We'll Begin Again

by Laurèn Lee

  She jogged to catch up. "Hey! Wait up! There's gotta be something I can do for you?"

  I paused and furrowed my brow.

  "I mean it. Anything you want, it's yours," she promised.

  Damn, this lady was persistent.

  “I need to go. I have somewhere to be.”

  “How about a coffee? Then I can take you wherever you need to go?” Desperation lingered on her face.

  I ran my fingers through my beard and pondered her offer. The shelter closed in forty-five minutes. And a coffee did sound nice. Maybe it’d warm me up?

  “Fine.”

  Amelia smiled. “Know of any coffee shops around here?”

  “I think there’s an all-night cafe around the corner,” I grumbled.

  “Perfect!”

  We walked in silence, and I noticed a large manila envelope poking out of her oversized purse. “What are you doing out here so late, anyway?”

  Her cheeks reddened. “I needed a file from work.”

  “On a Friday night?”

  “Yeah, I wanted to get a head start on some projects for work.”

  “You work a lot?”

  “Way more than I should,” she admitted.

  “Don’t you have a family?”

  Amelia nodded. “I have a son, Charlie.”

  “No rich husband?”

  “Divorced,” she said flatly.

  I studied her shadow upon the pavement and cleared my throat. "So, who watches your kid when you’re working?”

  “Well, he goes to school during the day, and then I have a babysitter who usually picks him up after school and watches him until I get home.”

  “Poor kid.”

  Amelia paused. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

  I felt grateful for the dark ambiance as I blushed this time. “I only meant he probably misses you. It sounds like you work a lot.”

  “I try to set an example for him: if you work hard, you can take care of your family.”

  “Well, work hard enough, and you won’t see your family.”

  I thought back to all the nights my mother put my dad’s dinner in the microwave as he called to say he’d be late. He worked a lot, too, and I missed him all the time.

  We approached the coffee shop, and I peered through the windows, noticing two groups of hipsters inside the cafe. My palms moistened, and my heart pounded. These were the kinds of kids who threw coins at me while I slept.

  “I changed my mind. I don’t want any coffee.”

  “What? Why?” Amelia asked, puzzled.

  “I need to go. See you around.”

  She followed my gaze into the cafe and nodded. “How about I bring a couple of coffees and muffins out here?”

  That might be okay, I thought.

  “Sure. I guess.”

  She smiled and hurried inside to place the order. While I waited, I took refuge on a worn bench beside the cafe. It wasn’t as nice as my bench, but it’d be okay for now. My stomach rumbled as I realized I’d forgotten what a muffin or a donut tasted like; it’d been years since I had one.

  The bell on the door jingled, and Amelia stepped out of the cafe with two paper cups in tow and a bag stuffed to the brim. “Okay, I’ve got two blueberry muffins, two apple cinnamon pastries, and a double chocolate brownie.”

  “You trying to give me diabetes?”

  Her face turned white as a ghost. “I’m sorry, I never thought—”

  “I’m kidding,” I interrupted. “Those all sound fine.”

  Her shoulders slackened as she handed me a coffee, the cup warming my hands at the first touch. I sipped the coffee in silence and closed my eyes to enjoy the liquid as it heated up my body a degree or two.

  “So, tell me a little more about yourself,” she asked.

  “There’s not much to tell,” I replied, crumbs from the muffin pouring out of my mouth.

  “How long have you been out here?” She hesitated before she finished the question.

  “Six,” I said.

  “Years?” Her mouth dropped agape.

  I nodded.

  “Wow,” was all she mustered.

  “Have you tried to get a job?”

  These were the types of questions I was all too familiar with living on the streets. People saw me and assumed I was lazy or addicted to crack. They couldn’t be any further from the truth.

  “I’ve tried, and I had a few.”

  “What happened? If you don’t mind me asking.”

  While it seemed as though I was a participant on a 20 Questions game show, I sensed the genuine tone reflected within her inquiries.

  “I’ve got some demons,” I whispered.

  She nodded politely. “I know all about those.”

  I raised an eyebrow and looked her up and down. “Yeah?”

  “My father served. He never came home the same each tour.”

  “Yeah. War changes a person. So, tell me, why do you work so much? Especially if you’ve got a kid at home.”

  “Growing up, my father was tough on me. His work ethic was like nothing I’d ever seen before, even to this day. From a very young age, he instilled the same morals his parents taught him. I never wanted to disappoint him, so I worked my ass off in school,” she explained.

  “He proud of you now?”

  “I’d like to think he would be,” she trailed off.

  At that moment, a part of my wall crumbled. Amelia lost her dad, too. With all of our differences, we finally shared one thing in common. Each of us lost a crucial puzzle piece to our soul. Neither of us could be whole again.

  “I work hard to please him, even though he’s not around. Pathetic, I know.”

  “What about your ex?” I asked, changing the subject.

  She sighed. "He's about to get remarried to his soul mate."

  “And how do you feel about that?”

  “Well, our divorce was a good thing. It needed to happen for both our sanity, but it hurts to know he’s moved on.”

  “Haven’t you?”

  “Parts of me have, but I think I’m still hung up on missing the idea of love rather than missing him in my life. I don’t know if I’ll ever fall in love again. You ever been in love?”

  “Love is for the weak,” I said.

  The moon rested at the zenith of the night sky. The partying crowds continued to crawl and dominate the streets, and all our baked goods were gone.

  “I should go now.”

  “Okay,” Amelia said. “I’ll order a Lyft. Where do you need to go?”

  “Homeless shelter,” I mumbled.

  She didn’t flinch, but instead typed away on her phone and nodded after a minute. “You know, I’ve been thinking of volunteering at the shelter?”

  “Why?” I scoffed.

  “My boss asked that I pick somewhere to volunteer. The attorneys are required to participate in the community.”

  “But why the homeless shelter?”

  “Why not?”

  “Don’t you have better things to do with your time?” Sourness devoured my attitude.

  “Sure, but then how would I have the opportunity to get to know you better?”

  The Lyft car pulled up and honked its horn. Amelia smiled as she climbed into the car first. Deep down, a magnetic force drew me to her. Maybe she wasn’t a stuck-up rich girl like I originally thought. Maybe I judged her too soon.

  Chapter Thirteen

  William

  I arrived at the Fort Benning Army Base in Georgia on a Sunday. The heat smacked me upside the head as soon as I stepped foot out of the airport. It was the first time I'd left New York City and the first time I'd be away from my mom for so long.

  Last night, we had a quiet dinner with my uncle. My mom told me I could choose my "last meal," and I decided on pizza. I needed to savor the taste of city pizza while I could. I had no idea the next time I'd have city food, so I stuffed myself with as many slices as I could keep down. That ended up being about four slices at dinner and two for breakfast thi
s morning. My uncle drove us to LaGuardia. The entire drive was silent as anticipation and sorrow filled the car. I wasn’t sure if I'd be able to come home for a visit after basic training, so I knew it might be our last few minutes together for a very long time.

  My uncle parked the car outside of Departures and helped me retrieve my bags from the trunk. My mom still hadn't spoken a word, but I couldn't blame her. She was about to "lose" her son a few years after she lost her husband. I think she had come to terms with my decision, though. While I could still see the sadness glowing in her emerald eyes, there was no anger or resentment.

  My uncle slammed the trunk down, and we all looked at each other. I sighed heavily as my uncle pulled me into his arms.

  "Be good, kid. Come home safely."

  "Love you, Uncle Jim."

  I choked back the tears as I approached my mom. She stood limply in a puffy winter coat which was now far too big for her weak body. He hair lay flat on her head, utterly devoid of life and luster. Guilt crushed my soul to leave her like this, but I knew Uncle Jim would take care of her.

  "Well, this is it," I mumbled.

  "I'm proud of you, son."

  And, that's when I lost it. Sobs erupted deep within my belly, and I pulled her into my arms. I squeezed her, maybe too tightly, but I didn't care. I wanted this moment to last forever. I needed to remember I still had someone worth fighting for.

  Uncle Jim checked his watch and tapped me on the shoulder. "Time to go."

  I let go of my mom and nodded. I wiped away the tears, but couldn't fill the hole in my heart. I was leaving a piece of me behind. I was leaving New York behind, too.

  My uncle and mom got back into the car, and I watched as they slowly drove away. With each passing second, my heart pounded harder and harder. The tough part was just beginning.

  The first couple of days weren't too bad. Mostly because I only underwent administrative processes and filled out forms. The hardest part, at first, was getting my hair cut. Not that I had long hair or anything, but I had a few inches of curls most men and women envied. Hey, it's not my fault I caught people staring at my luscious locks during class!

  I met my fellow trainees and even made a friend or two. Hudson was my age but twice as buff. I could tell he'd been training and preparing for months before enlisting. I found out he grew up in Manhattan only a few blocks away from me, too. Who could have guessed we'd spend our entire lives so close, only to meet hundreds of miles away in boot camp?

  Then there was Spencer. Spence was a computer nerd who dreamt of becoming a famous war hero. I think he watched Saving Private Ryan one too many times, but he wouldn't admit that. He grew up in Brooklyn, but dropped out of NYU to enlist.

  Hudson, Spencer and I became attached at the hip in no time. Not literally, but we were the only ones in our class from New York City. In a brand new world filled with strangers, at least we had a little semblance of home in each other. We chose bunks closest to each other and became best friends and roommates for the next several weeks.

  Basic Training kicked my ass. The first time I met my drill sergeant, he woke us up in the middle of the night. He bellowed as he burst through the doors like the Hulk. He ordered us to drop and give him one hundred push-ups. After that he ordered us to run five miles. Whoever finished last had to run another five miles. I hadn't run since I was forced to in gym class back in high school, and even then we only had to run two miles at most. It didn't take long for sweat to cover my entire body and for me to believe I had developed asthma. Needless to say, I ran ten miles for the first time in my life that day. I thought I was in a nightmare or something. It turns out I went and joined the freaking military instead.

  I immediately regretted my decision to enlist. What the hell was I thinking joining the military? I wasn't prepared for this. I wasn't made to run and hoist my sweaty body up from the ground. I was one more push-up away from quitting. My body ached, and I wanted it all to stop. I had no endurance. I wasn't a soldier. I was a spoiled rich kid who grew up affluent in New York City. Why did I ever think I was qualified to serve my country? The sergeants did their very best to break us down. I knew it was all part of the process, but it didn't matter. Basic was killing me inside.

  Then, I remembered why I joined in the first place. My father's face appeared in my mind, and I thought back to the very last conversation we had. I told him I wasn't sure what I wanted to do with my life, that I felt lost, and I wasn't sure if college was right for me.

  He looked straight into my eyes and told me, "Son, you can do whatever you set your mind to. Just don't set it to giving up. You'll find your place."

  The next day he died. Did the universe plan it all? Was I meant to feel lost that night, only for him to tell me those final, wise words? Did he know someday I'd need the courage to keep going?

  With that memory in mind, a jolt of lightning coursed through my veins. The adrenaline I desperately needed kicked in, and I managed to find the strength I needed to go on. I may have been miserable, but I didn't give up.

  As training progressed, my body grew stronger and stronger. My endurance increased; my stamina exploded, and my mental stability evened out. The routine kept me focused, and the challenges kept me striving for success.

  Hudson easily became the top of our Basic class, while Spence and I climbed the ranks every day. Soon, I didn't mind having someone telling me what to do and when to do it. Following orders simply became second nature to me, and I couldn't get enough of the structure and solid foundation forming underneath my feet. In retrospect, I'd begun to realize that it was necessary to break us down so the military could build us back up—only as soldiers, built to fight for our country.

  I missed my mom and uncle more and more every day, however, the strength I'd found made it a lot easier to manage the distance between myself and my family. I called on Sunday nights if I could and talked to Mom for about five minutes or so. Uncle Jim filled me in as much as he could, but I knew there wasn't much to say. My mom's situation remained the same. She continued to grieve for my father and disappeared within herself. She was a ghost.

  Graduation approached, and I prepared myself to slide into the next phase of my military career: Infantry Training.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Amelia

  A dull headache woke me up as a hangover greeted me with a vengeance. I squinted and wished I would have had the sense to shut the blinds before passing out. Even though I delighted in coffee and desserts last night, I ignored the voice in my head advising to have water and a Tylenol before falling asleep. The rays of sun shot through my window and shone directly into my eyes.

  My phone rang, the ringtone echoing from my bedroom. I trotted to my room and wondered who could be calling me so early.

  "Hello?" I squeaked.

  "Mommy!"

  "Oh, Charlie, I miss you so much already! How are you?"

  Suddenly, my head throbbed a little less, and my heart grew fuller.

  "I'm good, Mom. We're going to the zoo today!"

  "Isn't it a little cold for that?"

  "It's okay. I'm going to wear a coat."

  "And gloves?" I reminded him.

  He groaned. "Yes, I'll wear my gloves."

  "I don't want you to get sick, sweetheart. That's all."

  "You worry too much," Charlie said. Now, I groaned. A little more of Cal peeked through Charlie with every visit.

  "Well, have a good day and call me later. Okay?"

  "Bye, Mom!"

  "I love you—"

  He hung up. Oh, well. At least he called, right?

  Part of me wished I had enough motivation to go to the gym and sweat out the rest of the toxins in my body. But I craved a greasy breakfast. First, though, I needed a shower more than anything.

  I turned on the hot water as high as it would go. I prided myself on being tolerant of a scalding shower. In fact, I didn't feel clean without taking one with lava-temperature water. I lathered my body with my organic vanilla body wash, cl
osed my eyes and breathed in the scent.

  I hadn't told anyone, not that I had someone to tell, but I hadn't slept with anyone since Cal and I divorced. I know, I know. Crazy, right? But, I barely had enough time for Charlie and myself, let alone another man. Not to mention, being a single mom rarely affords an opportunity to go on dates or have relationships.

  While some of my Cal-inflicted wounds were healed, I wondered if I was ready to get back out there and try dating again, if I ever scrounged up the time. It would be satisfying to have some more adult conversations outside of work. And someone to go out to dinner with. I loved venturing out with Charlie, but a girl needs more than pizza and chicken wraps for a meal. Charlie was still too young to try anything more sophisticated, so I settled on adapting to his diet instead.

  I wanted a man to pick me up from my apartment, take me to a new restaurant where he ordered a snazzy bottle of wine, and let me choose any meal on the menu. To some, that might sound shallow, but I firmly believe in allowing others to spoil you if given a chance. I don’t spoil myself often, so why not let another give it a try?

  Thinking of men, I wondered where William was at this moment. Where did he go during the day? I decided I'd cruise around my office to see if I could spot him and ask him to join me for breakfast.

  After several trips around the block, I was about to concede and go to breakfast by myself, but then I remembered dropping him off at the homeless shelter. Maybe he was still there?

  I googled the address and drove over the shelter, which was located just outside the business district, bordering on the not-so-great part of town. Shattered glass littered the sidewalks, and several corner stores donned bars across their windows. I parked on the street right out front and made sure to lock my car.

  I opened the shelter doors, and a foul stench greeted me. Inside, several volunteers chatted with the homeless men, women and children loitering around the giant hall with high, stretching ceilings. The place could use a few coats of paint and a good cleaning, but it was better than I expected. Across the room, accepting a hot cup of coffee in the line, stood William.