Marine

by Shiralyn J. Lee

  “Thank you. It must be all that hot sex I’m having lately.”

  Gray shook her head. “You’re worse than me.”

  Looking down at Zabba, Michelle changed her tone of voice as if she was talking to a young child. “Hello, Zabba, who’s a good boy, then? It’s you, yes, it’s you, and I’ve bought you the cutest doggy bed there is on the market, and after discussing it with the man at the pet store, I got you this grain-free doggy dinner stuff.”

  “Doggy dinner stuff?” Gray said quizzically.

  “Shush, I don’t want him to hear me, it’s dog food, but I hate saying that to a hero. Who in their right mind buys a hero dog food, I mean seriously—”

  Gray took her by her arm and escorted her to the main entrance.

  •••

  Sleeping in a normal bed, with a soft mattress, had been one of the things Gray had missed, but actually having it had made her change her mind. She’d had the worst night’s sleep, tossing and turning, sweating, then kicking the duvet off and feeling chilled minutes later. On top of that, her dreams had been like demons coming to get her—faces closing in on hers, the sound of machine gunfire, screams from wounded soldiers, and then Iggy appearing. Gray immediately woke up, her body clammy, her pajamas soaked. She trembled from her feet through to her chest, her throat and lips dry. She climbed out of bed and headed straight to the kitchen, careful not to make any noise that would wake Michelle up. She opened the fridge door, grabbed a carton of juice, and drank it like a shipwrecked person who’d been on a deserted island for a week without food or water. When the carton was empty, she smacked her lips, and then wiped them with the back of her hand.

  “I didn’t expect to see you up this early,” Michelle said, as she entered the front door with Zabba. “He’s done his morning do-do, had doggy breakfast, and probably wants a nap on his cutesy bed.”

  “What time is it?” Gray asked and yawned, stretching her arms out.

  Michelle playfully snatched the carton from Gray’s hand, and then tugged at the hem of her pajama top. “Hmm, I see you had some sort of nightmare. Do you care to share, or is it something so horrendous it would send me to the local asylum? Oh,” she checked her watch. “It’s nine-thirty-five…a.m.…or hundred hours, whatever your lot says. Maybe you should change out of those PJs.”

  “I just had a bad dream, that’s all. It’s hard adjusting from a world of chaos, killing and torturing, into a world where being given the wrong coffee order could set someone off. I hated being in Afghanistan, but I hate that what we fight for is interpreted as a stupid war, and that we should leave them to fight amongst themselves, when the person saying this is as useless as a brick roof on glass greenhouse.”

  “I didn’t know you felt like that?”

  “I feel it every time I come home. People arguing in the streets after a few late-night drinks, and over a fucking parking ticket. Don’t park in a no-parking zone if you don’t want to get a ticket, it’s that simple.”

  “Yeah, I get that though. I mean, if I was living with a girl, let’s say, and she parked the car and got a ticket, I’d be pretty pissed off at her, ‘cos’ in a way, it’s my money too, if we’re living together, as a couple, of course, not like me and you. Anyway, talking about couples, I’m getting laid on a regular basis, and maybe a certain soldier needs to have some fun play. I could set you up with a blind date, I know a couple of ladies who’d—”

  “Stop, before I beat you, woman. Okay, I need a shower. I still smell of Afghanistan.”

  “Ooh, yuk!”

  •••

  Gray stood beneath a spray of hot water, lathered her hair with shampoo and rinsed it off. Then, using a coconut-scented shower gel, she washed her body, rinsed, and washed her body again, ridding the last reminders of such a hateful country. It was while she had her eyes closed, she saw images of Iggy, of death, faces leering at her, laughing, scowling. Not understanding why she was experiencing these visions, she opened her eyes wide, too afraid to close them for longer than a moment. “What’s happening to me?” She looked down at her chest, the water splaying over her erect nipples. “I’m not a coward, is that what you think I am?” she said through clenched teeth, as she raised her head to look at the ceiling. Tears built up, and under the splashes of steamy water, she let her emotions loose, and a despairing cry overwhelmed her.

  “Hey, Gray, are you okay in there?” Michelle asked, tapping on the door.

  Gray didn’t answer. Instead, she collapsed in the bath tub, sobbing her heart out.

  “Gray? Gray, if you don’t answer me, I’m coming in. Okay, I’m coming in.” Michelle opened the door. Horrified to find her friend in this condition, someone whom she’d known to be strong willed, and had never brought the insanity side of her job home with her before, she rushed to her aid. She grabbed the towel resting on the edge of the sink, and turned the shower off. “Gray, I’m going to help you out of the bath tub, and put this towel around you, okay?”

  Gray could only manage a nod. Her words had left her; she could think of nothing but the sadness she’d been subjected to over the past few weeks.

  “It’s all right, Gray. I’ll look after you now,” Michelle told her as she lifted her from the bath tub and placed the towel around her. “Now, let’s get you dry.” She patted the towel over Gray’s skin, being gentle and compassionate about her situation. With a soft tone to her voice, she asked, “Do you want to talk to me about what’s going on with you?”

  Gray shivered, then nodded.

  “Okay, then let’s get you dressed, and I’ll make us a nice hot mug of chocolate.”

  •••

  Gray sat on the sofa, her feet tucked up under her, while she stared at the blank wall in front of her. The smell of hot chocolate wafting in through the doorway as Michelle carried in two mugs, made her look up at her friend. New tears formed, her chin quivered, and all she could do was cry. She felt weak, and angry. This wasn’t her. She was a much stronger person than this.

  “Iggy died because I let him down,” she said through broken words. “If I hadn’t snapped at him for speaking the truth, he might not have had his mind elsewhere.”

  Michelle sat next to her and handed her one of the mugs of chocolate. “What do you mean, speaking the truth?”

  “He said I wasn’t focused, because of Tabatha. I was so awful to him about it.”

  “I’m sure Iggy was made of stronger stuff than that. Do you honestly believe he would have had what you said on his mind while he’s firing off rounds of bullets at the enemy?”

  “I don’t know anymore,” Gray sobbed. “All I know is that I acted less of a friend that day. He needed me, and I let him down.”

  “You didn’t, Gray. You just want to think you did. I think perhaps you should see someone, you know, a psychologist, just to make sure you’re not too affected by what you’ve been through. It’s not always good to keep it all locked in.”

  Gray sipped on her drink. She was tired, exhausted, but she didn’t want to close her eyes. “Would you sleep with me tonight? I don’t think I can be on my own.”

  “Yeah, sure, just like old times, when we used to watch the TV and fall asleep together.”

  •••

  Michelle lay with her back to Gray, snoring like a whining puppy. Gray didn’t hear her. Her dreams had returned, and they were darker. Loud, blackened explosions were going off all around her, faces of Taliban fighters with only their eyes showing through the fallen scarf of their turbans, and Marines screaming as they tried to walk with missing body parts. She screamed out and woke up, her skin drenched with sweat.

  Michelle opened her eyes and immediately turned the table lamp on. “Shit, Gray, you’re soaking wet. What’s wrong? I don’t know what to do.”

  Gray brought her knees up, placed her head in her hands and cried like a child, rocking as she couldn’t control her trembling body. It was hard for her to breathe normally, as her heart rate had increased, and her muscles tightened.

  N
ot knowing how to solve the issue, Michelle did what Michelle did best, and Googled. She Googled PTSD. “Oh my God. Okay, it says here that if you release your endorphins, it will help you feel better. You need to focus on your body, and that exercise can really help. You also need to relax, like going on a mountain trek, or white-water rafting, I don’t fancy that one much. Okay, here. Mindful breathing. That sounds good, whatever it is. ‘Take sixty breaths and focus your attention on each out breath.’” She looked up from her phone screen, then glanced at Gray. “Did that make any sense to you?”

  Gray gave a single nod.

  “Okay, it also says to listen to a sensory song, something that makes you feel calm.”

  Immediately Gray threw the covers back on the bed and climbed out. She headed straight to the CD player and searched through her pile of CDs. Finding the song she was looking for, she opened the CD player and placed the disk inside, then pressed play. The Sound of Silence was the song she’d chosen. Climbing back into bed, she rested her head on the pillow and pulled the covers over her.

  “Is that it?” Michelle asked. She reached over and turned the lamp off, then made herself comfortable and closed her eyes, humming to the song as she drifted off.

  Gray slept peacefully for the next few hours.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Sitting in a chair on the opposite side of the counselor’s desk, Gray was unsure if her symptoms were as serious as Michelle thought they were. She doubted herself, and thought that her friend’s reaction to her dreams had been over exaggerated.

  Her counselor, Danielle Hudson, had her own opinion about Gray’s symptoms, and wanted to focus on any issues Gray had. “It would be good for you to recall your experience, and bring out the emotions you felt at the time. This will help reduce the power the memory has on your life.”

  It wasn’t easy for Gray to speak about Afghanistan, especially about what had happened to her closest brother. She glanced away from Danielle, and looked at the trees swaying in the parking lot. “I didn’t realize it was so windy.”

  “That’s the weather for you; unpredictable.”

  “Iggy died because he was mad at me.”

  “Mad? Why was he mad?”

  “I didn’t want to hear what he had to say. I was being a dick, if that’s the right choice of words. He tried to warn me about being focused, and I didn’t want to listen. I said things I shouldn’t have.” She paused and looked out of the window again. “Now it’s starting to rain.”

  “Please go on, Lara, you’re doing so well.”

  “Gray, call me Gray. That’s what I like.”

  “Okay, Gray, please continue.”

  “There was someone I liked. You’re not allowed to repeat this, right? It is confidential.”

  “Correct. Anything you say in this room will strictly be between us.”

  “I acted on it. With another woman. I really liked her, and I know she liked me, but the thing is, neither of us were…are, in a position for it to be public knowledge. Iggy guessed what I’d been up to. Our argument must have been on his mind when he…” She looked down at her lap, and pressed her hands down firmly on the tops of her thighs. “His mind wasn’t on the job because my mind wasn’t.”

  “So, you blame yourself for Iggy’s death? How did Iggy die?”

  Gray swallowed hard. “He was shot…he was shot in the head. The left side of his face…it was—” she closed her eyes. “That part of his face was gone.”

  “It must have been quite traumatic to see someone you cared about so much killed.”

  “Yes. He was my friend. He was my best friend out there. We were like brothers. We look out for each other, care about each other, even after we leave. It’s a bond we have for life.”

  “Do you feel that perhaps you broke that bond?”

  “Yes.”

  “It’s okay, Gray. You’re holding on to something that isn’t your fault. Blaming yourself is your escape from reality. You need to re-focus the guilt, turn your memories of Iggy into positive ones. Think about all of the good things that happened between the two of you.”

  “We liked to tease each other a lot. Then we teased Blake. He was our squad leader. God, we had so many laughs, and yet I can’t remember one thing we laughed about…I keep seeing Iggy, in my thoughts, I mean. One moment he looks like he always did, then he appears with half his face missing. I don’t know if he’s trying to tell me something.”

  Danielle sat back in her chair and bridged her fingers beneath her chin. “Only you can decide that, but, if he’s as good a friend as you say, then I’m sure whatever it is he’s trying to tell you, it isn’t going to be anything bad that would scar you intentionally.”

  “But what about the others? I see Taliban fighters coming at me, their eyes staring as if they could kill me with just their looks.”

  “It’s the Taliban you were fighting at the time of Iggy’s death. In some way, they’ve become entangled in the same memory. It was the Taliban who killed Iggy, your brain is telling you that, but your heart isn’t accepting it. Tell me, have you had any suicidal thoughts?”

  Gray snapped from her subdued emotions and glared at Danielle. “No! No, I haven’t.”

  “It’s a question I need to ask. You may be feeling stuck, and I need to know at what level.”

  “Oh. Well, I’m not suicidal.”

  “I’m glad to hear that. I want you to do a few things at home in between our sessions. Just simple exercises to help relax your mind. Breathing is a good one. Keep focused on your breaths as you slowly release them. Feel them. Control them. Take back control of your life. Do something you and Iggy shared together, whether it’s a game of basketball, pool, music you both liked. If you find yourself falling into the trap of negative thoughts, stay away from alcohol, it will just emphasize that mood shift. If you find yourself feeling depressed, then please come and see me.” She looked at the clock on the wall behind her and then sat up straight in her chair. “Unfortunately, time isn’t on my side, and I have another patient waiting to see me. Make an appointment to see me again next week, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “And, Gray, you will get past this. I know it’s still fresh and raw in your head right now, but it will ease, and you’ll be able to move forward.”

  Gray stood and shook Danielle’s hand. Although it had been a short introductory session, she felt as though talking to a stranger had helped ease her negative thoughts slightly. Perhaps Michelle was right. I can’t do this on my own.

  She closed the door behind her, and gave an acknowledging nod to the next patient waiting on the couch.

  Michelle was stood by the water dispenser, helping herself to a cup, and turned around when she realized Gray had finished her session. “How did it go, or is that confidential?” she asked as she threw the paper cup into the bin.

  Gray opened the glass double doors and casually walked along the hallway until they reached the elevator. She pressed the down button, and when the doors slid open, they stepped inside. Two women shuffled backwards to let them in. Gray pressed the Parking level button, and the elevator jolted and moved slowly as it descended two floors down. The doors opened and they stepped out into the underground parking lot. Although they didn’t have a car, it was quicker for them to cut across the parking lot and out through the main exit, which led to the street they needed to walk down.

  “So, is it top secret stuff you talk about, like the missions you were assigned to do?”

  Feeling entertained by Michelle’s naivety, Gray wrapped her arm around her friend’s neck and pulled her in close, then kissed her on her forehead. “It’s not like that.”

  “Oi, watch the hair,” Michelle complained with a playful tone. “Well, as long as you get better, and I get the old Gray back, that’s all that matters.”

  “Drink?”

  “Thought you’d never ask.”

  Chapter Sixteen

  Opening her eyes to daylight streaming in through a gap between the curtains, G
ray felt the after effects of drinking too many beers when she hadn’t had any for a while. Her head pounded, and her stomach flipped as though, if she moved too quickly, she’d throw up. “Fuck, my head. What the fuck?”

  Zabba grumbled. He’d been patiently waiting at the side of the bed for her to wake, so he could go for his morning walk.

  “Okay, okay, don’t look at me with those sad eyes. I’m getting up.” She moved slowly, cupping her forehead with her hand as she climbed out of bed.

  •••

  Wearing a black, breathable t-shirt, three-quarter-length leggings and a pair of shock-absorbent runners, Gray jogged through Burke Gilman Trail with Zabba on a leash. Cyclists rode by, some courteous, and letting her know they were coming up behind her, and others with an attitude that the tarmac path should be used for cyclists only.

  There were sections of densely filled treelines, which reminded her of how cautious she’d had to act around such areas, and then there were benches facing the lake, the water sparkling as the current rippled along, and sunlight filtering through the lush green leaves creating a pattern of shadows on the path.

  She jogged beneath the Fremont Bridge, past people relaxing by the water’s edge on a grassy picnic area, houseboats decorated with flower pots filled with colorful plants. It was a peaceful trail, filled with serenity, and Zabba couldn’t get enough of sniffing the fresh green shrubbery.

  She stopped to take a moment to absorb the beautiful scenery, and listened to chaffinches and the breeze rustling through the leaves. Her attention had been distracted, and she hadn’t seen a woman approach her from a dense wooded area.

  The woman, scarred with needle marks up her arms, her blonde hair matted, and acne all over her face, asked Gray, “Can you spare any change?”

  It was one of those moments for Gray where she thought, if I had enough money, I’d pay for you to get cleaned up, but if I gave you money, you’d just spend it on drugs, and then repeat what you’re doing now for your next fix. “I’ve got enough money to you to buy a coffee,” she told the woman.