by Pratt, Lulu
His smile widened. “Of course it’s a guy, it’s always a guy. You need a lift? I can have my other buddies come pick up your car, take a look at it. But we better get you to your sweetie.”
“Are you serious?” I asked, gratitude and exhaustion flooding my voice.
“Yeah, duh.” He pointed to his car. “Go hop in, I’ll take down your car info and text my pals.”
I threw my arms around him in a spontaneous hug, then jogged across the abandoned freeway to where his pick-up truck sat idling. My knee bounced anxiously as I waited for him to return, which he did only a few minutes later. Time was running out. He clocked my frenetic movements.
“Don’t fret,” he said casually. “We’ll get ya there. My name’s Monty.”
“I’m Cybil.”
“Nice to meet you, Cybil. Buckle up. I drive fast.”
No sooner had I clicked my seatbelt in than Monty, true to his word, tore off through the desert like the devil himself was nipping at his heels. I dug my hands into the side of the seat, but that did nothing to calm my nerves. I was at the mercy of Monty’s reckless driving, and I totally didn’t care. Hell, I’d even left my care in the middle of the desert, where just about anyone could take it if they made a little effort. Who was this new Cybil? And how far would she go to get the man she loved?
Hours passed. The radio thumped between us — Monty had excellent speakers — but mostly, he talked with me. At me, really. About the weather, about his dreams of being a teacher, his daughter, about his favorite band, the Agitated Cockroaches. He was a chatty boy, but a funny one. He reminded me of someone I imagined Cash might be friends with. It was a false memory, as I’d never met any of Cash’s friends yet. We, damn, had only known each other for a short while, but I sensed a compatibility between them.
I tried to ask him about the military, but he was tight-lipped. Whatever he did was top-secret, or as he put it, “For me to know, and you to wonder about.”
This, said with his signature grin.
I looked at the clock. We had one hour to make it, and there were still a hundred miles between us and the base.
“Monty,” I said desperately, gesturing to the dash. “I know I can’t ask this, but — is there any way for you to speed up? I have to get there.”
In all our time in the truck, he didn’t ask why I was rushing. Even now, even when I was asking him to break every road rule, he didn’t ask. Now that’s a ride or die. Cash would definitely like him, I decided.
“Sure thing,” he said. “No cop will pull me over, not given — well, my employer. But you better hold tight.”
And if I’d thought he was going fast before, it was only because I hadn’t understood what ‘fast’ really meant. We were crashing over hills and valleys, driving at a speed that I thought was impossible. And yet, despite the speed — which was practically throwing me out of my seat — Monty appeared unruffled.
There was half an hour on the clock when he finally asked his sole question of the drive.
“Who’s the guy?” he said as we tore up road.
“His name’s Cash.”
Monty’s laughter drowned out the speaker system. “Cash! My boy Cash? Oh man, oh I’m glad I picked you up. No shit, Cash? I never would’ve — well, I’ll be damned. Cash.”
“You know him?” Maybe my instincts had been good.
“Do I know him?” he chuckled. “We’re best friends. Aw shit, you shoulda said something earlier. I mean, I’ve been going fast, but girl, we can go faster.”
Cash’s name was like a magic key. Suddenly, we were going the fastest I thought the pick-up could physically go before breaking down, so fast I stopped trying to come up with small talk. Monty was, as usual, totally chill about the breakneck speed.
We pulled to outside gates of the base with maybe ten minutes to spare before Cash was supposed to sign the papers. Monty got us through the security quickly, talking to the guard, another buddy of his, it seemed, and explaining I was a visitor. Some part of me was surprised by the wave-through, but most of me was concentrated on getting to Cash in time, preparing to pour my heart out in the hope of stopping him from doing something really, really stupid.
Or — and I had to factor this in — there was every chance I’d end up being the one who looked stupid. Was I ready for that? Was I ready to have my heart ripped out of my chest and kicked across the floor like a soccer ball? A few days ago, I would’ve said no. But now, what with this new, tough Cybil emerging… well, I was more inclined to at least try. Humiliation be damned.
And I’d just about psyched myself up when I looked at my phone.
“Monty,” I said, my voice shaking. “What time is it?”
He looked on the dash. “Oh that? Yeah, it’s a few minutes off, I haven’t been able to fix it up.”
“Shit.”
Cash was due to be signing his papers, and four years of his life, away right now. And there was every chance I wouldn’t make it in time.
Without thought, going on pure instinct, I scream-instructed, “Drive!”
Chapter 20
Cash
I ARRIVED AT the base late last night, the few things I had packed in a duffel bag slung over my shoulder. I’m not big on material items, maybe because of the military. I’ve learned to pack light and expect little comfort.
Upon passing through the gates, I found a parking spot and pulled in slowly. This would be the last time I’d drive my car for… who knew how long? Whenever I took my next leave, I assumed. It could be months. Could be a year. I’d miss the old cow. It’s the little things about civilian life that get to you, such as buying groceries, having your own bathroom, sleeping in. The things you don’t know you’ll miss until they’re gone.
Calm down, Cash, I told myself. Don’t get sappy now.
Right. This wasn’t the time for reflection and despondency, not when I’d already made up my mind. I’d said goodbye to my parents, I’d organized my affairs. I’d made ready.
And I’d severed all ties with Cybil.
Even then, twelve hours later, it hurt to think about. Oh, who was I kidding. It was gonna hurt for years, for a lifetime.
The thought of never seeing her again punched a hole squarely through the middle of my body, and left me momentarily winded. Could I survive a world without Cybil? Knowing that she was there, but never being able to reach out to her… the only way I was able to keep my resolution was by continuously reminding myself that I really was doing it for her, for my parents. With that thought, I felt certain I could undertake almost anything. Frankly, I’d throw my ass in front of a moving train if it meant she stayed safely off the sides of the rails.
“Cash!” someone nearby called out.
I squinted, then saw in the darkness that it was my old pal — no, actually, several of them. A couple of the folks I’d served with. Though we weren’t really in the same unit, so to speak, our paths crossed consistently due to the nature of our employment. I’ve already said too much, so let’s just move along.
“Cash!” It was Rachel saying my name, followed by Tim and Carson.
“Hey,” I said, forcing a smile and hoping my internal upheaval didn’t show through. “Long time no see.”
“Yeah, ‘cuz you disappeared off the face of the earth,” Tim pointed out, not incorrectly.
Carson jumped in. “Last I heard, you were opening a tattoo shop in L.A. That real?”
I nodded. “Yup. It’s called Bills.”
They all groaned at the pun, but quickly got over the naming choice and began asking for discounts, special ink, etc. It was like I’d never been gone. My buddies immediately welcomed me back. That’s the kind of insidious thing about the military — all the very real friends you make force you to think that the entire institution is positive. It fucks with your head, is all.
But anyhow, we walked back together to the Rec Hall, where we had relatively free rein. Rachel, Timmy and Carson caught me up on what they’d been doing since last we left — which
was pretty much just the same stuff they’d been doing before — and I told them more about the shop, my parents, so on and so forth. Despite her being the only real thing on my mind, I was careful to leave out Cybil. I didn’t want my friends to know I was going through heartbreak. They’d be way too nice about it, and then I’d just feel worse.
It was like old times again. We were all getting ready to start new contracts, all about to embark on a new phase in life.
I’d begged off early, saying, “I gotta get to bed, I’ve got my signing tomorrow at twelve hundred hours.”
Damnit, I’d already slipped back into the code too. Had civilian life sloughed off me so quickly? It seemed improbable, and yet, here we were.
My friends slapped me on the back by way of goodbye, and soon, I was in a temp bed in the holding room, the kind you stay in for brief overnights, which was about as comfortable as the beds you’d get during regular deployment, and thus thought of as good preparation. I tossed and turned. My eyelids were clouded over by visions of Cybil. Where was she now? Was she safe? Did she hate me? That was a bad question. I already knew the answer.
I dreamt her lips into existence, until I could almost imagine her hovering over me, a small smile on her face, love in her eyes. A wicked quip on her tongue — then, the softness of her tongue. The quickness. Her tongue on mine, wrapping and uncurling and inviting me in to stay a while. Her balance, her openness, how deeply unknown she was. Her back, arched for me. Her ass, tattooed with my name. We gave and we took and we loved and we fought, we certainly fucking fought, but mostly, we loved.
A cold sweat awoke me at seven. I felt, somewhere deep in my bones, that Cybil had just awoken too. It was like our souls were strung together on a clothesline and a cold breeze had just rushed through.
I was alone in my room. Aloud, I said, “I hope you’re okay. Or will be okay.” I gave her a prayer, and my blessing to move on.
The morning was formalities. My buds and I didn’t see one another post breakfast, as I had too much intake stuff to handle. Routine checks, interviews, briefs. Contract negotiations, which weren’t really negotiations, as we’d already settled the details beforehand, but if I’d learned anything in the military, it’s that the government will wrap as much red tape around something as humanly possible. Internally, this thought made me groan. Was I ready for four more years of ceaseless bureaucracy?
Doubtful.
Think of your parents, my brain chided. Think of how much you love them. What wouldn’t you do for them?
The answer was nothing. Self-sacrifice was in my blood. It carved out each of my bones. I would do this for them, not to look like the perfect son, but to be the perfect son.
It was nearly noon when I got finished with the rote run-throughs I’d begun at zero eight hundred hours after a hearty breakfast served in the cafeteria. Carson joked about his favorite reality shows. Rachel poked my arms, asking if I’d gone soft during my civilian life. Normal stuff. Maybe it was where I belonged.
So by twelve hundred hours, I was ready to get it over with, to wrap up the formalities and just sign the damn papers, officially linking myself to the military for the next four years. Well, ‘ready’ is too strong a word. ‘Willing,’ more like it. A few strokes on several dotted lines and that would be that.
I made my way over to one of the various offices, where my former boss and a government lackey were waiting to get my signing sorted out.
“Hey, Webster,” General Wilson said, addressing me by my last name and nodding his thin, reedy head. The man was built like a paper straw, but was tougher than pure steel. I’d seen him take down three grown Army privates with no more than his right hand.
“Hello, sir.” I gave a formal salute. Oh, how quickly the old habits return.
In his chalky voice, he replied, “So you liked our offer.”
I hesitated. “Well, I liked the money.”
He gave a small smile then said, “Yes, I suppose that’s what I meant. The rest of it isn’t so…” He cleared his throat. “Anyways, we’re glad to have you back. We’re in desperate need of people with your abilities, especially with this upcoming insurgency. You’ll be valuable.”
“Thanks.”
Wilson cleared his throat again. Not a big talker, that guy.
“Okay, well,” he began, “if you’re all ready, we can get down to this signing business, just the last few finishing touches on the contract, it’ll just be a few minutes—”
A walkie-talkie crackled somewhere. Wilson broke off, curious, but I remained disinterested. Walkies crackled constantly in the military. This meant nothing.
He looked to the left, and realized it was the lackey’s walkie, the light still blaring red.
“You got something to take care of?” he asked the man, who turned beet red.
“One moment, sir.” With that, the fellow left, exiting through the small gray door, embarrassed and anxious to wrap up whatever business was on his walkie.
Wilson barely concealed an eye roll, then turned back to me.
“Apologies,” he said. “New kid. Anyways, where were we…” He turned back to the stack of papers on the desk between us and began to sort through them, pulling the top page off.
He started to say, “Let’s try again,” when the man walked back into the room, face redder than before. He stood in the doorway, waiting for an invitation to speak.
“Yes?” Wilson demanded, irritability oozing out of his every word.
“S-sorry, sir, it’s just, it’s that—”
“Spit it out.”
The man nodded frantically. “Y-yes, sir. There’s someone at the visitor center for, erm, him,” he finished, gesturing in my direction.
I was surprised. No, not even. I knew that this couldn’t be accurate, knew so thoroughly that I didn’t even bother to think about it, just said, “There’s no one in the visitor center.” My tone was patient — okay, maybe a little patronizing. “I’ve said goodbye to my parents, and the rest of my friends… well, they’re pretty much here.”
I thought the poor guy might bowl over with nerves, and I took pity on him, adding, “I’m sure you just misunderstood the codes, they can be confusing.”
He stammered, “No, no, I checked with them twice, there’s definitely someone here for you.” He glanced at Wilson and added, “Sir,” for no apparent reason, force of habit, maybe.
“Well?” Wilson growled. “What do you want me to do about it?”
This new guy wasn’t having a good day.
“The people at the center,” he explained, “want you to send him over. Sir.”
“Webster?” Wilson said, turning to me. “You know what this is about?”
I shook my head emphatically. Frankly, I still suspected the boy had gotten something wrong. Though, then again, I supposed it was vaguely possible my parents had come up to see me one last time but — no, that didn’t seem at all likely. This was a rather elaborate miscommunication, but one that I supposed had to be taken care of.
To Wilson, I replied, “I’ll go with the kid, see what it’s about.”
He considered this. “And then you’ll come right back to sign?”
I nodded, “yes.”
“Well… okay then,” he granted. “Go see what this stupid business is about. Be quick, I’d like to get this over with.”
“Yessir.”
I stood from my chair, and followed the waiting and trembling young man out the door. He started to uncertainly take the lead in directing me to the visitors’ center, but I quickly realized he had no idea where it was. Definitely fresh meat.
“I can find it myself,” I said, hoping my voice didn’t come off as too unkind. After all, I’d been that kid, albeit a lifetime ago.
“Okay,” he agreed readily. “I’ll wait outside when we get there, you can just come find me when you’re done.”
I tamped down a laugh. “Great plan.”
With that, I took us the rest of the way to the center, a large, gray build
ing with little personality to recommend it, and even fewer decorations on the inside. It, like the rest of the compound, was all about functionality.
I ditched the man at the door, and made my way inside, where I stopped at the desk.
“Hey,” I said. “Name’s Webster, Cash Webster. I was in a meeting with the General. You, uh, called me? But I think there must have been some mistake.”
The front desk receptionist replied, “No mistake. You have a visitor, who says it’s rather urgent. Pushed into the base faster than anyone I’ve ever seen, without even getting full security clearance. Very odd. You better follow me.”
I wanted to ask who it was, or ask one of any millions of questions, but was too anxious to get the answers, so much so that I allowed myself to be towed into a corridor of private visiting rooms, and politely shoved inside one of them, with the receptionist calling after me, “Ring if you’ve got any problems!”
I was on the verge of saying ‘thank you’ when I turned into the room and my entire body went numb.
Because sitting at the table was Cybil.
Chapter 21
Cybil
THE FIRST thing I noticed was his uniform.
It was sharp, navy, formal. The kind of thing you’d wear for a ceremony, a special occasion.
The kind of thing that suggested he’d already signed the papers.
I wanted to cry — and, okay, I also wanted to fuck him. The uniform was beyond hot. Too bad he seemed to already be beyond my reach.
He started to say, “What are you doing—” but I cut him off.
“Have you already signed?” I asked, despondent and pretty sure I already knew the answer.
Cash slowly shook his head. “No. Not yet. I was just about to.”
I couldn’t help myself. I slid the chair back and raced across the room, until we were inches from one another, almost touching. Who was I?
The new Cybil, that’s who.
I grabbed the collar of his perfectly pressed suit, and tugged him to me.
“Do you promise?” I begged him.
“Yes,” he murmured. “I haven’t. But I’m going to. It’s what I’ve got to do.”
