gentle death. Enough,
in a war-tattered land,
that thirst does not
ravage
the throat. Enough
that, bellies taut
with the valley’s slender
abundance,
children sleep through
the night.
Cole Gleason
Present
I’VE NEVER CONSIDERED MYSELF
A romantic. Probably because
no evidence of anything even
remotely resembling romance
existed in the house I grew up in.
Maybe, if I think way, way back
to my pre-kindergarten days,
I might catch a glimpse of Mom
and Dad kissing. But holding hands,
or whispering sweet nothings?
Nope. Not even a vague memory
of such things. I’d see them for
what they were on TV or in movies—
fiction. In high school, boyfriends
were more about status than happily
ever after. Relationships came.
Relationships went, and not only
for me. It wasn’t that I didn’t like
the idea of falling in love. But I settled
for fleeting passion. And then I met
Cole. And Darian met Spencer, and
their overriding love for each other
was contagious. The difference being,
mine and Cole’s has grown. Matured,
even. Theirs seems destined to wither.
I CAN’T BRING MYSELF
To say it has already folded up
into itself, passed away. But if
Darian really believes she’s in love
with someone else, she can’t still
love Spencer, too. Can she? I curl
my legs under me, watch her refill
our drinks. Glad I’m staying over.
I’m fuzzy-headed and an artificial
warmth snakes through my body.
I wait for her to hand me the glass
before asking, “Who is it, Dar? Tell
me about him.” She sits on the far
end of the small loveseat, close
enough so I can see her eyes. His
name is Kenny, and I met him at
a support group for military
spouses. Not the one here on base.
Too close to home pasture and all.
I nod, feeling like an idiot, or at
the very least, a semistranger.
“So, his wife’s in the military?”
Her turn to nod. Air Force. Intel.
I guess Tara loves it. It “fulfills her,”
she told Kenny. Sad, for her family.
HER FAMILY?
What is Darian thinking?
“You mean, they’ve got kids?”
Yep. Well, one. She’s fifteen.
Wait. Fifteen? That makes
her mother at least, what?
Thirty-five? “How old is Kenny?”
Don’t freak, okay? Forty-two.
Seriously? What the hell?
A Daddy fetish, or what? “Dar . . .”
I know, I know. He’s old enough
to be my father. He’s also smart
and sweet and stable . . .
“Stable? I hate to point this out,
but he’s sleeping around on his
wife.” Which brings me straight
back to Dad, and Darian gets it.
He’s nothing like your dad, Ash.
I mean, it’s not like your mom
was traveling the world, gathering
intelligence for the U.S. of A.
Not like she left you behind for
your father to take care of while
she was off playing spy. It was
Tara’s choice to leave, not Kenny’s.
Please don’t judge him. Or me.
NOT MY PLACE
To judge. Not my place to worry,
really, except infidelity rarely turns
out well, and last time I looked,
Darian was still my best friend.
“I’d just hate to see you get hurt.”
Hurt? A little fucking late to worry
about that now! Her jaw tightens
and her violet-blue eyes flash anger.
Want to know what hurt is? It’s . . .
Her words puncture the space
between us, fangs, but I want to hear
the rest. “What is it? Tell me, Dar.”
She considers. Shakes her head.
Maybe someday. But not tonight.
&
nbsp; Tonight is supposed to be fun.
Wait. I know . . . She gets up, rushes
down the hall to her bedroom.
When she returns, she’s wearing
red flannel pajamas. She offers a blue
pair to me. Get comfy. Then we can
play What If? Our old sleepover
game. She goes to switch out CDs
while I heard toward the bathroom
to change, a little reluctant about
her plan. What If? was a blast when
we were in middle school. I’m not
sure it’s such a great idea tonight.
THE RULES ARE SIMPLE
One of us asks a “What if”
question. The other promises
to answer truthfully. When
we were kids, the questions
were simple enough. Dar:
What if the hottest guy in school
tried to kiss you? She knew
I was petrified my first kiss
would totally suck, and guessed
my answer: “I’d run the other way.”
Or, from me: “What if your
parents got divorced? Darian’s
answer, in eighth grade: I’d
help Mom find a nice man.
In high school, the game got
more complex. Freshman year,
Dar: What if Matt tried to put
the make on you? Matt was her
new boyfriend. I’d crushed on
him for over a year, and she knew it.
As I considered my answer,
it occurred to me that if things
were reversed, I wouldn’t be going
out with my best friend’s crush.
In that moment, what I really
wanted to say was, “I’d tell him
let’s do it right here. And then,
let’s do it where Darian can’t help
but see us.” Okay, the closest
I’d come to doing “it” was actually
enjoying my first kiss. So when
I said, “I’d deep throat him and
walk away,” I meant I’d tease
my tongue down his throat, zero
follow-through, because Dar
was my BFF, and I’d never mess
with that. I swear, I had no idea
“deep throat” could mean oral sex,
but it did to Darian. Game over.
It took several days to convince
her of my naïveté, and only after
she forgave me did I pause long
enough to think that my best friend
really should have known me better.
ALL COMFY IN BLUE FLANNEL
I hope for the best, return to
the front room, where Darian
and the Dixie Chicks are singing
“Cowboy Take Me Away.”
“Been a while since I’ve listened
to Fly.” It was our favorite album
in seventh grade. We even thought
we might be the next Dixie Chicks—
Darian taking lead with her fine,
clear voice and me on guitar, doing
harmonies. We drove our parents
nuts, practicing over and over.
It’s the perfect lead-in for our
game. What if, Darian asks, we
would have put together a band
and gone on the rodeo circuit?
We figured that was the easiest
place to break in. Plus, Dar’s dad
could give us rides to events. I mull
over my answer. “If we’d actually made
it on the circuit, you and your father
would either totally hate each other
by now or we’d be so rich and famous,
he’d insist on being our manager.”
She laughs. Pretty sure it would
be the former. Or maybe both.
Who knows? Okay. Your turn.
She waits while I think of a question.
I sip tequila, relish the crawl
of heat. “What if you hadn’t broken
up with Carson Piscopo?” They were
everyone’s idea of the perfect
couple for almost two years. Dar
smiles. I’d be living in a trailer,
chasing a pack of kids around
while Carson sucked down beer.
“He did like his Budweiser, didn’t
he?” Not so unusual, of course.
The majority of the football team
overindulged, as do most Marines
I know. Then again, any soldier
worth his MREs deserves to relax
when he can, with whatever. High
school jocks? Not so much. Jeez,
I’m showing my age. Dar clears
her throat. What if Cole was around
all the time? Like, if he wasn’t a Marine.
Would you still love him as much?
What a weird question. “Well,
of course. Why wouldn’t I? I don’t
love him because he’s a Marine.
I love him . . .” Damn. I almost said
in spite of it, and that isn’t right,
either. It’s such a big part of who
he is. “If he was around all the time,
I’d have sex a lot more often.”
WE BOTH LAUGH
But now it’s time to get serious.
This was her idea, but I’m ready to play
tough. “What if you never met Spencer?”
Then you wouldn’t have met Cole.
“That’s not what I mean, Dar.”
I know. Okay. First off, I wouldn’t
be living at Camp Pendleton.
Probably not even in San Diego.
Grad school was never in her plans.
I’m not even sure a degree was.
She went to college to leave home.
“But would you be happier?”
She shrugs. Who knows? Things
would be different, that’s all.
Anyway, happiness is overrated.
“You don’t mean that. What if . . .”
Hey! she interrupts. It’s my turn.
Um . . . As she contemplates her next
question, the Dixie Chicks launch into
“Goodbye Earl,” a song about two friends
who feed poisoned black-eyed peas to
the ex-husband whose fists put one
of them in intensive care. So long,
Earl. The song is half amusing, half
scary as hell. Darian listens for a few
seconds, then finally asks, What if
Cole got drunk and hit you?
She looks at me so earnestly, it spins
the tiny warning lights inside my brain.
“That would never happen. But if
it did, I’d make sure it would never
happen twice. I’d . . .” What? Have him
arrested? Poison his black-eyed peas?
Or would I, just maybe, chalk it up
to the alcohol? The bigger issue is,
“Are you talking from experience?”
Her face flushes. She starts to say
something. Closes her mouth.
Shakes her head. Just wondered.
There’s more there. A lot more,
I’m guessing. “Darian, you’d tell
me if somebody hit you, right?”
Yeah, sure. Of course I would.
This game is getting old. One
more round, then I’ll call it quits.
“What if Kenny left his wife?”
Good question. What if I told
you he’s already decided to?
THIS ISN’T FUN ANYMORE
I want to support my friend. Want
her decisions to be sound. Why do
I think those two things are opposing
forces? “Would you please stop
the coy routine? What’s going on?”
Look. I haven’t totally made up
my mind, but I’m thinking about
divorcing Spencer. I can’t tell him
long distance, though. So I guess
I’m stuck in limbo for now.
“And if you decide to split up,
will it be because of Kenny?”
In a way. I didn’t fall out of love
with Spencer because of Kenny.
But I did fall in love with Kenny
because of Spencer. Kenny treats
me with respect. Simple as that.
Sadness seeps into me. Through
me. And still, “I guess I understand.
I’m just sorry, you know?” I give her
a hug. “I’m fading fast. Guest room?”
She smiles. Clean sheets on the bed
and everything. And there’s a new
toothbrush in the medicine cabinet.
Morning-after-tequila breath is brutal.
As I start down the hall, she calls
after me, So you know, I’m sorry, too.
TIRED AND BUZZED
Still, I find it hard to sleep.
The bed is bigger and softer
than mine. I sink down into
the pillow top. Eyes closed,
I could be afloat in a calm sea.
Then up blows a wind. Spiraling
impatience for the impermanent
nature of love. Can it endure?
Grow? Flourish? I love Cole more
now than I did our first year
together. Is it because I know
him better—have investigated
beyond exterior shine, discovered
the facets underneath, strong,
pure, impenetrable? I hear Darian.
What if he was around all the time?
Would seeing him every day change
the way I feel? Is my heart fonder
because of his absence? Does proximity
breed discontent? The last thing
I want is for Cole and me to become
like my parents, one finding some
slim measure of satisfaction in
the other’s failures. But what about
loyalty? Faithfulness? Promises kept?
Would sharing a home make it less
welcoming—to Cole, or to me?
Rewind
OUR FIRST YEAR TOGETHER
Was mostly a year apart. At first,
while Cole attended SOI, we saw
each other when he got weekend liberty.
Sometimes on base, other times off,
but only if he wasn’t in the field, and only
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