And he responded, How could someone
like you come from people like them?
RARELY
Do I jump squarely to my parents’
defense. Neither am I likely to argue
politics, especially with someone
I know I can’t sway. But that night,
Cole’s intransigence bordered on
arrogant, and I pretty much blew.
Our second argument was worse
than the first, because we were both
in the same room. Neither of us wanted
my parents to hear, but angry words
don’t want to be whispered. We did
manage to avoid swearing at each
other, unless you call words like
“ignorant” and “intractable” cussing.
But we were both tired, a little drunk,
and neither wanted to back off.
Finally, we straight out wore out
and decided to go to bed. The house
was dark by then. Silent. Anger
still prickled my skin, but there was
something else—a primal need
threading my body. I could have
crawled solo beneath my own
blankets. Instead, I followed Cole
through the door of the guest room.
It wasn’t makeup sex. It was “fuck
me so I can sleep tonight” sex. By
morning, forgiveness came easily.
ONE THING YOU LEARN
When you love a soldier is to expect
pre-deployment arguments. They are,
as any military counselor will tell you,
a way into the separation to come.
As bad as those Christmas spats
had been, the one we had just weeks
before Cole’s second Iraq tour was
a whole lot worse. Psychologically,
it pushed us apart. Cole’s unit had
been training at Twenty-Nine Palms,
and we arranged to meet up for drinks
one Saturday night at a little off-base dive.
He’d had a rough day and showed up
late, already pretty much pissed at
the universe. I’d been waiting awhile,
fending off advances by an obviously
inebriated grunt who was loitering
by my table when Cole stormed
in. The guy had just made a totally
inappropriate remark, or tried to.
He was so drunk, he could barely
spit the word “ejaculate.” I happened
to be laughing at his poor attempt. Cole
assessed the situation, took it all wrong.
IT WAS THE FIRST TIME
I ever saw those beautiful eyes
go all crazy. Scary crazy. He came
stomping toward the table. “Uh, I think
you’d better go,” I told the stranger,
right about the time Cole reached
the table and spun him around.
Get the fuck away from her, asshole.
The guy had two choices: compliance
or belligerence. He chose the latter.
Who you calling asshole, asshole?
The two squared off and things
were headed straight toward ugly.
But then the bartender, hyperaware
of the situation, called them out.
He told Cole to relax and the other guy
to find a designated driver. The drunk
slunk away, muttering obscenities.
I swear, I never thought Cole would
blame me, or I might have realized things
were headed south when he didn’t kiss
me hello. Instead, he went straight
to the bar, called for whiskey, neat.
The double was already half gone
when he plopped into the chair next
to me. I reached out one hand, touched
his cheek with two fingers. “Hey, soldier.”
I thought he relaxed a little. Silly me.
“Do you know how much I’ve missed
you?” Cole sipped his drink before
answering, taking plenty of time
to deliberate. That was sure a funny
way of showing it, don’t you think?
“I don’t . . . oh, you mean that guy?
I didn’t do anything, Cole. He came
on to me.” Prickles of anger started
up my spine. Yeah, well, you didn’t
exactly discourage him, did you?
Fucking women are all alike.
Okay, that pissed me off. “First off,
women are not all alike! And believe
it or not, I asked him to leave me alone
three or four times. Jesus, Cole, I drove
all the way here to be with you, not some
drunk jerk who I don’t even know.”
I finished my own drink in one long
swallow. Softened my voice. “Guess
maybe you’re the one I don’t even know.”
I got up, started to leave. Cole caught
my arm. I’m sorry. Goddamn sorry.
Sit back down, Ashley. Please?
MY FIRST INSTINCT
Was to jerk my arm from his grasp,
collect my stuff, drive back to San
Diego and quit taking his calls.
But then, I looked into his eyes,
found every hint of crazy gone,
and in its place, overriding love.
I sat, disquiet building a wall
between us. We’d been together
for two years. Shared laughter
and tears and beds and dreams.
I’d never glimpsed that side of him.
Had he really seen something
different in me? Ashley, baby,
I love you so much. I can’t stand
the thought of losing you. Please . . .
“The only way you’ll ever lose me
is by accusing me of something awful
I didn’t do, Cole. I can’t believe
you have so little respect for me,
after all we’ve been through. I-I-I wait
for you for months at a time. Worry
about you. Stress over you. I put my life
on hold for you while you’re away,
doing God knows what in some foreign
hellhole . . .” I was crying by then, tears
of frustration. “You’re the only man
I’ve ever loved. I would never cheat on you.”
I WAS GENUINELY HURT
Leveled, in fact. What I failed to see
was how hurt Cole was, too, even though
he had zero reason to be. It’s rare
for him to display emotion, but he did
then. He reached for me, gathered me
into his arms. Kissed me so, so sweetly.
I don’t know what I’d do if you left
me. Something brig-worthy, no doubt.
You are the absolute best thing
in my life. Without you, I’d be just
another lonely grunt, searching
for a good reason to come home.
“I’m not going anywhere, Cole,”
I whispered into his ear. “But I am
moving over now. People are staring.”
It was true. Not sure if they were
hoping we’d get back into it, or
totally make out right there. Either
way, I wanted to take it private.
We finished our drinks. Skipped
dinner and went straight to the motel
for a couple of rounds of makeup sex.
PEOPLE STARE
When you walk into a room.
You don’t notice. But I do.
It’s one of the things
I love most about
you,
this lack of self-
awareness. You wear
beauty like April
wears blossoms,
only
spring shows off
an impatient display,
hurries away;
you
stay. Knowing
you’re there, waiting
for time to
bring
meaning to your pause,
delaying your own dreams
to soothe mine, this keeps
me
sane midst the chaos.
Without you, I have no reason
to find my way
home.
Cole Gleason
Present
I LEAVE COLE DRIPPING
Mai tai. Find my way back to the hotel,
sober enough to walk a straight line,
drunk enough not to worry about
the creep who accosted me earlier.
It’s a different desk clerk, and I’m glad.
The last thing I want is to have to make
small talk about my wonderful Marine.
The same grunt who basically just called
me a slut. Every time he’s about to deploy
he questions my moral fiber. Fucker. Wow.
And every time we have another pretour
sendoff, my language devolves. At least
I didn’t say it out loud. I must look as
pissed as I feel, though, because people
are moving out of my way as I cross
the lobby, stomp into the elevator, head
up to the room. Our nice, romantic
suite, overlooking the Pacific. Damn.
Damn. Damn. Damn. I throw my stuff
on the big comfy-looking chair. Start to
pace. Pacing lowers my blood pressure.
Helps put things in order. I count steps.
One-two-three-four. All the way to twelve.
Turn. Count backward. Eleven-ten-nine.
Good thing we’ve got a big room. Fewer
than a dozen steps would make me crazier
than I am. Yeah, I know I’m a little touched.
Who wouldn’t be, all things considered?
I WAS ALWAYS
On the obsessive side—
needing cleanliness.
Wanting order. But
the compulsive thing
started after falling
in love with Cole and
so much of my life spun
totally out of control.
Can’t control:
Where he is.
Where he goes.
When I’ll hear from him.
When I’ll see him next.
Let alone:
If he’ll be safe.
If he’ll stay sane.
If he’ll come back whole.
If he’ll come back at all.
Or what he’ll be like
post-deployment. Post-
retirement. I’ve never
known him as a civilian.
Never known him as just
a regular guy, something
I’m not sure he—or any
warrior—can ever be again.
SO I CONTROL
My own life, best as I can.
My grades are back in order.
It took a while, but I finally
figured out how to concentrate
on my classes, even with Cole gone.
I like the fieldwork, like helping
people, though I miss working
with the preschool kids. Teaching
still calls to me, despite the years
I’ve put into my master’s.
Okay, I don’t like to think about
that. Pace-pace-pace-pace. Two
times two is four. That is order.
Three groups of four is perfect.
Why twelve? Not sure. Eggs,
maybe. Two straight lines of
ovals, in their safe cardboard
nests. Picturing that makes me
calmer. Which is good, because
I hear the whir of Cole’s key
in the lock. I turn toward the door,
brace myself for a wave of anger.
He comes through and, without
a word, comes straight to me,
lifts me off the floor, sweeps me
into the bedroom, throws me
onto the bed. Anger may feed
what follows. He rips himself
out of his pants, lifts my shift,
yanks off the bikini bottoms.
His hands lace into my hair,
hold my head against the pillow.
He is inside me before he says,
Don’t you ever leave me like that
again. Do you understand?
He punctuates each word with
a thrust of his hips. I lift my own,
wrap my legs around him, open
myself to accept his metered
plunging. “Yes,” is the most I can
manage as he drives the air from
my lungs. The smell of rum and
whiskey clings to him, and his face
is sticky. I lick away the dried
mai tai, stoking his building frenzy.
Too soon, we crest, hard, sticky wet.
Together. Too soon, but there will
be an encore. And tonight, I’ll sleep
with him circled around me, one
hand claiming my breast as his.
THE SOUND OF SIRENS
Is our alarm this morning. I left
the slider cracked, and the loud shriek
jumps us awake. Cole shoves me
over the side of the bed, onto the floor.
Get down! He covers me with
his body until the wailing fades.
It takes a few seconds for him to
realize where he is and exactly what
all the noise was. Goddamn it. You
must think I’m a basket case, huh?
“Not really,” I huff. “But could you
please get off me? I can’t breathe.”
heart is booming and the reason
I’m having a hard time breathing
is because he scared the crap out of me.
He draws himself up to sit on the side
of the bed. I get to my knees, crawl
over to him, and when I look up
into his eyes, I see fear. No, terror,
only just now receding. “You okay?”
He nods. On an FOB, a siren means
incoming. Generally those fucking
Hajji mortars hit pretty damn wide.
But a couple of times, man. Way
too close for comfort. I got lucky
once or tw—He stops short. We
never talk about close calls. Never
discuss danger. Especially not now
that he’s going back. Totally bad juju.
Still, I climb into his lap, reveling
in the feel of his nakedness beneath
my own. I slide my arms around
his neck. Kiss his forehead. Dare
to ask, “Do you ever get scared?
Over there, I mean.” I have not
ever asked him this question,
assuming he must but that he
probably wouldn’t want to confess
it. Fear is your friend over there,
sweetheart. If you’re not at least
a little scared, you’re stupid, and
stupid guys die faster than the rest.
I push him back on the bed.
“I want you to be scared, then.”
This time I make love to him.
Long. Lazy. Unselfish. Giving.
Ask me, that kind of sex is better
than the kind you demand.
After we both shudder release,
we lie, semidozing. His gentle
snoring tells me his
fear has passed,
for the moment, at least. My own
unease is growing. Can’t say why.
I count by fours. Eight. Twelve.
IT IS ALMOST NOON
When we pry ourselves from bed.
Shower. Dress for the day. I reach
for my purple bikini bottom, lying
on the floor next to the bed. Pull
back, then ask myself why. Cole
bends over. Picks it up. Hands
it to me. I want to see how you
look in it. Please wear it today.
I think that’s an apology. I smile.
“Even at the beach? Even at
the pool? Even at all those places
where the other guys drool?”
Cole laughs. Yes, even there,
Theodor. I’m not sure your
poetry class is making you
reach deep enough, though.
“Maybe not. But my teacher
has excellent taste. I showed
him one of your poems. He said
to tell you it’s really good, and
you should do something with
your writing one day. I happen
to agree. And so, I bet, would
Dr. Seuss.” Cole’s face is the color
of an overripe tomato. What?
Ashley, no one but you has ever
seen my poetry. Why would
you show it to your teacher?
“To get a second opinion. Also,
to gain a little sympathy. I missed
his class yesterday, and I’ll miss
it Monday, too. You’re not mad
because I used you to buy some
goodwill? Anyway, don’t let it
go to your head. Chaucer, I’m sure,
would not agree with the rest of us.”
Cole still looks embarrassed,
but at least he’s smiling. Then
he asks, Which poem? When
I tell him, he nods. Good one.
“They all are, Cole. Take it from me,
you’ve got talent. We’ve studied a lot
of poets. Some great. Some not so. In
my humble opinion, you could be great.”
It’s close to one when we finally
emerge from the hotel. Famished,
but only for food. “I’m starving.
Where should we go for lunch?”
Leave it to me. I’ve got it all
planned. Come on. I follow him
a few blocks, to where he has parked
a rusting Jeep borrowed from
his buddy, Brian. He was going
to use it today, but when I told him
what I needed it for . . . He shrugs.
We’ve got each other’s backs.