by Claire Cain
Maybe it was being away from teaching, or maybe it was that I felt like I’d found my stride. Maybe it was being back near Alex, or maybe it was being out of New York City and back into a less urban setting like that of my roots in Kansas. Maybe it was finally taking real steps to write. I didn’t know for sure, but I knew I was happy, and what a soul-expanding proposition that was. My deepest breaths a year ago were but gasps compared to now.
As I stretched back in my seat and pushed away from my computer, I felt excited by the prospect of the weekend just a day away. I had plans to go out with Alex in Nashville on Saturday, and though I dreaded the drive, I knew we’d have fun. I was coming to the final few chapters of my book too, so I’d finish that this weekend, easily. And the project was coming along. I’d sorted all the data and was finding I had some solid recommendations I could make based on the information I’d gotten from the soldiers. I had some real, actionable items that would, I hoped, make a difference to soldiers at some point. Operation Achieve was absolutely going to feel their grant had been well-used.
I heard a light knock on my door and looked up to see Alex standing in my doorway, her face red and streaked from tears, and the hairs on the back of my neck raised.
Chapter Six
“What happened?” I asked as I rushed toward her and grabbed her with both hands. I squeezed her shoulders, her biceps, her elbows, then clasped her hands in mine. I searched her face and waited, my breathing ragged as I waited for her words to eke out past new tears.
“Specialist Smith. Do you remember him?” she said, her voice small and shaky.
“Eli?”
“Yes,” she said, and I watched as she swallowed hard.
“Of course. He’s part of the study—he took two classes before his last deployment. I haven’t seen him in a while though—he hasn’t responded to my last email,” I said, a splash of dread filling me up, up, up and over like a pitcher of water filled a cup too full.
I squeezed her hands, willing her to speak and tell me.
“He killed himself last night,” she said in a sob, and then we were hugging, holding on to each other for dear life. We were both crying now, her sobbing, and my eyes shedding tears while I stared at the pale, tiled ground of the hallway. I pulled her into my office and shut the door, and we stood there crying, the only sound her weeping and my own breathing coming short and quick.
After what felt like an hour but was more a matter of minutes, she pulled back. “I’m so sorry to tell you at work, but I was afraid it might have made the rounds of the rumor mill and I didn’t want you to hear it from someone else. It’s just awful,” she said, her face crumpling in tears again and she shook her head.
I couldn’t speak. I wasn’t sure what I felt or thought other than I kept thinking He’s too young and wishing she was lying.
“Luke said they’d already sent him to in-patient care twice. They’d had him on suicide watch even after he came back and were debating trying to send him again.” Her voice broke and she looked around my small office for something, then sat down in the chair next to her.
“He’s so young.” I stopped. Not anymore. “Wasn’t he just twenty?” I asked.
She nodded in confirmation. “I don’t know what to do. How to help Luke or anyone else. They’re all in work mode over there, trying to figure out how to help his friends. He’s in Bravo company, and that was Luke’s company before he switched out. Luke said he was a good kid but just couldn’t get a handle on things, whatever that means. They were doing everything they could. I know they were…” she trailed off and slumped into a chair.
I knew we needed to talk about this. Strangely, we’d been here before, in a way. Our sophomore year of college there’d been several student deaths in our class, all suicide. Overdoses, and one girl who jumped from a balcony. We hadn’t known them, but the need to talk through the events was overwhelming.
“I don’t think there’s anything you can do but be there for him if and when he’s ready to talk to you about it.”
“I know,” she said, sniffling. She had such a tender heart, and I loved her for it.
“Will they do a memorial for him? Some kind of service?” I asked. I didn’t know how this worked, but there had to be a procedure. The sad fact of veteran suicide made that a must.
“I think they’re still working all of that out. I’ll let you know.”
“Please do.” I would be there. While the loss of this young soldier wasn’t a deeply personal thing, it was to Luke, and it was, by extension, for Alex. It certainly felt personal to me now in a way it hadn’t before I arrived at Fort Campbell.
“You know, Harrison was acting first sergeant for a bit while Luke was in command. His original first sergeant was injured toward the tail end of the deployment, so Harrison stepped in. He’s the one who sent him to the evaluation and recommended they send him to in-patient the first time,” she said.
I felt my heart sink lower, if it was possible. One more person in my very small network who would be shaken by this. I thought about when Jake had brought Smith to see me the first time. I remembered how he’d told Smith he had five minutes in the bathroom and realized he’d been on suicide watch then—that was the reason he didn’t leave us alone while I talked with the younger soldier, and then why he was policing him like a child thereafter. My heart sank lower knowing Jake would undoubtedly be affected by this loss.
The rest of that day was a blur. Alex stayed with me another hour as we talked and cried a little more and finally agreed she would let me know what I could do for her or Luke or anyone else if there was anything. She called me that night to tell me they’d scheduled the remembrance ceremony for Friday afternoon.
They didn’t want the whole battalion going into the weekend without some kind of official interaction. They’d planned it for 1pm and then would have a long safety briefing reminding the soldiers about their resources. They’d even have counselors available at the meeting, the MFLCs, the Military Family Life Counselors from the base who took confidential meetings and no notes or names, so the soldiers would know who they were and how things worked if they wanted to meet with them.
Friday felt like a day shrouded in dark gray tint on every level. Even the weather was gloomy and depressing with incessant drizzling rain and gray skies. The service was absolutely heartbreaking. I held Alex’s hand far in the back. Soon enough Megan joined us and took Alex’s free hand. We stood with a small handful of other friends and family members from the battalion who’d come to show their support. The soldiers gathered in the chapel. Even though it wasn’t the official memorial service, they made sure it was separate from the work spaces and regular battle rhythm as they called it.
I was surprised by how many soldiers cried—even some of the older NCOs and officers had glistening eyes at one point or another. I saw Rae Jackson sitting off to the side with a few other soldiers from what I guessed was a different battalion. Sergeant Major Trask and Major Flint flanked Lieutenant Colonel Wilson, jaws clinched and shoulders bunched. James stood by Luke, his face serious. The young Lieutenant Holder who’d been so enamored of Jake at the party months ago was red-eyed and disheveled. I tried not to stare but found myself noticing Jake’s stony face looking drawn and surprisingly expressive. He struck me as someone who’d put on his impassive face mask and let no one see his grief, but he looked obviously wrecked. He didn’t cry, at least that I saw, but his demeanor was notably different than its usual stoic severity.
The battalion commander pleaded with his soldiers to remember Specialist Eli Smith and to remember that there was always a way out, always a resource, always someone who could help. He listed the suicide helpline, referred to the MFLCs, and tried to do whatever he could to assure the soldiers the stigma attached to seeking help wouldn’t damage their careers. I didn’t know if what he was saying was true, but I hoped it was. The chaplain’s prayer was as good as it could have been in such a situation.
Alex and I parted ways with the other s
pouses and then each other. We canceled our plans for the weekend, knowing she’d want and need to focus her attention on Luke.
I kept wondering about Jake, wondering who would talk with him. Maybe he’d call Henry, though I doubted he would. I knew they were close since he told Henry about being in the project, but it didn’t seem like he’d share this awful thing with his brother—it seemed like he’d keep it from him so it wouldn’t worry him. I hoped I was wrong.
I couldn’t think of going home to my empty apartment after the long day, even though being home usually felt like a haven. I drove around town until I decided to go to a movie. The dark theater, some popcorn and Coke, and the latest dumb comedy helped distract me from that swallowing pit in my chest. That quicksand feeling I’d felt before, something scary and hopeless and broken and inescapable. I couldn’t imagine feeling there was no hope, and the reality that so many did, and so many who’d come to that point because of what they’d seen in life or at war, felt dangerously destructive and terrifyingly real in my life. It was easier to ignore when I wasn’t associated with the military community.
I hid in the theater—from myself, from reality, from the gray, rainy weather. When I emerged two hours later I was full of popcorn and surprised to find the sun working its way down toward the horizon and the purple and pink sunset sky peppered with clouds. I took a deep breath of the cold air and smelled the clean scent of rain on asphalt. The clouds must have been holding warmth in because the crystal sky had given way to a chilly spring evening.
I drove home with a sense of sad stillness, my mind mostly blank and my heart calm, if still low. I locked my car and noticed Jake’s Jeep was there, a few spaces down from where I usually parked. I wanted to go knock on his door and make sure he was ok, but I knew that wasn’t my place. We weren’t even really friends. I locked my car and watched the sun slip all the way out of sight, feeling relieved it was dark now because it was dusk instead of just gloomy. The moon was shining behind me and somehow that little reflection of light felt like the reminder I needed that it wouldn’t stay dark forever. Tomorrow was a new day that followed this cold, darkening night.
I walked the path to my apartment, but I couldn’t stop myself from glancing over my shoulder to look at Jake’s patio. Maybe I could see him inside, sitting and talking on the phone, and I’d imagine it was Henry on the other end.
Instead, I was surprised to see a figure slumped down in a patio chair, a glass resting on his knee, his head resting in a hand. I changed course immediately.
I didn’t know what I’d say, but I knew I couldn’t go home and not spend the rest of the night worrying about him. Everything in this one little moment spoke to me, grabbed me, and demanded I go to him.
“Jake?” I said, my voice rasping a little as I used it for the first time in hours.
He raised his head and let the hand it had been resting in drop to the glass that held, I could see now, brown liquid. On the small table next to him was a bottle of Jameson. He was silent, his eyes rimmed with red, his cheeks flushed but his face somehow still ashen.
I didn’t know what to say. Are you ok seemed useless. I’m so sorry didn’t help. What could I say?
“Can I have a sip?” I asked, gesturing to the glass resting on his wide thigh.
He handed it to me and I took a small sip, enjoying the heat and smoke of the whiskey burn down my throat and into my belly. I handed the glass back to him and sat down in the chair to his left.
We sat there a while, both staring out at the last streaks of color disappearing from the sky, the night now fully settled in around us. I wasn’t sure how long I’d stay, but I knew I’d stay another few minutes, just to make sure he was ok. Not that he’d tell me, but it seemed like just being next to him was something I could offer.
“Did you know my mother died?” he said, his gruff voice breaking the silence of the little patio world where we lived.
“Henry said something about her, and he used past tense, so I thought she had, but I wasn’t sure,” I said, feeling like my voice was too loud even as I tried to quiet it.
“She killed herself when I was twelve,” he said without looking at me, and the air whooshed from my lungs.
“Oh no. I’m so sorry,” I said, my voice low and strained, feeling like I wanted to double over, but that didn’t make sense since I was sitting down.
“Henry was nine months old. Severe post-partum depression compounded by my absent, perpetually-deployed or disengaged father.” His tone was edgy and his voice rough, but the fact that he was offering up these personal details told me this wasn’t his first glass of whiskey.
“That’s a nightmare. I’m sorry you had to go through that,” I said, looking at him as he continued to stare out across the grassy field that made up the center of all of the apartment buildings in the complex.
“It was. It was a nightmare. I know a little of what the Smiths are feeling.” He took a drink and then held the glass out to me without looking at me, and I took it. I took another drink and handed it back to him.
“I know the broken feeling that hollows you out. I know the confusion. The feeling of betrayal. The anger. Then back around to the weight of the sadness, like something heavy is sitting on your chest and you can’t move from under it.” He took another sip. I watched as he swallowed it down, his face not changing as he did it. He seemed more numb and calm now than he had earlier. I wondered how long he’d been here.
I didn’t know what to say but could also tell I didn’t need to say anything even though I wanted to. Listening was what I could give him tonight.
“At least he didn’t have kids,” he said, and his eyes shifted to mine. I was sure there was pity written on my face, but I hoped there was compassion too. I hoped somehow I was showing him how sorry I was for him, for the Smith family, that anything like this ever happened.
“Yes, that’s one good thing,” I said quietly.
We sat there in silence again for a while. He passed me his glass another time or two, and just when I was starting to feel like I should go, he started talking again.
“I told them he wasn’t straight yet. I told them, and they knew it too, but there’s only so much you can do. And I know that. I know it’s not anyone’s fault, which is good, because sometimes it is someone’s fault, but this time it wasn’t. Everyone did what they could, and this kid was too damned lost.” His voice broke a little at the end, and I looked up to see his eyes were glassy. His voice and body were relaxed from the drink, and he was stringing together sentences one after another more generously than he ever had in regular conversation.
“Is that why you brought him to my office?”
“I thought being involved in something might help. He wasn’t my responsibility anymore, but I thought it’d get him looking at taking more classes, give him some direction—something.” His eyes flickered up to me, then back down to the spot in front of him.
“It was a good idea. It was worth a try,” I said, feeling completely incapable of consoling him, but wanting him to know I thought his efforts to help were better than ignoring the problem. He clearly hadn’t done that, based on what Alex told me and what he’d filled in just now.
“I blamed myself for my mom for so long. I thought I should have been able to help her more or make her happy. I wondered if it was because I was a bad kid. I was pretty sure my dad blamed me, or even Harry, but my grandma finally convinced me that wasn’t true. I hope it wasn’t true. Sometimes I still wonder if there’s something I could have done.” He took another sip of his drink and then held it there in front of him and watched the amber liquid swirl around as he tilted it back and forth.
“Jake, there’s nothing a twelve-year-old could have done, no matter how thoughtful or loving. You were a child, and what happened with your mom was an awful thing, but it’s not something you could have stopped, I don’t think.” I spoke before I even realized I was speaking, my whole consciousness focused on making sure this man knew he wasn’t responsi
ble for his mother’s suicide. I didn’t know all of the details, but I knew enough to know it wasn’t his fault.
He nodded his head a few times slowly before he spoke again. “I know that. I know that. I do.” He was quiet again and then said, “I mostly blame him.” It was just above a whisper, but it was clear.
“You blame your father?”
“I know he might not have been able to help, but he was always gone. Always. And we weren’t fighting two wars then. He opted out of our family life whenever he could—took TDYs and unaccompanied assignments where we couldn’t go with him. He left her alone with me, and he left when Henry was three months old on an optional assignment.” The bitterness in his voice was undeniable. “He might have been able to tell something was wrong, but every time I think that, I realize how unlikely that is. She might have hidden it, but even if she hadn’t, he wouldn’t have noticed her enough to see something was wrong.”
“I’m sorry.”
“So am I. I wish he hadn’t been gone. I wish I didn’t still blame him, even now that he’s dead. He ruined her.”
There was nothing I could say to that, so I took a small sip from his drink, the liquid creating a kind of mourner’s comradery, and handed it back to him.
“But from him I learned a lot. How not to be. What not to do. Not to be weak and marry and have kids and then not be strong enough to stay with them, be with them.”
“Is that why you’re not married?” I asked.
“Yes. Not that I’ve ever been close. But that’s why, yeah. I won’t do that to someone else.”
I could tell he must be feeling the whiskey in earnest now since his gestures were more overt, and I was sure he wouldn’t be saying any of the things he was in any other circumstance. I felt torn—sure I should go and leave him alone and sure I should stay and keep him talking.
