by L. Wilder
“You sure?”
“Yeah. It was just a reflection or something.”
It was easy to get spooked when you were so far from home and had no idea who you could or couldn’t trust. Add in the occasional gunfire, explosions, and members of al Qaeda running around in disguise, and any man would be a little jumpy. Assuming everything was okay, we followed the others back to camp.
Our unit was holed up in an old, two story house they’d bought from one of the Iraqis who fled the area. Anbar was covered with insurgents, and they wanted nothing more than to kill each and every one of us. Doing what we could to keep the place safe, we’d double bagged the windows and used the large, bastion roof as guard posts. Each day we’d monitor our area, engage in counter attacks, and fight to keep our territory safe. It wasn’t always like the games we’d played or the movies we’d seen. We all knew that at any moment there could be another strike against us, like the day one of our convoys was hit with IED devices, or the time snipers killed two of our guys. Something about seeing your fellow soldiers—your brothers—on CNN made everything seem more real.
Once we were all back on site and settled, Brody sprawled out on his spot on the floor. One thing we’d learned since being in the Marines was how to sleep just about anywhere with little or nothing between us and the ground. His eyes were closed, and I’d thought he’d fallen asleep until I heard him ask, “Remember the time we went sledding down that hill behind the high school?”
“Using the hood from Tommy Johnson’s car?”
“Yeah. That was awesome. I can’t believe how fast that damn thing would go.”
“I also remember you falling off that damn thing and almost getting yourself killed. You remember that ?”
“It wasn’t that bad!”
“You almost hit a fucking tree at sixty miles an hour.”
“But I didn’t,” he scoffed. “And it was fun as shit.”
Exhausted, I laid down and propped my head on my jacket. As I closed my eyes, I smiled, remembering the look on his face when he’d finally come to a stop. He was covered head to toe with snow, and there was a huge smile plastered across his face. “Yeah. It was fun. We’ll have to do that again someday.”
“You bet your ass we will.”
The room grew quiet as everyone started to doze off. Like most nights, none of us slept long. When we weren’t battling insurgents, there were always patrols that needed to be done, sandbags that needed to be filled, and posts that needed to be guarded. Days rolled into weeks, and weeks rolled into months. It was hard to believe that our first tour was coming to an end in a few weeks.
Some time later, we were filling sandbags when Brody turned to me and said, “I guess you know Harper got accepted to Central Washington.”
“Yeah. She seems pretty excited about it.”
“I can’t believe she wants to be a writer. I’m guessing all those letters to you had something to do with that.” He snickered.
“She’s good, man. You should read some of her papers.”
“You’ve read her stuff?”
“A couple of things.”
He gave me a disapproving look. “How come she never asked me to read any of it?”
“I guess you’ll have to ask her that,” I told him as I reached for another sandbag, but we were out. “Can you grab us some more bags?”
“Yeah. Give me a second.”
He’d taken a few steps forward when an explosion shook the ground behind me, and dust and debris scattered through the air. I could hear my commander shouting orders as we all rushed to find cover. Gunfire erupted around me as I ducked behind a wall of sandbags and aimed my weapon. As I started to return fire, Brody fell in behind me. My focus was on the gunmen ahead, and my injured brothers who were trying to pull themselves out of the line of fire. Terrance had been hit in the shoulder, and I was about to go to him when I felt Brody’s hand reach for my leg. I quickly turned to look at him, and my stomach twisted into knots when I saw blood gushing from his neck. I quickly dropped to his side and wrapped my fingers around his neck, clamping my hand firmly against his wound. A piece of debris must’ve struck him, ripping away at his flesh. Knowing he needed help I couldn’t give him, I shouted, “Doc ! We need you over here!”
Seconds later, Duncan rushed over to us. As soon as he saw Brody, he growled, “Fuck. This is bad.”
“We need Doc. Now !”
Duncan motioned to Brandon once more, then turned back to Brody and said, “He’s coming. Just hang in there, man.”
Brody’s eyes locked on mine, and a high-pitched whistling sound came from his mouth when he tried to say something. I knew he was in trouble, and panic washed over me as I watched the color drain from his face. “Don’t try to talk, Brody. Just take slow and easy breaths. In … and … out. In … and … out.”
I watched the slow rise and fall of his chest, and when his breathing became shallow, I shook him. “You’ve gotta stay with me. You can’t let go. Please, don’t let go!”
“He’s losing blood fast. I think they got him in the carotid.” Duncan reached into his side pocket and handed me a rag. “Hold this against the wound. Use lots of pressure.”
When Brandon finally made his way over to us, I could see that he was nervous about treating Brody. Brandon wasn’t a real doctor. While he knew more than the rest of us and had already saved many lives, he’d only taken an eight-week combat lifesavers course, and I doubted it had prepared him for a situation like Brody’s. Bullets zipped over our heads, causing both of us to duck and cover Brody’s body. Not wasting any time, Doc set to work on him. He removed the rag from his neck, and blood came rushing out of his wound. He quickly covered it with a bandage that had quick clot ingrained in it. He held it firm against the wound as he looked over to me and said, “We’ve gotta get him out of here.”
We were still under fire, and even though it was going to be tricky to move him, I knew we had no choice. Doc held his hand securely against Brody’s neck as we lifted him from the ground. When we started towards an abandoned building, I turned to Duncan and ordered, “Cover us.”
By the time we got him inside the building, Brody was in bad shape. I felt completely helpless as I looked down at him and pleaded, “You’ve got to hold on, brother. Hold on .”
His breathing was becoming weaker by the second, and he was having trouble keeping his eyes open. His head rolled to the side, and he strained to keep his focus on me. Once again, he tried to open his mouth to speak, but I shook my head. “You don’t have to say it. I already know. I’ll tell them. They already know, but I’ll tell them how much you loved them. I’ll make sure they know it.”
He blinked slowly, letting me know he understood what I was saying. I gave his hand a squeeze as tears stung against my eyes. The realization of what I’d done started to sink in. If I hadn’t sent him for more bags, if I had just gone to get them myself, then it would’ve been me who’d gotten hit. It would’ve been me fighting for my life, and not Brody. It was my fault. “I love you, man. I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”
I have no idea if he heard those final words I spoke to him. As soon as I said them, his eyes glassed over and air seeped from his lungs. I sat there holding my friend’s hand—my brother’s hand, until the life completely drained from his body. I’d never experienced pain like I’d felt watching him die. The Marines had prepared me for just about anything, but they failed to prepare me for losing my best friend—for losing my brother. He was the one person who stood by my side, through thick and thin, and never once let me down. I didn’t want to believe he was really gone. Long after he’d taken his last breath, I stayed there with him, pleading and bargaining with God to let me take his place, but those prayers remained unanswered. As much as I hated it, I was destined to live out the rest of my life consumed with guilt and a heart forever broken.
CHAPTER 8
Harper
J ust like any other night, after I’d finished brushing my teeth and washing my fa
ce, I got into bed. Slipping under the covers, I laid my head down on my pillow, thinking of what I had going on tomorrow—a history test and a paper to hand in for my English Lit class—nothing out of the ordinary; just waking up to another normal day. But I was wrong. I woke up to a day that couldn’t be any further from normal.
As the numbness of sleep started to fade and the sounds of my mother’s cries filled the house, I knew something was terribly wrong. I rushed downstairs and my blood ran cold when I found two Marines standing in my living room. They were explaining the events of my brother’s death. My father was trying to remain calm and listen to what they were saying while my mother was crying hysterically and pleading with them to tell her it was some kind of mistake, that her son wasn’t really dead. I wanted to go to her, but I couldn’t move. I couldn’t think. I just stood there fighting back the tears as I tried to convince myself that it was all just a bad dream, that I would wake up and everything would be back to normal. But it was no dream.
My brother was gone.
I started to sob, and I cried until I could no longer breathe. I tried to inhale, tried to suck the air into my lungs, but none came. I was consumed with an overwhelming sense of loss, and I just wanted it to stop. But the pain didn’t stop. It had only just begun.
The days that led up to Brody’s funeral were a blur. For the most part, I stayed locked away in my room, crying and longing for Max. I kept thinking if he would just come home that he’d make things better and he’d give me the strength to get through the pain, but he hadn’t come. He was still so far away. All I could do was wait and try to come to terms with the fact that I would never see my brother alive again. I’d had any one close to me die, I’d never faced any real tragedy, and I felt completely lost. I knew I still had my parents, but it wasn’t the same. Brody was a huge part of my life, more than I ever realized. He was my big brother. He was my protector, and now, I was an only child. Suddenly, I felt totally and completely alone. I’d always thought he’d be there for me, and knowing he wouldn’t, hurt in ways I couldn’t describe. He was gone, and we were left here without him.
On the day of his funeral, I had to force myself out of bed. Just the thought of being around so many people, with pity and sorrow painted on their faces, filled me with dread. The only thing that kept me going was the thought of finally seeing Max. I stood there next to my parents; my eyes were swollen and red, and my entire body ached with exhaustion. I looked at the casket and my heart shattered; I knew a part of me was locked away inside that polished wooden box with him. My aunt leaned towards me and patted me on the arm as she whispered, “Be strong for your parents.”
I was too dazed to respond as people came by to offer their condolences and heartfelt tears. I was barely breathing, barely able to function at all, and the thought of being strong seemed like an impossibility. I felt like I could break at any moment, and then, there he was, walking in our direction. I thought seeing Max might give me strength, that he could calm the storm raging inside me, but he only made it worse. Max looked so handsome in his USMC dress blues, but his face was marked with sheer anguish. I couldn’t imagine how hard it must’ve been for him to witness Brody’s death, to watch his best friend—my brother—take his final breath. If the look on his face was any indication of how he was feeling, he was completely destroyed.
My mother rushed towards Max as soon as she spotted him and hugged him tightly as she cried. He spoke softly as he tried to comfort her. Once she’d managed to collect herself, they turned and started walking toward my father and me. When Max’s eyes locked on mine, I couldn’t wait any longer. My mother stood aside as he reached for me, and finally, I was in his arms. The dam broke, and all my emotions spilled out from every fiber of my being. For that brief moment, I felt his strength, and I knew that I would be able to make it through the funeral because he was there.
As soon as the service was over, we all proceeded to the cemetery. It was cold, and my coat did little to protect me from the frigid wind that whipped around us. Snow covered the ground, making everything look clean and wistful, letting me forget for a brief moment where I was. They led us over to the tent, and my mother cried into my father’s shoulder as pallbearers brought in the casket. I stood there trembling in a foggy haze as the Marines removed the flag from Brody’s casket and held it suspended in the air as the minister spoke. He used words like faithful, loyal, and courageous to describe my brother, and he tried to assure all of us that he was in a better place. As soon as he finished speaking, the crowd grew silent. One of the officers shouted out several short commands, and after they’d all stepped forward and saluted, the sounds of gunfire rang out. My body flinched with each shot, and the tears started streaming down my face. My brother heard shots like that every day, and ultimately one of them killed him. By the third round, I was bawling, and the sound of a trumpet playing Taps only made it worse. While they folded Brody’s flag, I looked through the crowd of people circling the tent and spotted Max standing off to the side by himself. His eyes were filled with regret as he watched the Marine offer my parents the flag.
When the service was over and people started to disperse, Max eased over to the casket. His head was lowered and his shoulders sagged. There were no tears, and it looked like he was managing to hold it together, until my mother walked over to him. Neither of them spoke as she stood beside him, then she turned and wrapped her arms around him once again. As he hugged her, she rested her head on his chest and started to sob. Giving them their moment, my father and I walked up next to them and stood quietly as they both held on to one another.
As he released her, Max looked down at her and said, “I’m sorry I wasn’t able to come sooner. I got here as fast I could.”
“I’m just so glad you’re here. Brody loved you, Max. You meant so much to him.”
“I’m so very sorry.” Max’s voice was strained as he looked down at the casket and replied, “It should’ve been me.”
Mom reached for him, taking his hand in hers as she said, “No, Max. Don’t say that.”
“It’s true. He would still be here if it wasn’t for me. I let you down.” He looked over to us and continued, “I let all of you down, but worst of all, I let him down.”
“Oh, honey. You’re taking on guilt that isn’t yours to take.”
“That’s not true.” He shook his head as he took a step back. “It is mine. All of it.”
“No, dear. No matter what you think, none of this is your fault. You have to know that.” When he didn’t respond, she continued, “You know, Brody wouldn’t want you to do this to yourself.”
“I know what he’d want. He’d want me to … It doesn’t matter. I can’t. I just can’t.” He looked over to my father and said, “You’ll never know how sorry I am.”
With that, he turned and started towards his truck. When I realized that he was leaving—really leaving, I rushed after him. “Max!”
Ignoring me, he continued walking. When I finally made it over to him, I reached for him, urging him to stop. He shook his head as he pulled from my grasp. “I can’t do this, Harper.”
“Please don’t go,” I pleaded. “Please .”
Without looking at me, he replied, “I have to get back. I don’t have a choice. But once I’m done with my tour, I won’t be coming back here.”
“But why? Leaving isn’t going to fix anything.”
A spark of anger flashed through his eyes as he looked at me and growled, “You think staying here is going to fix the fact that your brother is dead because of me?”
“Max .”
“You just don’t get it. If I come back here, it’s only going to make all of this worse … for everyone .”
“So, you’re just going to walk away and forget about everything we’ve meant to each other?” I shouted.
“I’ll never forget, Harper, but that doesn’t mean I can stay here and pretend none of this happened.”
His words felt like a punch to the gut, and I was overcome w
ith desperation. “Max, I love you.”
“That doesn’t change anything. I wish it did, but I …”
“What about me? I’ve already lost my brother, and now, you, too,” I demanded. “I know you are hurting. I know for some crazy reason you think you’re responsible for what happened with Brody, but this isn’t just about you . You’re not the only one who lost him! You’re not the only one hurting. I’m hurting too, and now, you’re leaving when I need you the most!”
“You’re stronger than you think, Harper” he told me as he opened the door to his truck and sat inside. Just before he closed the door, he looked at me and said, “Someday, you’ll see that this was the best thing for both of us.”
I stepped forward, blocking the door, and begged, “Please, Max .” He refused to look at me as I added, “You’ve got to hold on to the memories … Remember how it used to be … Hold on to the good and know it can be like that again. It’s just going to take some time.”
“No. Everything has changed, and nothing will ever be the same again. You’ll see that someday.” Then he started the engine. “Goodbye, Harper.”
I took a step back, letting him close the door, but before he drove off, I pleaded one last time. “Please don’t do this, Max.”
I stood frozen in place as he pulled out onto the road. As I watched his tail-lights disappear down the highway, I knew I might never see him again, and I couldn’t fathom my life without him. My chest ached like a thousand daggers had impaled my heart. I struggled with the urge to chase after him once more and plead with him to stay, but I knew it was pointless. I wouldn’t be able to change his mind. He was too far gone, too lost in his own despair, and I would just have to accept the fact that I just wasn’t enough. I wasn’t enough to ease his pain, to heal his broken heart, and I sure as hell wasn’t enough to make him stay.
Weeks passed, and I watched the flowers from Brody’s funeral wilt and die. They were just another reminder of how short life really was: just like his coat that still hung in the closet, his car which was still parked in the garage, and his room with its door that was never opened. It was just easier for all of us to pretend that he was simply away on a trip, and he would be coming back to us one day. It was the same way with Max. His letters were still hidden away in my bottom drawer, his picture was still taped to my mirror, and his ring was still wrapped around my finger. I continued to send him messages, write him letters, and even after I’d gotten no response, I couldn’t muster the strength to get rid of those little reminders. I couldn’t let him go.
