than a little jealous of the chemistry
between Darian and Spence, even
though helping her find Mr. Wonderful
was supposedly my plan from the start.
I’d never experienced that kind
of instant attraction, however. Not even
with Cole, who I found cute enough,
but rather aloof. In retrospect, I was (am)
much the same way. It took a while
to warm up. Not like we had much in
common, at least not on the surface.
But with Spence and Darian crawling all
over each other, Cole and I could either
stare off into space or attempt conversation.
Despite all the pretty vampires eyeing
him, he chose to take a chance on me.
SOMETHING SPECIAL ABOUT THAT
For me, never the first girl
in any room who men zoomed in on.
I’m slender, and pretty enough
in a serious way. Just not what
you’d call eye candy. I didn’t dress—
certainly didn’t undress—to impress.
I’d had boyfriends, even semisteady
ones, but none worth giving up
dreams for. I wasn’t exactly a virgin.
But neither was I looking for sex,
and I suppose that showed.
I had been called an ice queen
before, but though I didn’t realize
it right away, something inside me
thawed that night. It was a slow melt,
like Arctic ice beneath high polar sun.
Maybe it was how Cole kept his eyes
locked on mine, instead of scanning
the room for easier prey. Maybe it
was the way he talked about home—
the stark beauty of Wyoming.
I swear, you can see straight into
forever. No damn buildings to get
in the way. And the sky is the bluest
blue you ever saw. You will never
look up and see gray, like here above
the ocean. Not even if a storm’s blowing
in, because then the prairie sky turns
black and purple, like God balled up
his fist and bruised it. He paused. What?
Mesmerized, that’s what I was, but
I didn’t realize my face showed it.
“Uh, nothing. It’s just . . .” I couldn’t
not say it. “I hope this doesn’t insult
you, but you’re a poet.” I half-expected
him to get pissed. Laugh, at least.
Instead, he smiled. Why would that
insult me? I write a little poetry every
now and then. Hell, the first time I got
laid was because I wrote her a love
sonnet. We broke up over the limerick
I wrote about her, though. He laughed
then, and so did I. I have no idea
if any of that was true, but in the years
since, he has written poems for me.
Hopefully, he hasn’t squirreled away
an Ashley limerick to break out one
day. But the revelation that this
country-bred soldier could find poetry
in his heart and inspiration in the Wyoming
sky touched me in a way no boy had ever
come close to. Not even the ones who
had straight-out lied and told me they’d
love me forever. Poetry doesn’t lie.
Turned out, Cole was feeling a little
homesick. His mom had just come
for a post–boot camp visit. She drove
my pickup cross country, winter
weather and all, he said. She wanted
to surprise me. But the surprise was on
her. They don’t let recruits have private
vehicles on base. Lucky thing, my
Uncle Jack lives close by. He said
I can keep the truck there and use
it when I’m able. Mom didn’t want
to drive the interstate again. Said
God didn’t give those Wright Brothers
brains for nothing. Goddamn, it was
good seeing her. Like she brought
a piece of home along with her
and left it here for me. California
is better with a little Wyoming in it.
I HAD TO ENVY
Such love for home. The concept
was foreign to me. And I rather enjoyed
how this stranger opened himself up
so completely to someone he didn’t
know. After that, we talked a little bit
about me. How growing up in Lodi
wasn’t all that different from growing
up outside of Cheyenne, except for
the urban sprawl creeping ever closer
toward the oak-crusted California
foothills. We talked about wanting
to leave home. About school, and how
my dreams didn’t exactly jive with
my parents’ goals for me. About caving
in. We talked about best friends since
fourth grade, meaning mine. About
new buddies and boot camp, the rewards
and pitfalls of service to one’s country.
He said something about Don’t Ask,
Don’t Tell, and though I verge on
radical liberalism, and cringe at male
posturing, when he said he had
enough things to worry about without
having to wonder why some guy
was looking at him in the shower,
I thought about it for a few. Understood.
Some things that make perfect sense
philosophically might be confusing
in a real-world scenario. “What about
gay marriage?” I asked, expecting
a pat Bible Belt answer. Instead,
he said, I’m all for it, as long as they
don’t honeymoon in the barracks.
After a drink or two, we made each
other laugh. The walls, which had
already started to crumble, collapsed.
Cole isn’t much of a dancer, but when
Spencer made it a challenge, he pulled
me onto the floor. I love to dance, and
totally got into it. He liked my moves.
Still, it could have ended there. Except,
our friends had fallen insanely in lust.
IT WAS KIND OF FUN
Watching Spencer try to keep up
with Darian. He was nineteen (no ID
check at all for the young Marine!).
She was only a year older, but way
more experienced when it came to
the opposite sex. Boy, was he willing
to tap her expertise, in any and all
of its manifestations. Her energy,
I have to admit, was infectious,
her libidinousness almost enviable.
Not that I’d ever try to imitate her.
But maybe a small part of me wished
a little would rub off, cling to me,
metal filings to magnet. One thing
that always impressed me was how,
though the attention she sought
was all about her, she managed
to make men feel like every move,
every laugh, every compliment
was instead all about them. And
they opened themselves wide for her.
SO, SOMEHOW
Midst all the flirtation and sexual
energy, Darian coaxed Spence’s
story from him. He had graduated
high school just six months before,
a year after his kindergarten classmates.
I wasn’t dumb. Just under-qualified,
he joked before explaining, My mom
and pop cared more about me
helping out on the farm than going
to school. I didn’t get a lot of what
you might call encouragement to
succeed. He did discover a talent for
“tinkering.” I took my bike apart when
I was five. Put it back together not long
after. I was rebuilding motors by the time
I was twelve. Came in handy when
the John Deere took a dump. Auto
mechanics was my big claim to fame
in high school. A-plus there, let me
tell you. Did a cheerleader or two
out in the garage, too. The smell
of motor oil is one helluva turn-on!
Then he reached for Darian. Want
to find out? I think Cole’s truck needs
rings. We could take a little drive.
ENDED UP
We all went for a drive to the beach.
Cole and I left Darian and Spence
inhaling motor oil fumes—and each
other—in the backseat while we took
a walk near the ocean’s edge beneath
a silver spray of moonlight. I was wearing
jeans and an angora sweater, not quite
enough for a winter night, and when
I shivered, Cole lifted his jacket, inviting
me underneath and close against him.
Tequila is good for eroding inhibitions
and I didn’t think twice about accepting
his offer. His body radiated heat, lifting
the scent of leather and Irish Spring soap.
Tequila also makes you say things you
wouldn’t say sober. “You smell amazing.”
He laughed. I do my best. Never know
when you might have to warm up a lady.
“Do you warm them up often?” It was
meant as a joke, but he took it seriously.
Not really. In fact, it’s been a while.
Boot camp isn’t conducive to romance.
I liked his answer, and his vocabulary.
“What about before? Any girls back home?”
He hesitated. In college. There was
a girl. But when I left, she stayed.
And when she found out I joined up,
she totally freaked. Told me war and love
are antonyms. So, no. No girls. What
about you? Boyfriend? Husband?
I snorted. “No husband. Not even
close. And no serious relationships.”
He stopped walking then. Good.
Because if there was, I sure wouldn’t
do this. He turned me toward him,
slipped his arms around my waist,
lifted me until I was just beyond tiptoes.
This time when he looked at me, his eyes
asked permission. I nodded. His mouth
covered mine. That kiss was our beginning.
WITH A KISS
Something new, some swell
of hope for what might be,
if luck can learn to rely
on patience.
With a
whisper of skin
against skin, a spark
of desire is fanned to flame
by an exhale of passion,
culminates within a
flash
of conflagration. Burns
itself out. Leaves behind
embers and the ash
of regret
at what is left waiting.
It is this image he carries
to warm frigid nights
in a foreign land where
a soldier
does not remember dreams,
except those of holding
her in the afterglow, hearts
slowing as the inferno
dies.
Cole Gleason
Present
MY BANK ACCOUNT
Is pitiful. I did tuck most of my preschool
paychecks away, but that didn’t amount
to much. My parents pay my rent, give me
an allowance, and will until I finish school.
My only other income is goodwill checks
from my Alaska grandparents. Somehow,
I make do, and only need big chunks of cash
on weeks like this one, when the best price
I can find for roundtrip airfare to Honolulu
is just shy of seven hundred dollars. So much
for “discount tickets, best prices guaranteed.”
My choices: draw my savings down to zero
cushion; or ask my mom and dad to help out.
I hate to, because I know exactly how
the conversation will go. But I swallow
my pride and make the call. “Hey, Mom.
How’s everything?” Simple enough
greeting, but obviously code, because
her response is, Not bad. What’s going on?
Which is also code for, What do you want?
We don’t exchange mundane pleasantries
often, and almost never by telephone.
Might as well get right to the point.
“I heard from Cole. He’s deploying
in less than three weeks. I need to see
him before he leaves.” She remains
quiet. “Uh . . . the ticket is seven hundred,
which would just about wipe me out.
I was hoping . . .” It isn’t the first time
I’ve asked for airfare. I’m sure I’ll get
the usual lecture, and I do. Ashley,
you know how I feel about supporting
the military. It makes my skin crawl.
“You’re not supporting the military,
Mom, or even supporting Cole. I guess
I shouldn’t have called. I’m sorry.”
help out. I just want you to value
my opinion. I know you love Cole
very much . . . . There’s a big “but”
coming. But love isn’t always pleasant.
I worry that you’re going to get hurt.
GAME WELL-PLAYED
On both sides. She can tell me one more
time why I made a mistake falling for
a Marine. And I will receive the needed funds.
“Thanks for worrying, Mom. If I get hurt,
it was my choice, right? Do you have to
ask Dad about the airfare?” She should.
But she won’t. You know better than that.
I’ll take it out of my mad money, and we’ll
keep it between you and me. You know
how Dad is when it comes to unexpected
expenses. Dad is the master budgeter.
Except somehow he never found out
about Mom’s confidential cash stash. Over
the lifetime of their marriage, she’s managed
to squirrel away thousands. I’ve known about
it for as long as I can remember. When I was
younger, we used it for hardcover books, pricier
prom dresses, and Victoria’s Secret underwear—
extravagances, Dad would have called them,
totally unnecessary. To him. But Mom
always understood my hunger for them,
the same way she gets my need to see
Cole, despite the price tag. Good thing
my brother doesn’t have a taste for expensive
gadgets, or my mother’s mad money hoard
likely would have vanished by now.
“Thanks, Mom. I’ll probably leave
Thursday and come back on Monday.
I’ll let you know for sure. Can you deposit
the money in my account ASAP? I need to
buy the tickets today to get the quote-unquote
discount.” She promises she will and when
I
ask how Dad is doing, I can almost
hear her shrug. Your father is fine.
He’s always fine, isn’t he? Too mean
for “sick” to stick to, and thank God
for that. Who knows what vile disease
he might have brought home otherwise.
Poor Mom. I’d hate to live every day
choking down a big spoonful of bitterness.
TICKETS PURCHASED
I send Cole an e-mail, let him know
next weekend is ours, and for some
complicated reason, it initiates an outbreak
of nerves. As much as I want to see him,
I don’t want to say good-bye again.
As much as I want to be with him,
I don’t want to think about no chance
at being with him again for seven months.
As much as I want to wrap myself up
in his arms, I don’t want to consider
how lonely I’ll be when I have to come
home to this love-empty apartment.
But I will suffer all those emotions,
and more. Because that’s what you do
when you are crazy about a Marine.
I try to go about my day. It’s funny,
but when Cole is overseas, I don’t think
about him every minute. Maybe it’s
a subconscious stab at self-defense.
Because if I let myself stress over where
he was and what he was doing, I’d
worry myself into a state of catatonia.
Instead, I save anxiety for the few days
before I know I’ll spend time with him.
What would it be like to see him every day?
I SAVE THE QUESTION
For Saturday night, when I know
I’ll have the chance to ask women
who’ve been there. That is, if they
want to talk about their husbands
at all. So far, an hour into our girls’
night out, the conversation has been
about what to drink, which appetizers
to order, and the relative merits
of the other women in the club.
It’s still fairly early, but for a Saturday
night, this place seems pretty quiet.
As usual, Darian is the center of
attention, even among the ladies
at our table. There are three, plus
Darian and me. Jeez, where are all
the guys tonight? asks Darian.
I give her a look. She ignores it.
Like you need more men in your
life, jokes Celine, who is maybe thirty-
five. Her husband is career military,