if his platoon sergeant was so inclined.
We didn’t know for sure if or when it
would happen, and anticipation built
to an insane degree. Cole could
use his cell phone only on Fridays,
after training. I’d wait breathlessly
until I got a definitive yea or nay.
Even then, there were restrictions.
Luckily, Uncle Jack lived within
the prescribed radius and also had
a daughter cute enough to lure
Cole’s “battle buddies.” SOI
infantrymen did not leave base
alone. The Corps believes in
chaperones. We did manage some
alone time, though. Sex, ever better,
was my reward for patience, and
“liberty” for Cole meant plummeting
toward commitment for me.
SCHOOL OF INFANTRY
Lasted not quite two months.
By the time Cole’s graduation
loomed, I was over-the-top in love
with him. My own schoolwork
suffered more than a little, not so
much because of time spent with him,
as because of too much time
fantasizing about being with him.
Daydreams are distracting. Then
came the very real threat of
losing him. As commencement
day marched ever closer, anxiety
took seed. Sprouted. Grew like
the spring weeds outside my door.
I didn’t eat much. Food had no taste.
My brain fought sleep and when
exhaustion forced it, desolation
framed my dreams. And snapshots
of war. I couldn’t get past those
images. They were everywhere—
television, magazines, the Internet.
Finally, I went to a counselor
who sent me to a therapist, who
prescribed tiny pills that allowed
me some measure of deep night
respite. Non-narcotic, he promised.
Then he amended, But could cause
dependency. I still depend on
them to silence the nightmares.
My body has learned to work in sync
with them, sleeping straight
through the night, waking on time
and mostly refreshed. But those
first weeks, Ativan fogged
every morning. The alarm couldn’t
fight the daze. I ended up missing
my morning classes, and as
someone who had always been
in complete control of my life
up until then, I felt like a puzzle
that couldn’t be solved because
pieces were misplaced. But then
would come Cole’s Friday call,
and all those pieces started to fall
right into place, except for the most
important ones around the edges,
the ones that completed the puzzle.
Those appeared when Cole did.
COLLEGE
Wasn’t working out much better
for Darian, not that she saw Spence
much more than I saw Cole. And
not that she worried any more
about him, either. In fact, she slept
fine, sans medication. Her problem
was lack of motivation. The only thing
I’m good at is singing, she said. So why
bust my butt, working for grades?
The only classes she kept up with
were music and screenwriting.
Spence’s MCT school was only
four weeks, no liberty the first two.
By the third, he and Dar were in
regular heat for each other. They
had only a few hours together,
but made the best of it at Uncle
Jack’s. The fourth week, Spence
was allowed overnight liberty, and
partway through their all-night love
fest, they began making wedding
plans. After his MCT graduation,
Spence’s MOS training would continue
at Pendleton. He wanted a wife
before any chance at deployment.
And Darian wanted a husband.
Spence received special liberty
to walk down the aisle. Cole
was granted it, too, to serve as best
man, opposite my maid of honor.
The wedding night was incredible,
at least for Cole and me, who had
our own honeymoon suite right
on the beach, waves serenading
us as we made love. It was our
first time alone with no pressure
to hurry since those first days
after we met. We were starved
for each other, barely through
the door before tux and dress
fell to the floor in an inelegant
heap. There was nothing elegant
about what came next, either.
It was desperation, made flesh.
He picked me up with steel-
muscled arms, kissed me, bit
me, licked me. Tried, it seemed,
to swallow me. And I screamed
for him to climb inside me and
he did, with his lips and tongue
and fingers—one, two, three.
And then he filled me up with fire
and stone and when he poured
into me, I cried. Because I knew.
I KNEW
That would be our last night
to join in such a way before
the Marine Corps ordered him
to a place where touch would not
be possible. Unfair, when I had
just tapped into this wellspring,
need I never knew I thirsted for.
Unfair, to strip me of him, just
when I realized he was intrinsic
to the “me” I’d become. Who would
I be when he was gone? Later,
I would realize that distance was not
at the heart of my pain. It was time,
dissipated. Vanished into the ether.
Moments lost cannot be resurrected.
But, whether or not I knew the reason,
I ached for him, for us, though he held
me in his arms. When I confessed
my fear and he made love to me
the second time, it was tender, driven
by tears. And he whispered into my ear,
my hair, the plush skin of my breasts,
my belly, my thighs: Don’t be sad, Ash.
As long as you want me, I will always
come back to you. And, no matter where
I am, you will be the first I think of every
morning, and this will be the last thing
I remember as I fall asleep each night.
ROUND THREE
Was the best one of all.
Something to remember,
for sure. For him. And me.
Exhausted, but not close
to satiated, we poured
memories into the predawn
hours, enough to last
for the long months apart
dangling on the near horizon.
Afterward, he held me
so tightly I could barely
breathe. But when he mumbled,
I love you, Ash, I could have
happily suffocated right there
in his arms. It was the first time
he’d said it. I half-suspected
he was delirious, wasn’t sure
I believed him. Nor was I certain
he heard me when I dared
admit out loud, “I love you,
too.” I’d never uttered those
words, to him or anyon
e. But
I realized, just as I nodded
off, how very much I meant it.
LOVE CAN COMPLETE YOU
It can also destroy you. The day Cole
graduated SOI, love annihilated me.
By then, I was helplessly, ridiculously,
out of my mind crazy about him. And
they gave us exactly fifteen minutes
to say good-bye before loading him up
to send him off to his permanent duty
station on Oahu. I don’t know why they
call PDSs “permanent.” “Regular” is more
accurate, at least until the brass deploys
their grunts elsewhere. Cole would have
four months in Hawaii before heading to
Iraq. San Diego felt a million miles away,
and as summer closed its fists around
spring, I felt the squeeze. Finals were
a nightmare. Despite the vastness between
Cole and me, I was every bit as distracted
as when he was “spitting distance,” to borrow
a Wyoming colloquialism. Later, when
my parents wanted to know what happened
to that semester, I told them I was sick,
which wasn’t a total lie. I was heartsick.
I DID GET REGULAR CALLS
They always started pretty much
like this: Hey, sweetheart.
What’s up in the real world?
And, since I always answered,
“Not much going on here. What’s
happening in your world?”
I got a regular rundown
about barracks cleaning
and physical training before
the poet in Cole started talking
about, The perfume of plumeria,
fighting the scent of sweat
in the air, or how, The ocean’s
singing reminds me of our last
night together. Remember?
How could I possibly forget?
And that made me even
hungrier to see him or touch
him or taste him. His voice was not
nearly enough, so I’d go get his shirt
and bury my face in it until time was up
and he had to tell me, Good-bye. Love
you. And, I’m in need of some serious
Ash time. Before long, our mantra.
ALL SIGNS POINTED
To Spencer being assigned a local
PDS. He had requested Pendleton,
which is home to several helicopter
squadrons. With that likely, he put
in for on-base housing, knowing
it would take a while for approval.
Meanwhile, his housing allowance
would pay for the off-base apartment
he could come home to after completing
training. With SDSU out for summer
break, I packed up my stuff, left Darian
in San Diego, and went home.
Despite my growing feelings for Cole,
I hadn’t mentioned him to my parents.
I had a pretty good idea of how they
would react, especially Mom. The only
thing that surprised me was how calm
she remained when we sat down to dinner
my first night back and the conversation
almost immediately went to if and who
I was dating. At that point, lying seemed
ridiculous, so I admitted, “Actually, I am
seeing someone. And it’s kind of serious.”
All silverware action came to a halt.
Why didn’t you mention it? asked
Dad. Is he, like, twice your age?
I smiled. “Well, he is an older man.
Twenty-one, in fact. And he’s kind
and smart, and really good looking . . .”
It was then or never; at least
that’s how it felt, so I went ahead
and added, “And he’s in the Corps.”
Mom’s jaw went rigid. Surely you
don’t mean the Marine Corps? When
I looked away, she knew. Yet she kept
her voice low. Are you actively seeking
heartbreak? Have you heard there’s a war
going on? I can’t believe you’re that stupid.
That smarted, but I didn’t want to
argue, or even defend myself.
“Love is stupid sometimes, I guess.
Look, Mom, I didn’t go looking to fall
for a soldier. Yes, I know there’s a war.
Cole’s heading that way very soon.”
Stating it so matter-of-factly sucked
all bravado out of me. My shoulders
slumped and my eyes stung. “And
I’d really a-a . . .” A huge wad of
emotion crept up my throat. I choked
it back. “Appreciate your support.”
Mom shook her head, dropped
her eyes toward her plate. It was
Dad who said, Ashley, girl, I think
this is a huge lapse of judgment.
But I can see you’re upset. We’ll
talk about it after dinner, okay?
But our appetites were crushed
beneath a relentless blitz of silence.
THE WEIGHT OF SILENCE
The plain is still,
emptied
of even the thinnest
sounds—the murmur
of creeping sand;
pillowed spin of tumbleweed;
susurrus of feathers trapped
in thermal lift.
The well is dry,
drained
to weary echo
above desiccated silt.
Thirst swells, bloats
every cell until
the body arcs
beneath its weight.
The page is blank,
scrubbed of
metaphor, flawless
turn of phrase. Parched
within the silence, hungered
in a desert without
words,
I am stranded
in your absence.
Cole Gleason
Present
THE TIMING
For this trip couldn’t be a whole
lot worse. The semester has barely
started, and I’m just settling into
my classes. I’ll only miss a few days,
though. Hopefully my professors
will be understanding. I’m not so
sure about Mr. Clinger, who wears
austerity proudly. I wonder if he writes
poetry, too, or if he only analyzes it.
You can’t teach poetry without truly
loving it, can you? Guess we’ll see. Class
is over for the day, the room deserted
except for Mr. Clinger and me.
“Excuse me.” I muster my prettiest
smile, but when he looks up, he scowls,
and I almost change my mind.
Yes, Ms. Patterson? What can I do
for you? His voice is flat, though
his blue glacier eyes seem curious
enough. I study his face, subtly creased
beneath a surfer’s tan. He might
be handsome, if he could find a smile.
“I won’t be in class on Friday or Monday.”
I see. And where, if I might ask,
will you be? He taps his fingers
on the metal table top. Drumming
impatience. “I’m flying to Hawaii
on Thursday. Cole—uh, my boyfriend—
is deploying to Afghanistan. He’ll be gone
seven months and . . .” Suddenly, it hits
me that Cole will spend the holidays
overseas. Again. Flimsy celebrations
this year. “It’s his fourth deployment.
We’ll have a
few days to say good-bye.”
I see. His tone is not especially
sympathetic. You’ll miss a test, but
I suppose I can let you make it up.
“Thank you, Mr. Clinger.” I saved
some ammunition, just in case.
Apparently, I don’t need it, but I’ll
use it anyway, if only for punctuation.
“By the way, Cole writes poetry.
I was wondering what you thought
about this.” I hold out the crinkled paper
like it’s a special gift, which it is.
He reads Cole’s poem, “The Weight
of Silence.” Reads it twice, I think.
Finally comments, This is good.
“Really? I thought so, too.
I’ll tell him you said—”
I wasn’t finished. I’m almost sorry
it’s this good. I hate to see talent
wasted, and, one way or another,
the military will squander it.
I’M AT A LOSS
How to respond? I want to say
something, but can’t find words.
“I . . . um . . . don’t . . .” He stares
intently, dissecting me with
those translucent, cool eyes.
Behind the frost, there’s a story.
“I’m sorry. I don’t understand
what you mean. Waste it, how?”
Now he’s searching for his own
words. That’s gratifying. Finally,
This is a military city. Teaching here,
I’ve seen a lot of what the service
can do. Not much of it is good.
People lose autonomy. Lose dreams.
Worst of all, they lose other people.
People who are important to them.
I nod, because it’s largely true. Still,
“I try not to think about losing him.
I know it could happen, sure. But if
I let myself worry, I’d be wrecked
all the time. Cole was a Marine
when I met him. That’s who I fell in
love with. I have no way of divorcing
him from the Corps, so I cope.”
I understand. To a point, anyway.
I was an Army brat, so no divorce
was possible. My father dragged
us halfway around the world and
back. I never had real friends. Never
knew what it meant to set down
roots until after I came here. Once
I finally sprouted some, the taproot
grew deep. I doubt I’ll ever leave.
That turned out to be a problem
for my wife. Or, should I say, my
ex-wife. She was hot to travel.
Ah, the story behind the frost.
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