by E Cleveland
Cole explains to him in Dari about how our team is heading out. He tells him who his new contact will be and when to expect to hear from them. The old man nods, his skin permanently weathered by sand and sadness.
My senses are all on high alert, I scan the barren land for signs of danger, for signs of life, but it’s eerily calm. The little hairs on the back of my neck prickle as my body prepares for a battle that only seems to be lurking in my imagination.
Abdul-Azim and Cole shake hands. I move my gun to my left and give him a firm handshake with my right. This man is many things to many people. A father. A son. A mourning grandfather. An unforgivable traitor. An unforgettable hero. Sweeping my superstitions about this being my last mission aside, I look him in the eye with complete sincerity, “Tašakor,” I thank him in his language. He nods and claps his other hand over mine, and for a moment where we grew up doesn’t matter. The fact that him and I have never really been able to communicate doesn’t matter. It took me way too long to learn how to say one word right, and I’m not even confident that I nailed it. Still, if I messed it up, even that clearly doesn’t matter. The bond between us is solidified in this handshake. In the promise we’ve both made and both honored to protect people.
To do what’s right.
We head out as quietly as we came, Cole slowly makes his way back up the empty street and waits until he turns out onto the main road to the base before he puts his lights back on. It’s as much for Abdul-Azim’s safety as ours. He doesn’t need rural neighbors spotting late-night visits from us. Even though we take precautions with our dress and our vehicle, we still stick out like sore thumbs.
We drive for a mile in complete silence. All of our joking and laughing has faded to a serious contemplation. Meeting untrained, local heroes who risk everything for the greater good has a way of making you sober up.
“What the fuck is that?” Cole squints and slams on the brakes as we round a curve in the road and almost slam into a herd of camels.
“Looks like a rolled truck.” I peer through the windshield; my gun secure in my hand. “Could be an ambush.” I search the darkness for signs of the enemy waiting on the sides of the road.
That’s the thing with this road. It’s the only one that leads to the base which makes it easy for anyone with bad intentions to set up traps, IEDs, or plan attacks. These camels would almost look funny with their googly eyes and big lips spitting all over the sand, but there’s nothing funny about walking into a booby trap.
There’s nothing funny about dying.
Cole has no choice but to slow the Jeep and pull over. We can’t plow through the animals and the rocky cliffs on each side of us prevent us from swerving too far around. As he puts the vehicle in park, my heart races. I swallow hard, forcing myself to take a long, slow breath as we wait for the seconds to pass and this possible nightmare to unfold.
“What do we do?” Cole doesn’t look at me, instead he’s doing exactly what I’m doing, scanning. Searching. Waiting.
“We’ve gotta get these animals out of the way and get back to the barracks,” I mumble.
“Unless you’ve got some kind of shepherd skills you’ve been keeping quiet, I’m not sure how we’re gonna do that.” Cole grimaces, twisting his hands on the wheel.
A man suddenly pops out from behind the camels and we instinctively raise our weapons. My head drops to the sight, my finger curls around the trigger, I’m ready to pull it back and drop this guy when Cole yells at me.
“Don’t shoot! He’s not armed!”
I open my squeezed eyelid and lift my head high enough to see that this man is empty-handed. He’s desperately trying to move his camels from the path, clearing a way for us to drive through the chaos.
It’s slow going, but we manage to slide past and make our way back out onto the open road. It takes longer than that for the adrenaline rush to pass. For the buzz to stop coursing through my veins with every beat of my heart. It’s not until we’re going through the barricade at the front gate, safely heading back into the base that it totally passes.
“See?” Cole’s eyes twinkle as he looks over at me.
“What?” I tilt my head.
“You made it back in one piece.” He grins. “I’ll admit, I was cursing you pretty good back there though. Like, oh fuck, here it comes! Maybe there is something to this last mission, last day shit.” He laughs.
“Yeah, that was sketchy for a bit,” I agree.
Cole eases the Jeep through the security checks as the guards inspect our vehicle. Finally, we’re driving back to our barracks. To the place we’ve called home for the past six months. “Think, man, in a few days you’ll never have to worry about any of this shit again. The only thing you’ve gotta worry about killing you now is boredom.” He scoffs.
I shake my head. I can tell he’s just busting my chops now. And it’s possible that, deep down, he’s a little bit jealous that I found something, found someone like Farrah. Her face flashes in front of my eyes and I can’t help but smile. I’m ready for the new chapter, or the new book, or whatever it is. As long as I’m with her, I’ll never be bored.
2
Sawyer
“Try not to block my shots, please? And keep a slow, steady pace so Frank can keep up with us, okay?” The local morning news lady, Mandy Macy, rushes through the protocol.
This is the woman that they send out to all the crazy places around the city to talk to locals and show people at home how fun it can be to toss axes around while jumping on a trampoline or whatever the latest fitness craze is. Sometimes her part of the show makes you wonder if her bosses sit around trying to come up with ways to make her look as foolish as possible on television. It looks like it can be a rough gig, but I’m guessing it’s never boring, so she’s got that going for her. I guess it’s not as bad as how they treat the young, over-smiling weather guy who gets to do his reports from outside every single time a hurricane or arctic blizzard rolls through.
“Got it.” I nod jerkily. I don’t want to mess up her segment or anything, but I can’t remember the last time I was this nervous. I’ve stormed buildings and exchanged fire with the enemy overseas and had less acid churning in my gut than I do right now.
I shove my hand in my uniform pocket and rub the fuzzy velvet box for the hundredth time. When I finally get to pop the question, there’s gonna be a worn down spot where I keep touching it.
“I know you’ve got a lot on your mind, so don’t try to focus on us too much. Frank’s a pro, so he’ll be able to get the best angle and all that for the proposal. You do your thing and forget we’re even here.” She grins.
“Sure, sounds good.” I keep nodding.
“Great.” She beams and her strawberry-colored lips spread into a wide smile. She turns and focuses on her aging cameraman as he shoves an entire doughnut in his mouth and wipes his hand down his jeans. “Ready, Frank?”
“Yup.” He gulps down the sugary breakfast like a hungry seagull, practically swallowing it whole.
“Then, let’s do this.” Mandy points at him and Frank shoulders his camera and flicks on a bright spotlight attached to the top. Her face is washed in soft white light that makes the highlighter on her cheeks sparkle and her hair look glossy. She looks really pretty, but it doesn’t register in my brain at all. I notice in the same way that I notice bananas are yellow. My thoughts are all zeroed in on one thing, actually on one person: Farrah.
“We’re goin’ live in three…” Frank holds up two fingers and then only one. He points at Mandy and she’s all wide eyes and pearly teeth as she does her introduction to the segment.
“Today I’ve got a special treat for the viewers at home. In support of our amazing troops, we are spending this morning with Sergeant Clifton. He returned from deployment less than twelve hours ago, is that right?” She holds the microphone in my face.
“That’s right, I think it’s been about eight hours now, actually. I’m a little scrambled with the time change.” I blink under the br
ight lights.
“I can imagine!” She doesn’t smile at me. Instead, she looks like a prized thoroughbred showing off her teeth to the judges as she talks to me while staring into the camera. “And, is it true that you still haven’t even been home yet? Does your girlfriend even know you’re back in the United States?” She perma-grins at the unblinking eye in Frank’s steady hand.
“No, she has no idea. I have a special surprise for her, one that I’ve been planning for a while now, but that I really wanted to save until we could be face-to-face again.”
“Ohhh! We’re so excited for you,” Mandy squeals. “Are you going to propose?”
“That’s the plan.”
“So, when we heard that you were coming back and planned to propose, we asked Sergeant Clifton if we could tag along. What is your lovely lady’s name?”
“Farrah.”
“Aww,” she coos like I showed her a picture of a cute baby. “Well, it’s six thirty-five,” she looks down at her watch, “hopefully we can catch Farrah before she heads off to work. Let’s head down the road here to your house and watch as Sergeant Clifton surprises Farrah with his return from duty and as he pops the big question.”
Mandy, Frank, and I all make our way down my darkened road. Past the similar split-entry style houses that were all built up on this street around the same time to the house Farrah and I have shared for over a year.
I turn up the driveway and Mandy peers into the camera again. “This is it,” she whispers.
Farrah’s car is in the driveway, so it looks like we timed this well. I was kind of sweating the idea that she might have to leave early or something like that. I’d hate to knock on the door and find out that she’s not there for some reason. I’d have real egg on my face then. I take the porch stairs two at a time and take a deep breath before knocking on the door. Mandy stays on the sidewalk leading to the steps with Frank. His camera is still rolling, and he points it directly at me.
Inside the house I can hear the scurry of Farrah’s feet. My heart pounds in my chest and the first genuine smile that camera has seen all morning nearly splits my face in two as the front door slides open, finally revealing Farrah’s long auburn locks, her blue eyes are wide with surprise and her skin is absolutely radiating. My eyes slide down her body to her swollen abdomen. Her belly rounds out her flowing shirt in a way that can only mean one thing.
“You’re pregnant?” I stare at the unmistakable swell and stare back at her, mirroring the same shock frozen on her face.
Behind me, down on the sidewalk, Mandy squeals. Farrah surprising me with a baby when I was about to surprise her with a ring must make good morning television.
“Sawyer? I thought you weren’t home for another couple weeks.” Farrah looks at the camera and Mandy and then at me. Her pregnancy glow fades out and she looks like she might faint.
“I wanted to surprise you, but it looks like you beat me to the punch.” I throw my arms around her, but she’s too shocked to hug me back. “This is amazing, babe. You’re so big, I mean, sorry. I don’t mean you’re big. I mean you’re beautiful. Why didn’t you tell me? No,” I hold up my hand as her mouth gapes open, “it’s okay, I get it.” I smile. I can’t stop smiling. How can I? She’s having my baby. This went from awesome to perfect. Nothing could top this. Not even the ring in my pocket.
“It’s twins.” She doesn’t blink. Her hands round the curve of her belly but her voice doesn’t sound quite right. It must be the shock of the whole thing.
“Twins?” Now I might faint. “Wow.” I look over my shoulder, beaming with pride as I look down at Mandy and Frank. “You must be about to burst.” I laugh, but she doesn’t laugh with me. She doesn’t even smile. She’s practically catatonic.
“Babe, this is the best news I could imagine. I love you so much. So much that I…” my leg slides back until I’m crouched on one knee and I pull the velvet box I’ve been toying with all morning out of my pocket, lifting the lid. Somewhere in what feels like another world, Mandy makes more noise, but I don’t care about her or the camera anymore. All I care about is the woman I love and my babies she’s carrying.
“No,” she whispers, her face twisting up in pain. “Sawyer, stand up. Please, turn that off.” She looks over my shoulder as tears line her eyes. “I’m only five months,” she whispers.
Kneeling on the front step, with a diamond perched on my palm and my pregnant girlfriend standing in front of me, the words coming out her mouth don’t register.
“But I’ve been gone for six…”
That’s when I see it. I see the man-sized shoes that I’ve never worn in my front hall. My eyes ping-pong from Farrah’s belly to the jackets I’ve never worn hanging in the closet.
“Honey, who’s at the door?” Farrah cringes as some dude saunters on up behind her, buttoning up his shirt and tucking it in. He takes one look at me and blanches. “Shit.”
“What the hell…?” It takes longer than it should for the ring to fall from my hand. Instead of popping up and popping this guy in the face, I hunch over on the step. A kick to the gut wouldn’t hurt this bad.
“Sawyer, I’m so sorry,” Farrah cries. At least the tears are real I guess. Too bad they don’t mean fuck all.
“Sorry?” I finally find my feet and get back on them. Disgust twists my face into a knot. My eyes become slits as I look over at the man living in my house. Sleeping in my damn bed. Fucking my girlfriend. “Who the fuck are you?” My fists ball up and every muscle in my body tenses with rage.
“Dude, I’ve been begging her to tell you since before you left, but she wanted to wait until you were done with your deployment. She thought you might get shot or some shit if you were distracted with this,” the freshly shaved asshole starts explaining.
“Since before I left?” I look back at Farrah. “Seriously?”
“I’m so sorry.” She holds her belly, tears streaking down her face.
“Sorry!” I almost choke on the word. “Sorry? Fuck you, Farrah.” I turn and run down the steps. Down past Mandy and Frank who, of course, is still recording every second of this drama.
“Sawyer, please! Let’s talk about this,” Farrah yells, but I don’t want to talk. I stomp to the end of the driveway and punch the mailbox, sending it flying across the yard. My fist splits open and blood gushes from my knuckles, but the rage doesn’t subside.
“Sergeant Clifton, come back,” Mandy calls out, probably hoping she can turn this into some kind of scoop that will take her career to the next level.
I don’t stop though. Instead, my feet hit the pavement harder. My blood pumps loudly as I run down the street away from the bright camera light, away from Farrah and her belly full of some other man’s twins. I run from the scene, from the humiliation, from the pain.
I just keep running.
3
Sawyer
I pound back another rum in one of those flimsy cardboard cups that come with the room and grimace. It’s been less than forty-eight hours since my life imploded. I know I’m not the first guy to come back from a deployment to a cheating girlfriend. Hell, there’s even been tons of guys who’ve dealt with returning to a bun in the oven that wasn’t his. Still, I think I might have dibs on being the first to find out live on a cable news show along with all the viewers at home.
The video has been on YouTube for a little more than a day and it’s already got over a million views. It was picked up on the viral video segment on the national news and it kept spreading. I don’t know why I keep checking on the uptick in views every few minutes. I know better than to read the comments section, but here I am reading the worst insights humanity has to offer.
am I seeing things or is he crying? thought he was a soldier, not a lil’ bitch
omg! When you find out the taliban has more heart than your wife, lol!
I wud fuck him
hahaha! When barbie cheats on gi-Joe with ken
Poor guy, you should all be ashamed of yourself. This man is a hero!
-watch him go from hero to zero at 9:23
-i’m going to hell for laughing ^
-fuck that guy, he’ll be swimming in pity pussy
-i make $8539 a week from home and you can too! Check out my link…
-guy is ugly. She probably didn’t want ugly babies
And on it goes. And on I read. Why? I have no fucking clue. Maybe I’m a masochist or maybe there’s just something inside us that makes it next to impossible to look away, even when we know no good can come of what we’re doing. I used to wonder why, when you hear about kids being bullied until they kill themselves, they didn’t shut their computers off and ignore it. There’s no way it could be as bad as when we were kids, right? Back when you couldn’t simply unplug from harassment. Back when we said stupid, meaningless rhymes about sticks and stones breaking bones but names not hurting.
My hand shakes a bit as I pour myself another drink. Yeah, we were wrong. I was wrong.
As I sit in this dingy motel, glued to the seat, unblinkingly staring at my computer screen and reading every armchair expert weigh in on my public humiliation it’s pretty clear that there’s something inside of us that can’t resist looking. Can’t resist reading or watching, even when it hurts, especially when it’s about us.
I click back to the other open tab on my laptop and refresh the Google search of my name. Some new blog posts pop up. I almost click on the one titled “I married a military man and cheated. Here’s why we shouldn’t judge Farrah.”
My finger hovers over the mouse, I’m about to click down when a picture I haven’t seen in a long time catches my eye. Farther in the searches there’s a thumbnail of me fresh out of recruit training. I’m in full gear, camo and carrying my gun as I climb rugged terrain. It’s a badass shot and the best part of it is, I wasn’t posing. This wasn’t some kind of soldier selfie I had taken for likes. It was a day in the life that was captured by a recruiter.