So do I. Which is why I let go of him, stand up and back away toward the door. I can’t control myself—my feelings. I shouldn’t be feeling anything, yet I feel so much for someone I just met. “I need to get back to the bar.”
He pulls himself up to his feet and walks toward me. “I know you don’t need this in your life right now. I’ll never be a whole person…not exactly the best kind of friend.” He walks past me and opens the front door. “Thank you for distracting me from real life over the past few days. I won’t forget what you’ve done for me.” Is he asking me to leave? I just said I needed to leave. I shouldn’t be here, and I shouldn’t have followed him.
I’m only halfway down the hall when I hear the door slam. The tears I had smothered in his apartment are pouring recklessly down my cheeks, but I’m not hurting for me, I’m hurting for him.
Pain is an ugly piece of art hanging on a wall inside of me. It’s a permanent fixture that doesn’t look beautiful from any angle. I’ve learned to ignore it when it catches my eye, but seeing pain in someone else makes me want to fix it.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CURRENT DAY
KEMPER
JESUS. YOU’D THINK I’m in love with that girl considering how shitty I feel right now. I waited too long before I ran to the door to see if she might still be out there. She probably didn’t turn back—and I just sent her back into that dickwad’s arms. I tore the posters down like a three-year-old having a tantrum and now I’m in this goddamn morgue of memories. Normally, we would have had our stuff already packed up and in storage before we left on our tour, but Rex’s buddy owns this place and won’t be back for two years, so he let us live here rent free.
Regardless of our lucky break with this place, we always save all of the boxes when we move, knowing we never stay anywhere for too long. We were always prepared to move in a hurry, which means the tape gun has its own spot on the counter. I grab it and slap a few of the boxes together, trying not to think about going through Rex’s shit. I just need to make the process easier for his parents tomorrow. Plus, I don’t know if I’ll actually be able to come back in here. I feel like I’m suffocating right now.
I leave the main living area and open the door to my bedroom. It’s exactly how I left it. Bed unmade, clothes on the floor, dust on the bureau, and a huge ass picture of Tara and me. I take that and dump it in the trash.
I know I’ve done this before, but it’s weird coming home after a year. It’s like the world kept going while everything in my life stood still. I missed a year’s worth of events: movies releases, big news stories, hurricanes, and a Super Bowl and World Series. I’m not sure I care about any of it right now as I rip open my drawers and shove as many of my clothes into my bag as I can. I move over to my closet and take out my hanging garment bag with my Blues and grab my dress shoes. I’m going back to the Sleaze-Ville Motel. There’s no way I’m staying here tonight—or, most likely, ever again.
***
Well, I feel somewhat rested now that I’ve slept with my eyes open in this motel room with a shitty party outside of my window. I need to get some kind of sleeping pills or something.
After my fourth hot shower of the day, I clamp my blues down around my neck. Ah, suffocation. What other kind of sensation is there these days? Forced to look at the stranger in the mirror, I straighten my medals, then my cover (my hat). Maybe no one else will notice the change within me, but I feel dead inside. My eyes give it away. The girls used to tell me my eyes were a tell-all, and I’m afraid if that’s still the case, I’ll clear the room.
I wonder if Daphne would have come with me today to keep me sane during all of this, if I had asked her. I debated it after I pretty much pushed her out of my apartment, but no one should have to jump into this dismal life of mine. Most of me thinks I should leave her alone, let her figure out her own crap and not drown her in mine. The other part of me wants to tell her no one else has meant so much to me in such a short period of time.
The dress blues and my bike don’t work. I tried and failed. I considered calling a cab, but that’s not really within my budget, considering the distance. Normally, I’d call Rex, but he’s clearly a little busy today. Although it doesn’t feel right, it seems I have no other option but to drive his truck to his funeral.
I check out of the motel yet again, and head to South Carolina, where Rex’s family lives. With my focus set out the window on the blur of passing trees, my eyelids become as heavy as my heart, and it’s all I can do to stay awake. As I drive, I see a bullet puncture Rex’s neck in slow motion over and over and over. Finally, two hours later, I look out the window and see the funeral home on my left.
The whole scene before me is surreal. Marines line the front steps of the church. I know most of them. Rex’s parents and sisters stand on both sides of the doors greeting people as they walk in. His sisters are young, only fourteen and sixteen I think. Their faces are red, their eyes are swollen and tears are pooling over their cheeks. They’re holding hands so tightly their knuckles are white, and they’re shaking. Their innocence has been ripped out from beneath them and I realize now how selfish I’ve been acting by thinking I’m alone with my pain. They’re his blood—they’re his little sisters. He was their hero. I know that. They idolized him and now he’s gone.
His parents, standing on the other side are in no better shape. His mother looks the same as the girls—destroyed, and his dad can’t look anyone in the eyes. His gaze is frozen on the clouds as his chest slowly moves up and out. He was a soldier in the Army during Vietnam and was proud of Rex for following in his footsteps, but I’m guessing there’s more than just regret pumping through his veins right now.
Normally, I’d pull in a lungful of air before doing something uncomfortable, but I know it won’t help. I push forward—chin in the air, gloved fists curled by my sides, steps even. My breaths are sharp and weak. What am I supposed to say to them? It has to be something other than “sorry”. I hate that word.
I take the first two steps and turn to his sisters, who I know well. Rex used to invite me home with him for the holidays. I couldn’t afford to catch a plane to Mobile for the couple of days I would have off since I was sending Mom every extra dime I had, so I could either stay on base or go home with Rex. Since his mom made the most amazing food, it was a no-brainer. They told me I was their second son—part of their family. Marine families are good like that.
When we’d arrive at his house, his sisters would drop everything and run like crazy little people toward us, wrapping their arms around Rex, kissing him on the cheek and then hugging him some more. Their family is so tight-knit, warm, and loving. The girls would give me a hug next, calling me Anderson because when they first met me, they thought my last name was my first name. I thought it was cute, so I never corrected them, and the name stuck. Rex’s mother always had a huge meal waiting for us, as if she planned out the exact second we’d arrive. There would be a football or baseball game on the TV and she’d wait on us hand and foot like we were some kind of royalty. His dad was always quiet, but in the proud way—the way I imagine my dad would have been if he were still alive.
Since I don’t know what to say to the girls, I’m glad they’re quick to make it known I don’t have to say anything. Both of them throw their arms around me at the same time, squeezing me tightly. I wrap my arms around them and hold them as they sob against me. It’s unnatural for me to be appearing without Rex. I wait until they release their arms from around me and regain their straight posture against the door before I place my hand over Lani’s shoulder—she’s the younger one of the two. She grabs my arm and struggles to ask if I’ll sit with them. I nod my head, still desperately trying to avoid speaking in fear of losing it. I turn toward Mr. and Mrs. Holmes, offering my hand to Mr. Holmes first. He pulls me in for a hug, patting my back firmly before letting go. I lean over to Mrs. Holmes and offer her a hug as well. Like the girls, this makes her cry. I feel like I’ve done nothing but bring more pain to this funer
al so far, and it’s certainly not what I wanted. “Please do sit with us,” she’s croaks.
“Of course, Mrs. Holmes,” I manage to say. She tangles her arm around mine, pulling me next to her at the door.
The next hour is filled with the most painful moments I’ve ever experienced, but nothing will compare to the brief moments during my contribution to the eulogy. When I spoke to Mr. Holmes the other day, he asked me if I’d say a few words, something else I couldn’t say no to.
“Mr. Anderson would like to say a few words,” the Priest announces.
I walk up the few stairs to face the church filled with what has to be more than a hundred people. Public speaking was never my thing, and I didn’t write anything down, so I try to ignore the blur of people in front of me.
I clear my throat and pull in a heavy breath as my hands tremble below the podium. “Having a friend like Rex meant I wouldn’t go more than five minutes without laughing,” I begin. “The guy was the funniest person I’d ever met. It was a privilege to serve with him and fight beside him.” I have to pause and collect myself. I clear my throat and continue, “He looked at life the way we all should—each day was a gift. When we were overseas, he’d wake up every morning and say, ‘Well, I’ll be damned, I made it another day.’” I find myself laughing softly at the memories. Others are laughing the same way. That was Rex. “It wasn’t sarcasm. He was honestly shocked to wake up in one piece every morning. Most of us prayed before we fell asleep. He didn’t. He just woke up feeling grateful. I wanted to understand his mindset and feel the same way. I dreaded going to sleep at night, fearful of not waking up in the morning.” Deep breath. I have to keep my shit together. “Rex seized his moments and fought like death was never a possibility.” I pause again, looking around at the straight lines across everyone’s mouths. No one knows how to react. “I admired his will and strength. It gave me the courage and determination to be a better person—to be more like him. Rex lived his life joke to joke, belting out lyrics to some crazy song as we ran miles for PT, and of course none of us could forget the dozens of times we’d find him lying out in the middle of a combat zone in his green silky shorts and jungle boots, telling everyone he was working on his tan. The guy may have laughed off the possibility of death, but he sure knew how to live like he was dying. We were all lucky to have Rex in our lives. He’s left his mark—his footprint, and he will forever live on through all of us.” A storm of, “Semper Fi’s”, rumble through the church. It takes me by surprise because I wasn’t sure if I was done speaking, but I think now I know I’ve said what needed to be said. When the silence returns, I see Marines crying. Some of the strongest men in the world are sitting in front of me with tears running down their cheeks. We’re all still human. I guess it’s easy to lose sight of that sometimes.
As the service ends, we’re welcomed up to say our final good-byes. The walk down the thin, red carpet feels like a mile and the casket is open—my worst fear. My mind flashes to Daphne. I wish she were here to hold my hand. I’m such a child—I need someone to hold my fucking hand? Her warmth would calm me, though, and pull me forward, but I pushed her away. I didn’t tell her about the funeral, even after talking to her for ten hours straight. She probably thinks I’m avoiding her while she’s sitting at the bar, one fake employee less. I’m an asshole. Rex would probably agree.
I reach the casket—Rex. His dress blues cover the bullet wound. His face is pale and his lips are set in a straight line. I’ve never seen him like this. He was always smiling, even on the rare occasion that he was pissed. It doesn’t look like him. I place my hand down on the ridge of the casket. “I could really use a joke right now, man. This sucks.” With another wave of pain sinking into my chest, I bite down hard on my lip, trying to distract myself from the pain. “I’ll be talking to you.” I tap the casket and walk out the door.
I say my good-byes to Rex’s family and give them my phone number. “I promised Rex as we were making out our wills that I would always be here for you. If you need anything, no matter what it is, I want you to call me…all of you.” I look over at his sisters, “If any guy gives you trouble, I will be there. If you’re heartbroken, I’m there. I can’t be your brother, but I can try my hardest to do what he would have done for you.” I didn’t mean to cause more tears, but they’re all crying again and the not so foreign pain behind my eyes is threatening to turn into tears as well. I hand Rex’s dad the keys. “I set some boxes up for you, sir.” I feel like an asshole for not offering to go back there with him, but I can’t.
On the way back to the motel, I stopped at the liquor store, where I bought enough booze to last me a few days, and as I check back into the Sleaze-Ville Motel this time, I tell the guy I’ll be staying for three days. Maybe by then I’ll have figured out what I’m supposed to do.
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CURRENT DAY
Dear Journal,
Wednesday, Thursday, and Friday have all come and gone, and the seat of my jeep has become increasingly uncomfortable to sleep in. I’ve parked in a different abandoned lot each night, praying Trent wouldn’t find me. He didn’t.
I’ve called in sick to work for the past couple of nights, worried about a repeat beating. Because of this, I haven’t seen Kemper since Wednesday when I left his apartment. I had a feeling when I walked out it would be the last time I’d see him. There was a terminal sound in his voice and a gloss to his eyes as I walked past him and out the door. I knew that was probably it, but at least, I have that night. It made me see everything more clearly.
- Daphne
DAPHNE
REFUSING TO SLEEP another night in fear, I approach Trent’s front door and find it unlocked again. As I open the door, I immediately feel overwhelmed by the quiet, except for the low muffling sound of a TV upstairs. Quietly, I make my way up the stairs and into his room, finding him asleep.
I stare at him, trying to recall what attracted me to him in the first place. For the life of me, I can’t remember. I realize, even if he only cared about me a little bit, he wouldn’t have made me sleep on the floor for the past three years. He wouldn’t have complained when I brought up the idea of a blow-up mattress. His cheeks would flush or redden when telling me a lie. He’d tell me he missed me when I was away at school. He’d answer his phone when I call. He’d tell me I’m beautiful instead of telling me I’m just okay and could lose a few pounds. He would have let me go when he realized he didn’t love me instead of telling me he’d kill me if I tried to leave him. He wouldn’t tell me he owns me. He wouldn’t hit me. He wouldn’t punch me. He wouldn’t force me to have sex with him. He wouldn’t threaten me. I hate him. All I am is a free piece of ass that he can control with fear, so he’s held onto me.
Since he’s unaware of my presence, I take the opportunity to shower and clean up, knowing I plan to be homeless after tonight…and possibly dead. I place all of my belongings in a pile by the front door and head back upstairs to his room. I will never walk up his stairs again.
This is the last time I will pull my sheet out from under his bed and curl up with my coat stuffed in between my arms. It is the last time I will lie awake on his floor, wondering what I’m doing, or what I’ve done to deserve this type of treatment.
I was planning to wait for the sun to rise before I do what I have to do, but now he’s awake and a bit startled to see me here. I’m a bit surprised as he reaches his arms out for me. I can’t see his face in the dark room, but I can hear his voice saying, “I missed you.” You missed using my body for your sick needs. “I’m glad you came back. Come here, please.” I stand up, walk toward him, focusing on my shadow hovering over his bed. “Trent, we’re over. We’re done. I hate you for everything you’ve done to me.” It’s so clear now—he was my weakness when I needed strength, and he was my blackout when I needed power. I feared the fear I might feel at this moment. I’ve feared it for so long. It’s why I kept putting this off, but I’m not afraid now. I can’t be afraid.
I feel fre
e.
“What the hell are you talking about, Daphne? Just go to sleep and we can talk in a few hours.”
I realize I’m standing here like a coward with my hands shaking, breathing heavily. I slip off the cheap promise ring—his property—and toss it onto his bed. “You mean, go back to sleep on the sheet I laid across the ground with my clothes folded up as a pillow?”
“Babe, is that what this is all about? You know I can’t sleep with you in my bed.”
“No, Trent. That isn’t what this is all about.” I pull in a deep breath, telling myself to do this. I can do this. I am strong—I’d have to be to endure what I have for the last three years. “You—“ Breathe, Daphne. “You are the most controlling, abusive asshole I have ever met. You have shattered who I am, mentally and physically.” Breathe. Breathe. Come on; say this one line you’ve practiced so many times. “I hope you die a miserable death, alone, with no one who loves you. You deserve it after the way you’ve treated me.”
Breathe.
I can’t see much in the dark room, but I can see the whites of his unblinking eyes, the shadows of his white ribbed tank top expanding and contracting quickly, and his mouth hanging open. “Daphne.”
“Do us a both a favor, and don’t speak.” Without taking my eyes off of him, I take my mound of clothes I’ve used as a pillow and grip them tightly against my chest. I take my shoes, coat, and purse and back away toward the bedroom door. “Good-bye, Trent.” Forever.
“Such is life,” I hear him say. It’s something he says to me every time I more or less almost get the last word. I don’t understand what he means by it, but I’ve never questioned it. That’s it? All of those threats…
I take my opportunity and run, literally, down the stairs, out the door, down the driveway, and into my car, where I lock all of the doors before burning rubber out of his driveway.
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