by E Cleveland
“Uh, I’m not sure.” I do a terrible job at avoiding the question.
“You’re not sure?” He presses me.
“Well, I guess I am sure. I just, well I haven’t told my family yet, but I’m not re-enlisting. My contract runs out in a couple of months and that’s it for me,” I admit. My body feels lighter after letting go of the burden of truth.
“Why’s that?” Mack is no idiot, he knows he’s making me uncomfortable. So, why is he pushing this so hard?
“It’s just not for me, things have changed.” I fling a flimsy excuse back at him.
“What changed?”
My eyes snap up at him, silently demanding that he let this go, but he doesn’t back down.
“I’ve just got other things I want to do now. Besides, now that Holly and I are together, I don’t want to be deploying all the time, you know?” I give him half the truth. “Why, what’s with all the questions?” I flip the tables, seeing how he likes being put on the spot.
“All right! Got two beers and a soda.” Cameron interrupts, plopping the drinks down on the table.
“Thanks, man,” I look up at my brother, happy for the distraction to Mr. Twenty-questions over there.
“Yeah, no problem. I’m just gonna take a piss, I’ll be back,” he peels off again leaving me in an awkward silence with Mack.
“Look man, it’s none of my business or anything,” Mack begins.
“Yep.” My tone is sharp.
“Right, but I can’t help but notice you’ve got that stare, Jake.” He continues.
“What stare?” I look up at him, letting some of my irritation slide away into curiosity.
“That million-mile stare, man. The one you get when you’ve seen shit you can’t unsee. Now, I don’t know if that’s the case. I don’t know if that’s part of the reason you’re getting out,” he raises his hands like I’m pointing a gun at him. “I’m just saying it looks like you’ve got it. I would know. I’ve been there,” he confesses.
I remember his struggle well. He came back from the war a national hero, and it didn’t take long for the media coverage on him to change when he had a huge PTSD flashback and tried to drag someone out of their car. The backlash was swift, until Cooper Sanders, the famous news anchor interviewed him and Mack admitted he needed help.
“I know you do,” I nod. “I, uh, well…” My gaze blurs and I rub my hands over my face, anxious to make this, to make all of this, this conversation, this pain, these memories that haunt me, this endless feeling of guilt, all of it, go away. “Yeah, I’m dealing with that shit too,” I finally let the truth spill free.
Mack just nods, pulls his wallet out and plucks a card from within. “Here,” he hands it over to me, “A few years ago, I was in your shoes. I wish someone would’ve let me know about Wounded Warriors before it all broke me, man. I went to them for help, and now I work for them. My life’s never been better. Think about it, ok?”
I turn the card over in my hands. It feels like I just won a fucking golden ticket. Maybe this is my way out. My chance to finally break through the surface of the sea of horrors I’m drowning in and pull that first breath of fresh air into my burning lungs.
“Thanks, Mack,” I run my thumb over the card. Maybe the ticket to my freedom.
“No problem. Take it from me, don’t wait until you make the wrong kind of headlines before you do something about it. You and your girl deserve better than that.” He looks me straight in the eyes.
“You’re right, man.” I put the card in my own wallet, and feel something that I can’t remember feeling in years.
Hope.
“Hey! Why so serious? This is a celebration, not a funeral!” Cameron squeaks his chair across the hardwood and plunks back down on it.
“Hey man, if it’s alright with you, how about we make this our last drink?” Mack looks over at Cameron. “Maybe I am getting old after all, but I’d like to have an early night so I don’t look like a bag of shit at your wedding tomorrow.”
“Well, you do want to look pretty for all the pictures, right?” Cameron teases him.
“Exactly. Gotta get that beauty sleep,” he laughs.
“How about you? You wanna hit the road?” My brother looks across the table at me.
“Huh?” I pull myself from my distracted thoughts about what Mack told me. About new beginnings. About hope.
“Yeah, let’s call it.” I agree. “Chelsea will have our necks if you ruin her wedding pictures looking like a tired old man,” I chuck shit at my brother.
“True,” Cameron takes a long swig of his beer. “Very true. Ok, let’s roll boys,” he laughs. “Nah, I’m just kidding, you can finish your drinks first,” Mack and I smile.
As Cameron and Mack finish up their beer, I have a hard time pretending to listen to their conversation. I can’t help but let my thoughts drift to an unfamiliar place. To the future. My future. Instead of all of the dread and uncertainty those thoughts are usually weighed down by, for once, I let myself dream of the possibilities.
For once, I have hope.
37
Jake
“You wanna explain to me how you got kicked out of your own house the night before your wedding?” Mack busts Cameron’s chops as I pull the car up to the curb at the front of the hotel.
“I didn’t get kicked out. She just didn’t want us seeing each other until tomorrow. I guess it’s bad luck or some crazy superstition.”
“Poor guy,” I mock him. “She’s got you slumming it here at the Ritz with us while she has your new place to herself.”
“Yeah, she’s got her Mom with her,” Cameron shrugs. “All I know is, you don’t argue with a pregnant lady and you don’t argue with your fiancée right before the wedding. If your fiancée happens to be a pregnant woman, you suck it up and make her happy. If it’s important to her, it’s important to me,” he gets out of the car. Mack frees himself from the backseat and slams the car door shut as I make my way from the driver’s seat. I toss the keys to the valet waiting behind a little podium by the front door, “Hey, Cameron! Tell the guy your room number,” I jerk my head in the direction of the hotel staff.
“Right, uh,” Cameron pulls out his hotel card and reads off the information, “it’s for room eleven-eighty-three.” The valet nods and scurries over to the car as the three of us enter the massive glass doors to the lobby.
“Cameron? Jake? Uh, do you guys have a minute?”
“Dad?” We both answer, looking at each other with unasked questions in our eyes.
Why is he waiting for us in the hotel lobby, pouncing out of the shadows the minute we get back? What’s going on?
“I should get back to my room,” Mack excuses himself from our unexpected family reunion. “Lauren’s probably at the end of her rope with the kids,” he explains.
“Ok man, I’ve got wake up calls set for all of the rooms. I’ll see you in the morning,” my brother calls out to him as Mack crosses the lobby and strolls past the elevators, opting to take the stairs instead.
My attention turns back to my father. It would seem he’s finally come out of hiding. I didn’t expect to see him until the ceremony tomorrow. Mom came out to dinner with us earlier tonight along with Mack and his family, but she made a lame excuse about why our father couldn’t join us.
“So, your headache is all gone then?” I give him a sharp look.
“What?”
“That’s what I thought,” I mutter.
“Never mind that,” Cameron flickers his eyes from my face to Dad’s. “What’s going on? Is everything ok?” His voice is full of concern.
“Yes, everything is good. Don’t worry. I, uh, well,” Dad rubs his hand over the back of his neck and looks down at his feet. “I was hoping I could talk to you boys, if that’s ok. I mean, if you’re not too busy.” He mumbles.
Cameron and I exchange another look. What the hell is this about? I decide to let the chip fall from my shoulder and agree to find out.
“Sure,�
� I answer.
“Yeah Dad, do you guys want to come up to my room and talk?”
“Yeah,” Dad answers, “I’d like that.”
We make our way to the elevator in silence. The ding of the metal doors sliding open for us is absurdly loud in the noiseless vacuum we’ve created. Cameron pushes the buttons and we wordlessly travel up to the eleventh floor.
Ding!
Dad and I follow Cameron’s lead, down the hall to his room. I can’t stop wondering what this is about. Is there some bad news he needs to give to us? Is he dying? I shake the thoughts from my head and settle down on the couch in the living area of my brother’s hotel room.
“What’s up, Dad?” Cameron prompts our father to break his tense silence and spill it. However, Dad just looks out the window at the twinkling lights of the city below.
“You’ve got a beautiful view here,” he marvels.
“Did you really want to admire the sights, or was there something you wanted to talk about?” I don’t mean to snap at him. However, the residue of the last talk I had with my father is still clinging to my heart. Like plaque.
Dad clears his throat loudly and turns around. His eyes are watery and his cheeks are flushed. I instantly feel remorse for giving the old man attitude. Obviously, something is going on with him. I should zip my lips and let him talk at his own pace.
“You’re right, just nervous I guess,” he slides his hands down over his pants and walks slowly to the couch, sitting down beside me. Cameron plops himself down in the chair opposite us, never taking his eyes off our father.
“Why are you nervous?” I can see my brother’s wheels spinning as he ponders the same questions I was just sifting through a minute ago. “Dad, are you ok?” His voice is soft, like he’s afraid to ask the question.
“Yes, I am. Well, I will be. I just needed to talk to my boys. It’s just,” he takes a deep, unsteady breath and looks from Cameron to me, “I wanted to say I’m sorry to you two.” His words are shaky and don’t make sense to my ears. My father never apologizes. At least, not for as long as I can remember.
“Sorry?” I repeat the word like it’s foreign.
“What for, Pops?” Cameron tilts his head.
“Boys, I’ve had a lot of time to think over the past couple of months. Cameron, you’ve got your first child, my first grandchild on the way and I guess it’s been getting me thinking. I’m an old man now, I’ve had a long life to reflect on.”
“Oh, come on, you’re not that old, Dad,” Cameron rolls his eyes.
“Maybe not, but you two are grown men now and it’s easy to look back and think about all the mistakes I’ve made raising you both. Cameron, I wasn’t very supportive of you going after your football dream, and look at you,” Dad raises his hand like he’s trying to lift my brother in the palm of his hand, “you made it in the NFL. I told you before how proud I am of you, but I can’t say it enough. I’m glad you didn’t listen to me,” Dad looks up at my brother with shining eyes. I stare at Cameron too, and raise a questioning eyebrow. He never told me that he and my father had a heart-to-heart while I was in rehab. I guess I missed a lot while I was away.
The memory of my father yelling at me on Family Day while I was in rehab comes back to me with a stinging slap. I set my jaw and lower my eyes to the floor as I watch him storm out of the room, out of my recovery and out of my life all over again in my mind.
“Jake,” Dad interrupts the memory, “I didn’t treat you right when you went to Canada to get help, son. I was just so shocked by your addiction and you getting in trouble that I didn’t even focus on the part that mattered the most. That you got the help you needed. I’m proud of you for doing what you needed to get back on track so you can go back to being the best Navy SEAL you can be,” his chin lifts with pride as he says that last part. Something inside me wants to take that away from him. To leave him feeling as crushed as he left me when he stomped out of Edgewood that day.
“I’m not staying with the SEALs, Dad,” I answer calmly.
“What?” He twists fully around on the couch so he’s facing me straight on, his face is contorted like he just stepped on a nail.
“I’m not re-upping. My contract runs out in a couple of months and I’m moving on with my life. It’s what’s best for me, for my sobriety, for my peace of mind, and for Holly.” I tap on a finger for each thing on my list. Dad opens and closes his mouth like a goldfish, but for once he doesn’t have anything to say. I’ve got to admit, it feels good to watch him grapple with my words. To take away something that meant so much to him… too much to him. Just like he was so quick to take away his love as soon as I hit a speed bump on my life’s path.
“You never told me that,” Cameron darts his eyes over to me.
“This is your time. I didn’t want to make it all about me,” I confess with a shrug.
Dad sits up straighter, forcing his shoulders back. Here it comes. Let’s hear how I’m a fuck up. A failure. How he’s not proud of me, or worse.
“Good,” he whispers, nodding his head. “That’s good, Jake,” he repeats louder.
“What?” I feel my moment of victory deflate from my puffed-out chest as my father sticks a pin in it.
“You know what’s best for you and your life,” Dad looks into my eyes, “I trust you know what you’re doing.” His voice grows more confident and more convincing. “Besides, I was wrong to push you both into the military anyway, and I know that’s why you both joined. I’m not even sure why I did that, if I really think about it,” Dad runs his hand over his thinning hair and stares out the hotel window for answers.
“You didn’t force us to join. We wanted to,” I answer, but when I look over at my brother’s face, I can see that I might be wrong.
“It wasn’t my first choice,” Cameron admits with a shrug.
“I know,” Dad looks over at him. “And I was a pretty shitty father when you left too.” He answers.
I remember how my father stopped talking to Cameron when he left the military to go back to university. Not like he completely froze him out as much as he started pretending he couldn’t really hear him. He stopped making conversation with him. He stopped showing an interest in his life. It was like, when Cameron moved on with his life, Dad held a funeral in his heart for the son he still wished Cameron would be. He never seemed to get over the grief, the betrayal, the anger. Whatever those phases of grief are, Dad never really seemed to get through them. It left a rift in their relationship for years.
“And you,” Dad looks back at me, shaking me from my thoughts, “I know I pushed you to go Special Forces. I don’t know why, I’m not sure what I was thinking. I don’t know if you would’ve gone for the SEALs if I wouldn’t have been so stubborn about it,” he looks at me.
“I’m not sure,” I look down at my hands. I’ve never thought about it before.
“Boys, the thing is, you know we come from a long line of military. My grandfather made it to Master Sergeant back in his day. He only had a grade eight education too, so that was pretty good back then. Then he pushed my father to join, and your Granddad took his commission. He was so proud of that.” Dad shakes his head and his eyes water. “I never told either of you this before,” his voice grows thick, “but I never wanted to join the military. I mean, I did, I reached General and I’m proud of my time, but I never wanted that for my career,” he looks over at my brother and me.
It’s hard to imagine my father in any other job, or having any other passions. He was always the kind of military dad that would give us ‘room inspections’ and dress us down like little soldiers when we got in shit. He was never one of those guys who hung it up at work at the end of the day and left his at the door when he got home. He was military through and through.
“What did you want to do?” I break my silence.
“Now, don’t laugh,” Dad looks at us sheepishly.
“Uh, ok?” Cameron answers him, but I’m not making any promises.
“I wanted to be a m
usician. I played guitar, and I was pretty good too. I was even writing my own songs. I told my father that was my dream and he hit the roof. He told me that I could join the military and be a man or pursue my flaky dream and be an embarrassment,” Dad looks down at his wrinkled hands.
“Why didn’t you get out, why did you go all the way to General?” I interrupt, twisting on the couch to face him straight on.
“I’m not sure, I guess once I was in the life, I figured I might as well do my best. After a few years, it got harder and harder to imagine leaving a steady job for my dream, so I figured I’d get as far as I could in my career.”
“That makes sense,” Cameron looks at me.
“The thing is, I always hoped one day that my father would take it back, you know about my music being an embarrassment. You both remember when Pops was in his last days, how I went to see him in the hospital,” Dad looks up at our nodding faces. “He called me into his room and said, ‘Don, there’s something I need to tell you about your job,’ and I thought that the moment had finally come.” Dad stands up and walks over to the window before his emotions spill out. However, from where I’m sitting, I can see him wipe a tear away like a pesky mosquito that landed on his cheek.
“What did he say?” I ask.
“He told me that he was so proud of me for making it further than he ever did in the forces. He said I was a good man for following my calling,” Dad sighs.
“Wow,” Cameron crosses his arms across his chest.
“I didn’t have the heart to tell him that I missed my calling. That my dream was music. Instead, I’d spent my life living his dream for me. He was old and frail, I didn’t want to upset him,” he explains.
“Do you regret that?” Cameron asks.
“Not telling him?” Dad answers, his back still to us as he stares out into the night.
“Yeah,” Cameron stands up.
“No. I don’t regret not telling him,” Dad turns to face us and his eyes are glossy with tears threatening to fall. “I regret not pursuing the life that was meant to be mine,” he wipes his fingers over his eyes, pushing away his emotions. “That’s why I wanted to tell you boys, even though it’s late, I wanted to tell you now that I’m proud of you for doing what’s right for you. And, I hope you can forgive me,” he hangs his head like a tired, old dog.