The Thursday Night Club

by Steven Manchester

  His baby face had been replaced with a man’s chiseled features. And his hazel eyes no longer sparkled, his love for life extinguished somewhere in Afghanistan.

  “So you made it home,” she said, breaking the terrible silence.

  He nodded. “I did.”

  “I hope you don’t mind,” Lindsey said, “but when I heard that you’d come home I asked Craig to let me see you. Please don’t be mad at him.”

  He shook his head, the tears building fast behind his eyes. “Of course not.” He stood and took a step toward her. “I’m sorry, Lindsey,” he said, “but…”

  She threw up her hand, stopping him from getting any closer. “No need to be sorry, David. If you didn’t want to see me, all you had to do was be honest.”

  “It’s not that at all,” he swore, the first few tears breaking free. “I’ve never lied to you. It’s just that… You don’t understand.” He was already struggling to take in oxygen.

  “Of course I don’t understand, David,” she said, her voice changing from sorrow to anger. “And how could I unless you explained it to me?”

  David considered this and shook his head. Life had dropped him to his knees and the view was very different now. A full night spent on a park bench is much different from that same night on a rooftop, he thought. His innocence had been replaced by a harsh maturity. Things are different now. I’m different.

  “Just because I didn’t experience what you experienced doesn’t mean I’m not here for you,” she said and began to cry.

  “I’m sorry,” he repeated, unable to say anything more. He was just trying to breathe.

  “Oh David,” she squealed and hurried out of the kitchen, shutting the front door behind her.

  I’m sorry, Lindsey, he thought, and began to weep mournfully—while gasping for air.

  ~~~

  The following night, David sat for supper with his mom and Craig.

  “I have a job interview this week,” Betty told her boys proudly.

  “Good for you, Ma,” Craig said, reaching for the large bowl of pasta.

  “Your dad never wanted me to work, so I’ve never been on an interview. I’m a little nervous.”

  “You’ll do great, Ma,” David said. “It’s about time you got out there and lived for yourself.”

  The woman smiled gratefully.

  “When are you going to tell me what it was like over there?” Craig blurted to David, changing the subject. “I’ve been asking for a week and you…”

  Betty slapped Craig’s arm, stopping him.

  “It’s okay, Ma,” David said and took a deep breath. “It sucked pretty bad I guess.”

  Craig slid to the edge of his seat. “Yeah, I know that. But what happened when you first…”

  David’s mind began to drift. He couldn’t help it. His breathing quickened and beads of sweat formed on his brow. Aware of his lack of concentration and the fact that he couldn’t stop squirming, he eventually stood and cleared his throat. “I need to use the bathroom,” he said and hurried out of the kitchen.

  David rushed to the bathroom and closed the door behind him. He splashed cold water on his face and then stared deeply into the mirror. “What is wrong with me?” he asked his frightened reflection. “Dear God, what in the hell is wrong with me?”

  Avoiding any further conversation, David left the bathroom and sat in the living room recliner. He threw on the TV and, while Craig and his mom gave him his space, worked on calming his breathing. In desperate need of peace, he decided, Sleep, and lots of it, is probably best. It took nearly an hour, but he finally nodded off in the recliner.

  Suddenly, David flew from the chair and opened his mouth to yell for help. He didn’t. Instead, he fell into a heap and began to cry. While his sweaty, trembling hands covered his face, he tried to catch his breath. He thought about telling Craig or his mother to call for an ambulance. No, he thought, no hospital. He climbed back into the chair. Am I going crazy, or is it some disease spreading through my body?

  Minutes later, when the cruel wave had completely washed over him, he sat up to face another long bout with insomnia. It was becoming a nightly routine for him. He felt so alone.

  ~~~

  Halfway across Gooseberry Island, Lindsey lay in bed staring out her window into the star-filled sky. How could I have felt so much closer to you when you were halfway around the world? she asked David in her mind. And now you’re only a few miles away, but you might as well be on Mars. She shook her head, breaking the first tears free. I miss you like crazy and I have to believe that you miss me too. On the verge of sobbing, she watched as the North star flickered brightly. Don’t you still see what I see, David? she asked in her mind. Don’t you still want us? She wept like a child.

  ~~~

  The following afternoon, David found himself in his own trusted physician’s office. Doctor Lauermann was a tanned, well-conditioned medicine man who was easy to talk to. “There’s no evidence of heart trauma,” Dr. Lauermann reported. “It’s probably just anxiety.”

  “Just?” David asked, surprised. David was falling apart and felt ready for tears. He thought about his old friend, Coley. I need to go see him.

  A half hour later, David and Coley sat in the gleaming rag top. “Are you sure you’re not going to march in the parade?” Coley asked. “The whole island wants to give you and Max a hero’s welcome home.”

  David shook his head. “Not a chance in hell.” He looked at Coley. “Did they already ask Max?”

  Coley nodded and then grinned. “He said the same exact thing.”

  David nodded.

  “So what’s eating at you?” Coley asked.

  David opened his mouth to answer but couldn’t. He realized, Coley will never understand. He looked at his friend. “I have to go,” he said.

  Coley shook his head. “I’m here for you, you know,” he said.

  “I know,” David said, “and I appreciate it.” And if I ever need pointers on picking up girls, you’ll be the first one I come see, he thought, smiling.

  Coley nodded and jumped out of the Mustang.

  It’s Captain Eli who I need to see, David thought.

  A half hour later, David was standing on the bow of SEPENDIPITY with Captain Eli.

  “I don’t know what it is, Captain Eli. I feel so different now. There’s nothing really wrong, nothing going on, but I’m down. I’m always down and—” he shook his head, “—when I’m not, I feel like I’m having a heart attack.”

  “You need counseling, David. I mean, my God, from the letter you sent me, there’s some pretty heavy stuff you need to process before you can get beyond Afghanistan.” He looked into his friend’s eyes. “You can only carry so much weight, David, before you break your back.”

  David inhaled deeply. “But I was trained for everything that happened over there.”

  Captain Eli reached into his wallet and pulled out a business card. He handed the card to David. “His name’s Brad Perry. I’ve been seeing him for years.” Captain Eli shrugged. “What can it hurt?” he asked.

  David looked at the card. Without thinking, he pulled out his wallet and slid it in. For years? he thought. What can it help?

  A few golden nuggets of wisdom later, David headed back for the Mustang—feeling as lost as ever.

  ~~~

  Surrendering to grief and despair, it was as if Denis Wood was forfeiting the rest of his God-given days on earth. Lindsey wished she could help him, but she’d tried everything she could think of. His scars were deep and the wounds beneath them dark and festering.

  Weeks had already turned into months and he was still at the VA Hospital, still cut off from her and the rest of the world.

  The bloody nose and black eye were long gone when Lindsey finally went to see him. “Are you ever going to get out of here, or are you planning to stay forever?” she asked him.

  He could barely look at her. “Seems it might be best for everyone if I stay locked up.”

  “I disagree,”
she said, and her hard tone forced him to look up.

  “I…I…” He couldn’t articulate his feelings into words.

  She took a seat at the edge of his bed and peered into his eyes. “Dad, I understand. It’s okay.”

  “How is it okay, Lindsey?” he asked, almost at a scream. “What kind of father hits his daughter…the person he loves most in this world?” He shook his sorrowful head. “You’ve been there for me every step of the way and it hasn’t been a fun trip…for either of us.” He pointed to her eye. “And how do I repay you? I…”

  “You didn’t mean it,” she interrupted.

  “What difference does that make?”

  “All the difference in the world, Dad. You have PTSD and I understand that. If you had diabetes, would I get angry at you when your sugar got low?”

  “So it’s okay for me to slap you around when I don’t have my wits about me?”

  “Not at all!” she answered defiantly. She looked at him and softened her tone. “We obviously need to come up with a better strategy, but you need to let go of your guilt for this. You need to forgive yourself.” She grabbed his hands and kissed his forehead. “Because I’ve already forgiven you.”

  He opened his mouth to reply but couldn’t. Instead, he started to cry. At first, it was a few tears that he tried to conceal. And then he began to sob, harder than Lindsey had ever seen him. The pain was so intense, it was just oozing out of him.

  She held onto his hands and cried hard right along with him. “We’ll be okay, Dad,” she whimpered. “Everything’s going to be okay.”

  In truth, she knew that their relationship had been reduced to small talk, Boston Red Sox statistics and an occasional visit to a safely selected memory. But it’s something, she thought. And he needs to know that he’s not alone.

  ~~~

  David had been home for six weeks when he pulled into the market, preparing to locate everything on his mother’s grocery list. As he approached the store, he spotted a young teenage boy walking out; he was holding a brown bag. An older man approached the boy and reached out his hand. David gasped and his dizzy mind immediately raced back to Afghanistan and the horrific beating of the young Afghani boy:

  There was movement three hundred yards out on the street below. Unusual, David thought. It was a teenage boy, maybe fourteen, carrying a burlap bag and hurrying home before dark. Never seen him before, David thought.

  In a flash, a man—a Taliban fighter—jumped out of the shadows and grabbed the boy’s arm, pulling him to the street and spilling the contents of his sack. As the teenager yelled for help, another Taliban soldier emerged from the darkness. The boy screamed louder, but not a single soul came to his aid…

  It only took a few seconds, but the whole scene played out in sequence in his mind—both men yelling and slapping the boy as he screamed for help; the slaps turning to a vicious beating until finally the boy was dead. He could almost hear Command say “Negative” again after he asked if he could intervene. He felt the anguish in his soul threatening to overwhelm him, but it was quickly replaced by a burning rage.

  His eyes filled with tears, David returned to the present and started for the man in a mad rush. He was three steps from the shocked stranger when reality clicked in. It’s the boy’s father, he realized. He’s…he’s okay.

  David’s body convulsed. He’d forgotten he was home, and the reality of it slapped him hard in the face.

  The man pulled the teenage boy close to him; both of them were frightened by David’s sudden charge toward them.

  “Sorry,” David said, though it sounded more like “Sigh.” Trying unsuccessfully to smile at them, he turned on his heels and hurried back to the Mustang.

  For the next hour, David sat alone in his car, trying to calm the physical effects of his anxiety. Once he’d reined that in, he spent another two hours beating back the depression that always followed in anxiety’s wake.

  His wasn’t sure whether the abyss existed within his heart or mind, but he knew that he was now filled with a great void—nothingness. There was no light there, only darkness. There was no hope, only despair. In time, he’d learned to embrace the silence, as the screams and whimpers of faceless victims became echoes that returned again and again, pushing the line of madness. Yet, the solitude was relentless, enveloping, merciless. It would have been better had I never existed, he thought, fearing another moment more than cashing in and leaving it all behind. No love, he thought, no peace. His memories were slanted in such thick negativity that his entire past would have been better off erased. And no one knows I’m dying inside, he thought, inviting another wave of panic attacks to crash onto the shore of his weary mind.

  He closed his eyes tightly and tried to calm the short labored gasps. Just ride the wave, he told himself. Just ride the wave.

  But in another room in his mind, he knew that even if he rode that wave—and didn’t crack his skull on all the rocks beneath him—he’d have to take the ride again and again. It didn’t take long before the jagged rocks seemed like the more merciful option.