by Naomi Niles
My words were met with a roar of cheers as we moved back into the main encampment to wash ourselves off and change back into civilian clothing. My body started cramping the moment it was free of clothes and all I wanted was to stand underneath a burning hot shower and feel the knots in my back loosen. Hot showers were an almost mythical privilege to me at this point considering the camp never had anything but cold water.
I stood in the shower for longer than necessary, dreaming of the weekend that awaited me. I longed for those two days, for the comfort of a strong drink and the feel of a woman’s body. That was the only therapy I needed and it gave me enough fuel to last the week. I had just finished dressing when Malcolm emerged from the shower with a towel wrapped around his waist. The kid was in his early twenties, but in terms of training and experience he might as well have been sixteen.
“Hey,” he said when he caught sight of me. “I thought I was the only one still around.”
“I like my showers long.”
“Me too,” Malcolm nodded. “Well, not really. I just needed to … reflect.”
“On training?”
“On everything, I suppose,” he replied as he sat down opposite me. “This is much harder than I expected, and then some.”
“They train the very best here,” I replied. “That reputation doesn’t go with lenient training methods.”
“No, I get it,” Malcolm said. “It’s just that it doesn’t matter how much you prepare mentally for this kind of thing, it’s always so much worse when you’re actually in it.”
“I felt the same way my first time,” I admitted.
“But you continued anyway?”
“Yes I continued,” I nodded.
“Why?”
I shrugged. “It was the decision I had made; it was the life I chose and I was going to stick with it no matter what.”
“How old were you when you joined?” Malcolm asked.
“Eighteen,” I replied.
“Eighteen,” Malcolm repeated with some shock.
I could tell from the look in his eyes that he was trying to figure me out. I smiled internally; I had been trying to do just that for the last ten years and I hadn’t gotten very far. This kid certainly wasn’t going to get much further.
“Do you like it?” Malcolm asked with some hesitation.
“Do I like what?” I asked, pretending as though I couldn’t understand his question.
“Do you like this life?” Malcolm asked. “Do you like the life of a Navy SEAL?”
“You know what I like?” I asked as I rose. “I like bars and I like alcohol and I like women. In fact, I really, really like women. So why don’t we go get ourselves a little bit of both and start this weekend off right?”
Malcolm seemed a little taken back but he nodded belatedly and started to get dressed. I turned back to grab my own things but my mind was still preoccupied with Malcolm’s last question. Did I like this life? Was I really happy? The truth was that I had enjoyed it at one point, but something had changed in the last few years.
I was struggling to find the same sense of exhilaration that I had experienced early on in my career. Now I just waited for the weekend to come around so that I could forget for just a few moments where I was and what I was doing. Malcolm’s question forced me to think of an answer and the only answer that rang true was that I was bored and unhappy.
And I didn’t want to be either anymore.
Chapter Two
Elizabeth
When I was a kid, I loved the idea of being surrounded by books. I always thought that if I were lucky enough to grow up one day, I’d want to do something that involved books and stories describing one exciting adventure after another.
The irony of life, however, is that even when things work out the way you wanted, they’re never really the way you imagined them to be. I looked around the library that I had spent the better part of a month cataloguing and wondered when that particular childhood dream had lost its charm. Probably around the time I started to realize that my life would never be like the stories I read about. I was doomed to live a life of quiet boredom nestled in the bosom of a small town filled with people I had known my whole life. The only people who were remotely exciting had left a long time ago.
People always assumed that the person you were depended on the kind of life you led, but I had always wondered if perhaps it was the opposite. Perhaps the kind of life you led depended on the kind of person you were. Maybe some people were just marked for monotony. Maybe some people were just fated to live un-extraordinary lives and I was terrified I was one of those people.
I had to set aside my brooding thoughts as a line of kids walked into the library, shuffling their feet and poking each other in the back as they were herded in by their teacher. I smiled at Jenna as she led the kids in and had them sit down at the circular tables settled at the front of the library.
“You may each choose a book and then I want you all to sit down and read it in silence.”
A groan went up among the students and I had to suppress a smile as I moved forward to stand beside Jenna.
“Why can’t Ms. Miller read to us?” Johnny asked loudly. He was one of the more outspoken kids and he loved challenging authority. “She always picks good books.”
Jenna turned to me with a worn look in her eye. “That’s a good idea,” she said. “But Ms. Miller has a lot of work to do.”
Another collective groan went through the students and that was all the persuasion I needed. “You know what? I need a break,” I said quickly. “And I love reading on my breaks.”
Immediately bright smiles replaced the sour expressions and I felt a little beat of satisfaction knowing that I was wanted in some capacity, no matter how inconsequential. I moved to the back of my desk where I kept a supply of books that could win over any elementary kids and picked one out. I sat myself between the two tables so that everyone could see me and I started reading.
There was something about kids that had always made me nervous. It had everything to do with the fact that they missed very little. They were keenly observant and extremely honest and that made for some uncomfortable situations. The story I chose to read to them involved a young girl who finds a magical world hidden in the midst of her backyard, and when she grows up, she takes her young daughter there with her. The moment I finished the story, the kids pelted me with a number of different questions.
“One by one, children,” Jenna said sternly. “And hands up please.”
Everyone’s hands shot up into the air. “Go ahead, Curt,” I said to the curly haired boy on my left.
“Why did she take her daughter back to the magical world?”
“She wanted to share it with her,” I explained patiently. “Because she loved it so much when she was that age. You always want your children to have the good things that you had when you were young.”
“Ms. Miller?” this time it was Johnny who spoke up.
“Yes, Johnny?”
“Do you have children?”
I froze at the question and tried to cover the embarrassment on my face. “No, Johnny, I don’t have any children.”
“Why not?” another child asked boldly.
“It’s just not the right time for me,” I replied. “Maybe one day I will have a child.”
“All right, we need to get back to class,” Jenna said, standing up and ending the questions that the children were firing at me. “Line up,” Jenna continued. “Single file, and no talking please.”
I breathed an internal sigh of relief just as Jenna moved a little closer to me. “Sorry about that Elizabeth. Kids, you know.”
“I do know,” I smiled trying to sound unconcerned.
“Don’t let that get you down,” Jenna went on unnecessarily. “You’re so young; there’s time enough for the husband, the kids, and the white picket fence.”
I smiled, but I had to work at it. I hated the way she looked at me; the pity was evident in her eyes and I felt its weig
ht heavy on my shoulders. “Don’t worry about me, Jenna,” I said. “I’m happy being single.” Even as I said the words, they sounded forced and insincere.
“Of course you are,” Jenna nodded and I wanted to scream.
She left me to my lonely library and I spent the rest of the day trying to figure out how I had ended up there. I drove home in a fog of thought, remembering the vision board I had built in junior high school and every dream that I had included in it. I had wanted to backpack through Europe, see the Seven Wonders of the World, scuba dive in Australia, and climb Mount Kilimanjaro. I had wanted to build a tree house in my back yard and plant an olive tree next to it.
The sad part was that I still wanted to do all those things, but I no longer held the same belief that any of those things were achievable. I was not made for big adventures, I was not made for climbing mountains or travelling the world. Perhaps I wasn’t even made to be a wife or a mother. I had attempted the latter dream, and even that had ended in disaster.
I went home only so I could change and head over to Finley’s. I turned in my white, high-collared blouse and navy blue skirt for jeans and a black tank top. I ran a brush through my hair purely out of habit and stared at myself in the mirror. I looked so different even to myself that it was scary. When had I stopped recognizing the girl in the mirror? She looked tired and bored and it didn’t do her any favors.
I turned away from my reflection and drove down to the bar. Joni was already there waiting tables, and Zach was standing behind the bar. “Hi,” I said as I slipped behind the bar next to him.
He looked at me with raised eyebrows. “What are you doing here?” he asked.
“I work here,” I reminded him.
“Not for another couple of hours,” Zach replied. “You’re working the night shift remember?”
“I know that,” I said and left it at that.
I could feel his eyes on me. “What?” I demanded turning around and trying to sound casual.
“This is the fourth time in so many weeks that you’ve come early to work,” Zach told me. “You’re making the rest of us look bad kid.”
I smiled. Zach and I had become friends when I first started working at Finley’s a year ago. It had been just after my divorce and I had been in need of some new people and some new experiences. He was funny and honest and that made it easier for me to get my mind off things.
“Sorry,” I shrugged. “But I figured I’d just come down here and help out.”
Zach fixed his dark eyes on me. “You thought you’d come here and help out?” he repeated. “Again?”
“Well … yeah.”
He came a little closer and leaned in. “This is a little piece of advice from me to you: never, never help out when you’re not being paid to help out.”
I rolled my eyes. “What do you need help with?” I asked.
“Seriously, Elizabeth,” Zach said with some frustration. “You realize this is not a hospital or a homeless shelter right? Our boss is a greedy, heartless bastard with a fat ass and an ugly moustache; why help him out?”
I raised my eyebrows playfully. “What does his ugly moustache have to do with anything?"
“It’s hideous,” Zach replies. “And that offends me.”
I laughed, shaking my head. “In any case, I don’t see it as helping him out. I see it as helping my friends out.”
Zach snorted. “Friends?”
“Joni and Heather are my … well, ok, I’m friendly with them at least.”
“And that makes all the difference,” Zach said sarcastically.
“Why are gay men so sarcastic?” I huffed.
“It’s a natural talent,” Zach replied with a wink.
“Whatever,” I said, and sighed internally. “I think I’m getting too old for words like that.”
“That’s your problem,” Zach said handing me a stack of glasses to wipe down. “You set all these time limits for yourself and all it does it create unnecessary pressure. So what if you’re twenty-nine and stuck in the town you were born in? So what if you’re twenty-nine and single? So what if you’re twenty-nine and still using ‘whatever?’”
“First of all, I’m twenty-eight,” I corrected. “And second of all, those things do matter.”
“Why?”
“Because … because I was meant to do something with my life. I was meant to be someone.”
“You’re someone regardless,” Zach said firmly. “Forget about all those goals you set for yourself when you were fourteen and you thought you could conquer the world. Those goals were probably unrealistic anyhow. You just need to live your life."
“That’s what I tried to do,” I insisted. “It didn’t work out so well for me.”
“Ok, so you had a bad experience,” Zach acknowledged. “You picked the wrong guy; all you need to do is try again.”
“I’m not sure I even want to get married again,” I said.
“That’s beside the point,” Zach went on. “In order to figure that out, you need to get out there and start dating.”
I sighed. “It’s only been a year.”
Zach gave me a reproachful look. “You’re not a widow, Elizabeth. You divorced your asshole of a husband, and when that happens, there’s no mourning period. You get out there and get back in the game.”
“I needed some recovery time,” I pointed out. “I needed to learn to trust again.”
“Fair enough,” Zach nodded. “I think one year is plenty.”
I turned from him. “Easier said than done.”
“You realize that every other guy that comes into this bar gives you the once over, right?” Zach said. “I’m gay and even I know that you’re hot as hell. With that red hair and those blue eyes, you’re like a Disney princess, except with curves.”
I laughed. “Thanks; at least that’s one childhood goal I’ve achieved.”
Zach looked at her curiously. “I can’t tell: sincerity or sarcasm?”
“Sarcasm,” I replied. “I was a tomboy as a child.”
“You know I’m right,” Zach said with confidence.
“I know,” I agreed. “The thing is, there’s only so much I can do in this town. Maybe you’re right and the guys who come in here check me out, but the thing is, I’ve known them all in some capacity my whole life. Sometimes I feel like this town is so small, there’s no room in it for big dreams.”
“Then you need to think about whether this town is right for you.”
“I do,” I admitted. “Every day. It’s just that sometimes you get stuck.”
“Sometimes you get stuck?” Zach asked. “Or sometimes you get scared?”
I had no answer for him.
Chapter Three
Dylan
“Yeah!” Vic practically yelled as he downed another mug of beer.
“Take it easy buddy,” I laughed. “If you’re not careful, you’re gonna end up hitting on another man.”
“That happened one time,” Vic defended himself as the rest of the boys descended into raucous laughter. “And you have to admit, he was pretty.”
I laughed. “You stupid shit, you know you can’t handle your liquor.”
“Why would I want to?” Vic asked reasonably. “It’s Friday night, baby!”
Again the boys raised their glasses in celebration of the fact. The smell of beer and smoke filled the room and I breathed it in. It had become a comforting scent at this point; anything that didn’t smell of blood and sweat pretty much did the trick. A few girls walked past us and I couldn’t help but turn my head to take them in.
The one that caught my eye was tall and skinny. She had dirty-blonde hair and dark eyes that were rimmed with eyeliner and mascara. She was wearing a sequined halter and low-rise jeans that displayed the tattoo on the small of her back.
“That was the second time those girls walked past us,” Antony said leaning in. “I think that was an invitation.”
I smirked. “The night is young,” I said, raising my glass. “There�
��ll be enough time later for a fuck.”
“Speak for yourself,” Antony said smacking me on the back. “It’s never too early for a fuck.”
I saluted him as he moved in the direction of the girls. I wondered if I should tell him to leave the skinny, blonde for me, but then I stopped myself. There were plenty of women to go around.
“Hi, handsome; want a refill?”
The waitress who addressed me was short and curvy and I felt my blood rise just looking at her. She had big, brown eyes that some people might describe as “come hither” and a way of moving that invited me to look her up and down.
“I wouldn’t mind,” I replied as I wrapped my arm around her waist and pulled her towards me. “But I’d rather you share a drink with me.”
“I don’t drink on the job,” she smiled flirtatiously, and I knew I was being encouraged to keep hitting on her. I didn’t know if she was really interested in me and I didn’t care. It was just nice to have the kind of mindless back and forth that held no expectations and no promises.
“Well maybe you should,” I said to her. “That would make your job so much more fun.”
“I don’t know about that,” she replied. “It’s already plenty fun.”
As she spoke, she pressed her body up against me and I could feel her breasts against my chest. “The moment I saw you I had you pegged for a tease.”
She batted her eyes. “Why thank you,” she replied. Then she leaned in a little closer and whispered in my ear. “My shift ends at twelve; meet me by the bar and I’ll show you just how much of a tease I can be.”
I smiled. “You’ve got yourself a deal.”
She winked and walked away, and I turned back to the boys, some of whom had watched the exchange.
“Man, do you have a way with women,” Vic said with admiration. “I wish that every woman who looked at me wanted to fuck me just as easily. Malcolm, watch and learn; you’re looking at the master here.”
“There’s nothing to learn,” I said cockily. “Either you’ve got it or you haven’t. I have it, Vic does not.”
