by Nate Allen
Chapter 11
Soon, a day passed, and Grant found himself sitting in a window seat with an honorable discharge to his name: suicidal tendencies, and personality disorder. It was a mark that would stamp itself onto his permanent record, proving that he was a veteran. No matter what Grant thought, he was a hero. As he sat in the seat, and rested his chin on his palm, he sighed.
He sat silent, and still, staring at dark clouds painted in a darker sky. Grant closed his eyes, thought about home, and grinned slightly. He thought about Chelsea waddling with Kali Marie in her stomach. He thought about his mother and sister. As hard as it was for him to admit, Grant knew that there were things still worth living for.
Ever since meeting Bobby, Grant had affiliated the town of Miles with their undying friendship. But, there was no friendship, not anymore, just a love and their growing seed. Grant couldn't help but anticipate his slide back into safety. It was something he didn't know anymore. Iraq had been bullets, blood, and death-repeat. Miles was the exact opposite. It was schedule, but in a completely different way. Iraq had been schedule based on survival; Miles was schedule based on the mundane.
Even though Grant had officially left the war, and the Army that fought it, he knew he would never really be out of Iraq. The fear and wariness had been branded into his flesh, stamped into his being. Even as he sat in the window seat on the plane, Grant imagined men pulling guns out, and firing his brain free from his skull. Iraq was a strip of horror images that would play throughout his head over and over again. It was a reminder of the pain he had felt, and the monster he had become.
Hours passed, the plane sliced through thin atmosphere, and entered a free man's land. Grant kept his mind clean of voices, and soon found himself walking off the plane. He entered a bus at the Minneapolis, Minnesota Airport. The sky was now dark, and would soon be fading back into day. It was early Christmas morning. The clouds sifted snow, and held hands with the other, becoming a fog of gray blanketing Minnesota.
Grant rested his head against the window, and glanced around, seeing people old and young, fat and short, putrid and clean. It was regular life continuing. Grant found himself in the middle as nothing more than an observer: a zoologist in a zoo full of wild animals. He had become an observer of the species. Grant no longer considered himself to be part of the life around him. It was so fake.
The war had been people at their darkest, their truest. With the few glances he made, Grant saw darkness beneath civil skin, and polished smiles. Everyone was the same. Grant hadn't escaped the danger; he had only entered a world not yet brave enough to be what they were.
The bus rolled on down an icy road, soon skidding along. A few swerves were followed by a few churning stomachs, and then the bus straightened out, and continued toward Miles. It was still an hour away, but every mile brought Grant closer to his home.
It brought him closer to a pregnant fianc?e, a mother and sister, and security. It didn't matter if the bus was quiet, and the atmosphere was calm, Grant couldn't help but feel frantic. Maybe it was because every mile brought him closer to a town without Bobby.
At that moment, Bobby's absence only had the weight a dream has on a coherent mind. It didn't seem real that he would never again see him. In many ways, it didn't seem definite. Grant had never actually seen Bobby's severed head in a box wrapped with shimmering paper. Hetel's unit had twenty two when he was included. There had only been twenty one boxes. And that fact kept him hopeful. Experience had shown him time and time again that hope is for fools, but it was all he had. When it is all you have, letting it go is the choice of a fool.
Hidden beneath justifiable hate and resentment, was a belief in God, or at least the idea of Him. You cannot be angry at God without believing in Him. Grant knew this too. He knew God was somewhere in the clouds, lingering with a promise He had yet to fulfill. And maybe it was that small belief in God that made Grant hope for a miracle. Whatever it was, Grant found himself anticipating his return. He knew that deep down the Grant Smith that had left Miles wasn't returning the way he had been. He was changed. But, the person he had been was not dead. He still had things to live for. He still had desires. Men who are dead inside want nothing. Grant wanted the happiness he had left.
Bobby's death had cut Grant like a paper cut. It was a surface, and shallow realization. But, as dirt and dust got in the wound, it burned. Grant couldn't yet accept his death. He had to believe that he was waiting for him in Miles. He had to believe it, even though it seemed impossible.
The sun began to rise, and the bus stopped in front of The Family Restaurant. Grant grabbed hold of his army bag, walked down the aisle, and then got off. The doors closed behind him, and the bus drove away. From where Grant stood he could see his house, and a clean sidewalk wedged in between drifts of snow. Without warning, he found his skin shiver beneath army wear.
Though raised in the cold Midwest, Grant wasn't used to it anymore. Iraq had been like living near the surface of the sun. His skin was tan, and tough. He was no longer a pale, white boy. If the Army had given him one thing, it was color to a pale suit.
After swinging his head left and right, Grant took a few deep breaths, and then began to jog toward the house on Twelve Twenty Two Main. His steps were fast. Grant kept his mind quiet, and his thoughts down to a dull roar. He passed The Family Restaurant, the tire store, and three blocks of houses until finding himself standing on the sidewalk, staring at his house.
It was Christmas day: a holiday that for Grant would always be affiliated with severed heads beneath a full Christmas tree. He stared with soft eyes, seeing a dark house. It was something cold and lonesome, something secluded and uninviting. It wasn't the warm place it had been. The house on Twelve Twenty Two Main was lacking something. Grant just didn't know what yet.
Slowly, he walked the slick sidewalk, stepped up three steps, and clenched the handle of his door. Grant closed his eyes. While taking two deep breaths he turned the handle. It released with a click, and swung open. The lights were off, but the Christmas tree was glowing. Grant closed the door, setting down his bag, and stepping in quietly. Maybe they were sleeping. Maybe they were dreaming.
Grant averted his eyes. The tree shone brightly, the star atop the highest bough radiated, and presents cluttered beneath.
"Hello?!" he yelled loudly. "Mo-mom? Hannah? Is anyone here?!"
He was answered only by the low humming of the heater kicking in. Grant ran up the stairs, and threw open their doors. He found freshly made beds, and empty closets.
"Where are they?" asked Grant frantically as he ran his hands over his head, and brought them down to his face. "What is going on?"
After another five minutes of searching senselessly, Grant ran down the stairway, and left the house. Carefully he slid down the sidewalk, and ran over to the large light blue house next door. He knocked loudly twice, and then waited. Soon, Mrs. Johnson came to the door in a pink robe, and curlers, holding her little sweater-wearing poodle.
"My Lord." she said softly, combing her freshly painted nails across the dog's head. "Grant?"
"Hi, Mrs. Johnson, um, do you know where my mom and sister are?" asked Grant.
"Oh, honey. Your mom and sister left a few days ago. They packed their things in the car, and drove away."
"Where did they go?"
"I don't know. She didn't tell me."
"Will she be back?"
"I don't know."
"Alright." he took one deep breath, and sighed. "Thanks."
"It's great seeing you, Grant. I was worried about you. The news shows such awful things. It's a relief to see you safe at home."
"Thanks, Mrs. Johnson." he smiled, and walked away. They were gone, it seemed. Grant didn't know why they had left, but they had.
His stride was slow and dragging, as he walked back up his three steps, and grabbed the handle of his door. He entered the house, closed his eyes, and sighed deeply. Grant was scared of doing anything else. He was scared of seeing Chelsea. He was sca
red of life continuing, only so it could leave Bobby to be nothing more than a memory.
Grant swung his eyes left and right, and then slid to a sit. His back rested against the door, and his head nudged the handle. Grant contemplated for only a moment, and then stood up. Grabbing the keys from the kitchen, he ran out to his car. After a few congested coughs, the car started. Grant let it idle until-relatively-warm, put it into drive, and drove to Chelsea's. After taking a left and driving straight for six blocks, he took another left, and pulled up to the white house with red shutters.
For only a moment did Grant sit out in his car. He sat and thought. He imagined her smile sitting behind thin lips, and her blue eyes shining like a sky after a fresh rain. Grant soon found himself smiling, and happy. As usual his happiness was temporary, but it was happiness nonetheless.
He pulled the keys from the ignition, left his car, and walked up to her door. Reluctantly, he held his finger over the doorbell. With deep breaths and silent self-cheering, he pushed down. Immediately a ring ran throughout the house, bouncing off walls, and finding its way back to Grant. Every second waited caused sweat to run down his face, and his heart to beat fast.
The door opened.
"Grant?" Mr. Hart asked while yawning. "My God, look at you."
"Hi, Sir," Grant replied proudly.
"What are you doing back?"
"I'm out, Sir. Um, I saw some really b-bad things, and-" he paused and cleared his throat. "-and was discharged."
"Oh, well I can't believe I'm saying this, but I am happy you are back. Chelsea has been worried sick, crying into her pillow. She's had Bobby over t-"
"Bobby? What do you mean?"
"Uh yeah, he came back two or three days ago."
"What are you talking about, Sir? Bobby's dead."
"Grant. He is upstairs." Mr. Hart smiled, and moved aside. "See for yourself." no longer reluctant, Grant entered the house. He took off his shoes, sped up the stairs, and entered Chelsea's room. Like a dream coming true, Bobby laid on the floor. Chelsea slept soundly beneath a blanket on the bed. He wasn't dead. The reasoning still didn't make sense, but he was lying on the floor... drooling.
"Chelsea? Bobby?!" Grant ran through the doorway grinning ear to ear. "Bobby?"
"Gra-Grant?" Chelsea uttered, wiping her eyes, and lifting her head. "Sweetie, is that you?"
"It's me, Chelsea." he kissed her forehead, and then met her lips. "I'm here now. Where is Kali?"
"She's not here yet, Grant." Chelsea smiled while lifting the blanket. "She's right here." Grant looked down at her stomach, and placed his hand on top of it. He felt kicks. He felt life. One moment he had been desperately grasping for hope, and the next he found himself rejuvenated. The war and its trauma no longer mattered. Bobby wasn't dead. Chelsea and Kali Marie were safe. Life was good. Life hadn't been good for a very long time.
"I can't believe you are home. I dreamt it every night. I imagined it would happen this way too. God brought you home. He answered my prayers."
"Mine too." Grant smiled, and kissed her again. "I love you so much, Chelsea. You kept me alive when I wanted to die."
"You kept your promise." she sat up in the bed, and rested her back against the wall. "I knew you would. Do you have to go back? Please don't tell me you have to go back." her bottom lip quivered.
"No, I'm done. I'm home. We can start our life together, our happiness. I can be here for you, and see the birth of Kali Marie. I never thought I'd say it, but maybe God really is watching out for us. Maybe He does care."
"He must, Grant. There is no other explanation." said Chelsea quietly, rubbing her stomach.
"I'm not going to analyze the idea of faith. He brought Bobby back from the dead."
"What are you talking about, Grant? He never died."
"You don't know what I saw over there, Chelsea."
"What?"
"There are some things I will never speak of to you. I will never repeat the horrible things I saw to you. It would be cruel. All I'll say is this. Bobby's unit was kidnapped, and I found them dead. I thought Bobby was with them. Why did he come home?"
"His dad died, Grant." Grant looked down, seeing Bobby sleeping. He saw red cheeks, and pain carved into crinkles above his brow. "We've been a comfort to the other."
"Nothing is coincidental." said Grant softly. "Had his dad died any later, Bobby would be dead. God is in the details. I believe that now."
"Yeah." she looked up at Grant, and gleamed content...
For two hours Chelsea and Grant laid with each other, finally able to hug the other, in place of their own arms. Bobby woke up with a moan. He looked up to see Grant, and blinked until finding his glasses.
"Grant?" he yawned. "What's up?"
"Nothing, buddy, I'm just happy." Grant grinned, wrapping his arm around his resting fianc?e.
"Yeah? That's good."
"I'm so sorry about your dad, Bobby." said Grant softly. "I don't even know what to say."
"You don't have to say anything, Grant. What can you say? I know that I'll never see him again. What else is there to say?"
"I don't know." Grant shrugged while shaking his head. "When my dad died I told myself it wasn't real. He was a trucker so it was easy to make myself believe that. I just told myself he was on a really long trip."
"I really don't know what to do, Grant. All three of us have lost somebody, but, all in different capacities. Chelsea lost her sister; you lost your dad, so did I. But, now that he is gone I miss seeing him. Even if it was the worst way I could see him. I miss just being able to sit on the couch with him, watch a movie, or talk. I miss him, Grant."
"I know, Bobby. And I don't know what to say to make it better."
"I don't expect you to, Grant." said Bobby. "'Cause truthfully, no one can do anything. I have to try and get through it. That's all you can do, right?"
"Yeah, but, buddy I'm just happy to see ya."
"Same here, Grant. I hated the war, but this seems almost worse. At least in the war, I knew he was still alive. I guess I can be happy he's not suffering anymore. But, the thing is, I'm not happy. I'm selfish. I'd rather have him here suffering with me, instead of being happy somewhere else."
"That may be selfish, Bobby, but it's exactly how I felt after my dad died. I think it's how everyone feels after death."
"Maybe, I don't know. I just can't be happy. I try, but I feel a hole bigger than my heart. Maybe even a hole in place of my heart."
"It hurts, Bobby. It hurts like a bitch and then some, but it gets better." empty words from a man that didn't believe them.
"How, Grant? How does it get better?"
"Time heals everything... eventually." Grant rubbed his hand on Chelsea's stomach, and kissed her forehead. "You'll make it, Bobby. Chelsea and I will be here whenever you need us."
"I know? thanks. You've got yourself quite a girl there, Grant. She listened to me for hours last night. She sympathized with my situation, and made me feel like I wasn't alone."
"That's nice."
"Yeah it was." Bobby smiled slightly. "She is so soft and tender."
"Are you describing a turkey?" asked Grant.
Bobby looked up at him, shook his head, and smiled.
Bobby was hurt, but he would be okay. Life was continuing; Bobby was included, and the future appeared brighter than aluminum reflecting the sun. His family was forming, his friend was still alive, and the war no longer held him. The happiness Grant had left didn't disappear when he left. It only stayed still, like a dog waiting for it's master to return. When he did return, it welcomed him with a warm tongue licking his face, and a few cheerful yelps.
That Christmas day, Grant, Bobby, and Chelsea ate a turkey dinner with her parents, gave thanks for a brighter life, and then ate. They smiled, laughed, told stories and jokes; they were one big family. Maybe, just maybe the future was bright.
Christmas soon became New Years. The ball dropped at midnight, and the world welcomed 2014's birth with confetti and frenetic jubilati
on. Grant and Chelsea celebrated the beginning of something better, something more. They celebrated the year as the start of a family finally beginning.
Though, unknown to the world and its inhabitants, 2014 was the beginning of the end. The failing economy would fall, the sun would sleep beneath a dark sky, and man would succumb to their monsters. It was coming. Pages of apocalyptic predictions would finally take form...
Kali Marie was born on February 15th, 2014, a Saturday. She was born after Chelsea pushed for eight hours and squeezed Grant's hand until bones felt fractured. Kali Marie cried loudly, allowing a clutter of seconds to pull her lids up, and reveal dark blue eyes.
Grant smiled. It was his daughter. She was the most beautiful thing he had ever seen.
"Hi." he said, rubbing a calloused finger against her soft cheek. "I'm your dad. You are so beautiful." Grant looked up at Chelsea, seeing her gleaming proudly beneath wet hair, and labored breaths.
"You did so good, baby." Grant said, kissing Chelsea's wet forehead.
"Thanks." she sighed exhaustion.
"Bobby, come and see her." said Grant.
Bobby got up from sitting, and walked over to his best friend's new born daughter.
"Hey." he waved awkwardly. "I'm Bobby. I'll be the one to tell you plenty of embarrassing stories about your father when the time is right." he smiled, looking at Grant.
"I have plenty to reciprocate." Grant whispered with a knowing look.
"What do you think Bobby?" Chelsea asked softly.
"She's beautiful, and I am very happy for you. Who knew Grant here could plant a seed, and produce a result so stunning." he smiled.
"Thanks, Bobby." Chelsea smiled with a deep breath, and brushed her hair from her face. "I feel disgusting, Grant."
"You are glowing, Chelsea. And you look beautiful."
"Yeah?" she resituated herself on the bed. "Thanks, baby." Both Grant and Chelsea found themselves infatuated. They couldn't pull their eyes off of their creation. God had never been closer to Grant than on that day. He took shape in the form of mercy, and understanding.
Kali's cheeks were plump and soft; her hair was thin and dark strawberry blonde. It was only shadow with texture attached, but eventually it would become something.
After spending one night in the hospital for observation, they left with a family-not one aspiring to be. Bobby sat in the back seat, resting his chin on the window. He watched the sun fade into a darkening sky. He brushed his short shag from his ears, glanced up at a glowing Grant, and then looked back out the window. The car they were in rolled for two miles, stopping at the stop sign by The Family Restaurant, and then continuing on straight until pulling into Grant's driveway.
Grant parked the car, helped Chelsea out, and walked her to the house. She cradled Kali Marie like a little girl would a doll. They walked up the three steps, and entered the house...
Happiness had come in the form of a daughter a little less than two months prior. But, this night Grant was going to find happiness at the bottom of a bottle. It was April 5th, 2014, his twenty first birthday. Bobby knew of Grant's vice. He bought alcohol.
That night Grant and Bobby were happy and hammered. They laughed, and joked, enjoying a state of mind they rarely found themselves in: neither had one care in the world...
