To work and save a little money.
To wait to hear from my soldier.
To spend time with Jaden.
My dad didn’t seem to care one
way or another. But when I told
Mom I wasn’t going home,
the first thing she said was
What aren’t you telling me?
For whatever reason, I broke
down and confessed. I steeled
myself, waiting for her to berate
me. After all, she was the one
who had been cheated on for years.
Instead, she commiserated.
You’re young. You should
be having fun, not spending
so much time alone. Tell me
about Jaden. What’s he like?
“He’s smart.”
No smarter than Cole.
“He’s ambitious.”
Ditto Cole. Just with different goals.
“He’s wealthy.”
That one impressed her. Me, not
so much. I planned to make my own
way, regardless.
“He’s gorgeous.”
No more so than Cole. One dark,
one blond. One blue-eyed, one
amber-eyed. And I had no preference.
“He’s athletic.”
Tennis champ. Rowing champ.
Decent surfer, too. Cole could
no doubt run circles around him,
even if he couldn’t ride a board.
The comparisons were inevitable.
Eventually, it came down to one
very major difference.
Jaden was a civilian.
Cole was a Marine.
IT WAS A BREEZE-SOFT KISS
That made me decide not to see
Jaden anymore. We’d had a lovely
day at the beach. Dinner after. Drinks.
We stood, arm to arm, leaning against
the deck railing outside Jaden’s Spartan
little house. A huge harvest moon smiled
over the horizon and the sky was clear
enough to reveal a feast of stars. We
were talking about the future. His. Mine.
Not ours. But that felt like a given. So
when he leaned down, brushed my lips
sweetly with his, it felt right. For a moment.
Then the wrong of it came crashing
down. It wasn’t a demanding kiss, not
even suggestive. But it wasn’t Cole’s,
and I knew before I could ever welcome
another man’s kiss, I’d have to say good-bye
to my soldier. “I love you,” I said, and I
meant it. “Please take me home.” And
he understood that I had made a decision.
Jaden and I are long-distance friends now.
We talk from time to time. He’s getting
married soon. They sent an invitation,
but I can’t be at the wedding.
That night, I wasn’t near certain
I’d made the right choice. I wasn’t even
sure the day after, when I finally got
word from my close-to-promotion soldier.
HE DID NOT APOLOGIZE
In his mind, I shouldn’t have worried.
Besides, all those silent days were
just a part of the job description.
He didn’t see, would never know,
how relief barrel rolled over me
when his handwritten letter arrived.
Hello, my beautiful lady. How I wish
I were there with you, instead of killing
time in this god-forsaken land. Seriously.
God probably looks down on this place,
wondering what the fuck he was thinking.
As I write this, the thermometer outside claims
it’s one hundred nine degrees. That’s well after
the motherfucking sun has set. It is relentless,
only rivaled by the wind, which I think is doing
its level best to clear the desert of sand.
I can’t share too many details about what I’ve
been up to. Suffice it to say the great American
masses only know as much as they’re allowed
to by The Machine. It’s all good. No need to know.
I volunteer for the ugliest stuff, not only to fight
the oppressive boredom, but also to impress those
who can give me a leg up. Rank means more
than better pay. It means plum assignments.
Once I get back to Al Asad, I’ll test for lance
corporal, and will make it no problem. Then I
plan to put in for sniper training. I’m the best
shot in my unit. That includes moving targets . . .
HIS CARE PACKAGE WISH LIST
Did not include chocolate or soap.
Or anything else that would melt
easily, sitting in the back of a truck,
stalled in the brutal heat. He did ask
for cigarettes. He always did, though
I never saw him smoke when we were
together, never smelled tobacco on him.
Every time he requested them, I had
to wonder who he became “over there.”
This letter told me not to ask the dirty
details. How filthy were they, really?
On some level, I understood he was
trained to kill. His unspoken words
shouted, I have killed! But just who
did he kill? Combatants? Innocents?
Scorpions, rats, snakes, and dogs?
Did they all die the same way? Did he
watch? Laugh? Desecrate death, sick
celebration? Despite his assertion
that the average Joe shouldn’t know,
video footage was surfacing via
the Internet. I never found Cole’s face
among the most reviled. Had I, would
I have forgiven him summarily, or might
it have tarnished my belief in us?
Because, despite Jaden, despite weeks
of worry, despite the unsettling image
of moving targets in Cole’s crosshairs,
one fact remained. I loved him.
MOVING TARGETS
Are primo. If I were
a girl, they’d make me wet.
As it is, they make me
hard.
It’s about being the best.
Truth be told, any
half-ass grunt can manage
to
aim a SAW at a milling
crowd, flatten it out.
And most civilians can
understand
how to draw a straight
bead on a paper bull’s-eye.
What’s infinitely
harder
is assessing wind and
distance to intelligent prey,
aware of you trying
to
estimate their path and
speed. Thwart evasive
action, it’s impossible to
deny
unparalleled skill at the kill.
Cole Gleason
Present
EVASION
Of a marriage proposal can only
look like one thing: a solid no.
“Let me think it over” means,
“I’m really not sure.” But whether
that’s not sure of “you” or “me”
or “us” doesn’t much matter.
Uncertainty is tantamount
to “something here is wrong.”
And yet, I say yes, and I say
it with little hesitation. Maybe it’s
the five-year-old-on-Christmas-
morning expression on Cole’s face.
Or maybe it’s the two bottles
of champagne we’ve consumed.
Possibly, it’s
the craving to bring
a higher level of legitimacy
to our relationship, in the eyes
of the Corps, not to mention
the rest of the world. Whatever
it is, I push away every notion
of “something here isn’t quite
right,” and accept the gorgeous
two-carat diamond in platinum.
Cole slides it on my finger.
“It’s a little big, but it’s beautiful.”
We’ll get it sized. And it should be
beautiful. It cost a good chunk
of ten paychecks. I love you, Ashley.
I’ll be back in May, so we can have
a June wedding. If that suits you.
I breathe a huge, silent sigh
of relief. I half-thought he might
suggest doing the deed right now.
“I think I can pull it together by
June. There’s a lot of planning
to do.” Despite my reservations,
excitement trills. Every girl dreams
of her wedding. Including me.
Cole rushes ahead. When I get
back, I’ll go active reserves, and
we can move to Wyoming. We can
stay with Mom until I find work.
Then we can start a family. Two
kids. Maybe three, depending.
“Whoa! Slow down. Wedding first.
Family later. And don’t you think
we should discuss little details like
where we’ll live?” It vaguely creeps
me out that he’s thought so much
about this without consulting me.
Well, sure. It’s just, I want us to
start out ahead of the game. Mom
could use some help, and Dale
made sure the ranch was paid for.
Cole’s stepfather passed away last
April, leaving his mom alone again.
No rent would be a good thing, right?
I can’t exactly argue with that.
“Well, sure. And, hey, we’ve got lots
of time to work out all the details.”
THAT THOUGHT
Comforts me the rest of the day. Cole
had that all worked out, too. After
our bubbly-soaked afternoon, rather
than risk driving back to Honolulu,
he has us booked at a bed-and-breakfast–
type room here on the North Shore. Nothing
fancy, and we have to share a bathroom,
but it’s just overnight. We make the best
of it, and the celebration continues
with local mahi burgers, the last bottle
of champagne, and Cole’s crazy idea
for dessert—banana cream pie, using
our bodies as plates. I shudder to think
what sort of magazine or movie might
have made him come up with that.
But I have to admit it’s kind of fun,
especially since I don’t have to wash
the sheets. The bed is a small double,
and after we finish, we lie sticky (in more
ways than one) in each other’s arms.
It will be our last night together
for several months. So we don’t waste
a lot of time sleeping. Toward morning,
totally spent, Cole dozes. I’m wasted tired
but the tornado of thoughts twisting
inside my head defeat sleep for me.
By checkout time, shadows semicircle
my eyes and I’m mostly incoherent.
TWO HOURS OF SLEEP
Have done wonders for Cole,
and he chatters all the way back
to the Waikiki hotel. We return
via the East Shore route, which
takes us past Kaneohe Bay.
The base sits on a jut of land
surrounded by ocean. “You know,
some people would kill to work
in a place like this,” I observe.
Some people have. The offhand
comment bears a lot of weight.
It’s more like many men, and maybe
even a few women stationed here
have taken lives. Innocent people,
no doubt, dropped right along with
deserving insurgents. “Does it ever
bother you? The death?” I’ve avoided
prodding him for details. Once in a while,
my curiosity won’t leave me alone.
Not when I’m over there. Death
is a part of the landscape. Dead dogs,
dead donkeys. Dead camels. Dead
people. The only thing you don’t get
used to is the fucking bloat-rot smell.
He steers around a pothole. When
I get home, the memories get to me
once in a while. You see things . . .
the things humans do to each other
sometimes are downright sickening.
“I can only imagine.” Not that I
want to. Except I have this morbid
need to understand. “Even guys
you know?” I expect him to deny
it. Unfortunately, he doesn’t.
Oh, yeah. Even guys I know. One
time, I saw an MP let his dog go
on a prisoner. A kid, really. Maybe
sixteen. He acted all tough, but not
for long. After the fourth or fifth
chomp, his thigh looked like sausage.
When the dog aimed for his personal
sausage, the kid talked. Cole laughs,
with neither malice nor genuine humor.
Not sure his information was any good,
though. If I were that boy, and someone
sic’d his dog on my huevos, I would
have come up with some information,
accurate or not. It is a problem with
Cole seems so comfortable talking,
I decide to try a more direct approach.
“So, you’re saying the boy was innocent?”
This time derision laces his laughter.
Nope. I’m not saying that at all. No one
over there is innocent. Every single one
of them is guilty of wanting us dead.
HE’S SO SINCERE
He almost sways me. I haven’t been
“over there,” so it’s hard for me to
dispute his obviously heartfelt opinion.
However, his callousness remains, and
maybe always will, a wedge between us.
Because I simply can’t not believe that
a common string of humanity ties me—
us—to the Iraqi and Afghani people. Some
of them are hell-bent to serve evil, yes. But
so are plenty of Westerners. Hard to tell
who is who sometimes. And when one
of the ones you’re unsure about is someone
you love—uh, someone you just agreed
to marry—things get really watery.
Arguing would serve no purpose, though.
Maybe asking this question won’t, either.
But I’m going to, anyway. “Have you done
things over there that you’re not proud of?”
Everyone has, Ashley. It goes with
the territory. You get bored, you get
scared, you go looking for an outlet.
But the thing is, for the most part,
I can sleep just fine at night. Not
everyone I know can say that.
HE DOESN’T ELABORATE
And I’m not really sure I want him to,
so I lean back in the seat, close my eyes.
Next thing I hear is the sound of a city
bus shifting gears. I jump awake right
about the time Cole maneuvers the Jee
p
into a tight parking space. “You’re good
at that.” My voice is husky from sleep.
I’m good at a lot of things, as I would
hope you know by now. He glances
at his watch. I have to be back on base
by five. It’s a little after three now.
Are you hungry, or . . . ? We agree
to the “or.” It will be the last time for
many months, so we take special care
to make it memorable. I even wear
my engagement ring, though I have
to put it on my middle finger so it
doesn’t fall off. By the time we finish,
exhaustion has claimed me—muscles,
bones, brain. I want food, but I need
sleep more. I sit against the headboard,
watching Cole get dressed. “Did anyone
ever tell you how graceful you are?”
Like a gazelle—built to escape death.
Uh, no. And I hope that isn’t in
any way questioning my manhood.
Somehow, I doubt it. He comes over.
Kisses a bittersweet good-bye. I’ll be back
before you know it. I love you.
THE DOOR CLOSES
Behind him, leaves me here,
counting tears. They brim, fall,
splat in syncopated rhythm.
The door is closed. Cole is gone.
I will never get used to this.
Hollowed. Emptied. Drained.
I put the pillow over my head.
Inhale the darkness, pungent
with the smell of Cole’s sweat
and our sex. How would it be
to see him every day? Is it even
possible that we can be a regular
married couple, both of us off
to work in the morning. Dinner
at home together each night?
And children. Babies? Am I
the only girl my age who hasn’t
thought about having a family?
I’m still figuring out what I want
to be when I grow up. Wife and
mother is not at the top of my list.
Then again, neither is childless
spinster. It’s just too much to think
about right now. Sleep deprived.
That’s what I am. Once I’m rested,
the answers will come easier. Right?
IT’S INSANELY BRIGHT
So many crystals of sand, reflecting
the high, hot sun. No shade to speak of,
no shelter from the inexorable heat
lifting off the rutted street. Footsteps
slap behind me. I turn, ready to fight.