by W. S. Greer
“Umm,” I begin, unsure of what to say or do next. “Umm, I’m sorry, but I have to go.”
“Is everything okay?”
“No, I mean yes. Ugh, I don’t know. I just . . . I have to go, okay?”
I get up from my seat, but before I can step away, I feel Austin’s hand grasp mine. It feels soft, yet strong.
“Hold on a minute. Look, I know there’s a lot about you I don’t know. Everybody has stuff like that. There’s stuff about me that you don’t know either, obviously, and that’s fine. That’s why people take the time to get to know each other.”
“The things you don’t know about me are things you don’t want to know, Austin.”
“No, I do want to know, if you’d be okay with telling me.”
“No, you don’t, you just think you do. My life is complicated, and if you knew everything about me, you wouldn’t even be sitting here. Or, you might, but for a different reason.”
“I don’t get it. How could you possible know that?”
“I just do.”
“Then try me.”
“What?”
“Whatever it is that that you think is such a big deal, I’m sure I can handle it. I’m a big boy.”
I look down at him and his eyes are genuine. He really wants to know about me, but I don’t want to tell him. Because who would want to be with someone who does what I do? Yet, he sits here, looking up at me with such sincerity and hope that I’ll let him in. But, I’m not going to do that.
“Look, Austin you don’t know me,” I begin, frustrated by everything. I can’t pinpoint one thing. I’m frustrated by all of it. “I know you’re trying to be nice, being persistent, but the truth is that you don’t know anything about me or my life. You don’t know what you’d be getting yourself into, so please don’t sit there and act like you’d be my savior.”
“What? I don’t think you need a savior. I’m just saying . . .”
“Well don’t. I’ve got enough complications in my life.”
I stand there for a minute, thinking about what it is I’m doing, and it feels like I’m there for an hour, until I feel Austin slip something into my hand.
“What’s this?” I say as I open my hand and see a piece of a napkin from the table.
“It’s my phone number.”
“What? Why are you giving me this?”
“I guess I’m hoping that after you walk out of here, back to whatever complicated life you have, maybe you’ll think about me. I’m not trying to be a savior or anything like that. I’d just like the chance to get to know you. If you decide you’re not willing to give me that chance, then I guess I won’t hear from you, and that’ll be it. I’d like it better if that wasn’t the case, but I’ll leave that up to you.”
“Austin,” I try to chime in, but he cuts me off.
“You don’t have to explain anything else. I understand things get hard. But, I hope you at least think about it. I’m not trying to get married, I’m just looking for a new friend.”
“I don’t need a new friend.”
“Maybe you do. You should see me in action, I’m a pretty awesome friend.”
That look of hope is still on his face as he turns his attention back to his food and starts eating again. I watch him for a second, mesmerized by his persistence, but my phone chimes again in my purse, reminding me that I haven’t responded to Damien yet—reminding me of the messy life I live. So, instead of saying anything else to Austin, I turn and walk away, hoping I can flag down a cab as I exit the building.
Austin
“Good morning, Captain Sloan. Welcome back. Have a seat, please.”
I walk into the room with the all-white walls and take a seat on the brown leather couch. Across from me is Major Don Nelson, my mental health physician, who takes his own seat in a black leather chair. He’s like the military equivalent of a therapist, and it’s time for me to see him again. This is only my second time having to see him since I got back from the desert, and I’m holding out hope that he doesn’t annoy me this time the way he did the first time. It’s something in his face that bothers me. Not so much the top half, but the bottom that does it. It’s his chin. It’s massive and it looks like a giant ass with that deep groove in it. When he talks, that thing just bounces around and annoys the hell out of me and I feel like checking out, but I’m being “prescribed” these weekly meetings, so I guess I better get used to it.
“So, it’s been a week since we last saw each other, Austin, how have you been feeling?” Major Nelson asks as he whips out his yellow notepad and holds a blue pen, ready to write down all my business. His curly red hair is starting to thin at the front, but I can tell it used to be really thick. He’s wearing his dress blues, making the session feel more formal than it should. Considering this is supposed to be therapy, I should be relaxed.
“Been feeling okay, I guess,” I reply.
“Just okay?”
“What else am I supposed to be feeling besides okay?” I say with a chuckle.
“I don’t know. Maybe you should feel phenomenal. Maybe awesome. Maybe great.”
“Well, I’m not feeling phenomenal, or awesome, or great either. I’m okay.”
“Okay. Is there something that’s maybe keeping you from feeling phenomenal?”
I have to think before I answer. The one thing I hate most about being forced to come to these sessions is that Major Nelson is actually really good at getting me to open up, ass-chin aside. I don’t want to open up—not to him, anyway. It’s not that he’s a bad person, it’s just that I don’t know him, and the thing that got me sent here isn’t something you should talk about with someone you don’t know. But, that’s the way the cookie crumbles with the military sometimes.
“I wouldn’t say it’s anything in particular, sir. I’m normal, and normal is okay to me.”
“I understand,” he replies as he jots down something on his yellow pad. When he does that, I always think it’s something bad. “Okay, so let’s talk about how you’ve been feeling about Lieutenant Blake Weston.”
I feel a sharp pain hit me right in the heart. Not a heart attack kind of pain, but an emotional kind of pain.
“So, have you had any thoughts about Blake or your tour in Afghanistan this past week?” The major asks. He doesn’t write anything on the paper this time, he just stares at me, waiting to see how I react.
I take a deep breath and swallow down the lump I feel trying to climb into my throat.
“Of course I have.”
“Thoughts about the tour itself, or about Blake?”
“The thoughts I have about the tour are eternally connected to Lieutenant Weston. When I think about the tour, I think about him . . . and his death.”
“Have you dreamed about it?”
“Yes.”
“What happens in the dreams?”
“The exact same thing that happened in real life. I watch him die. No matter what else is going on in the dream, whether I’m piloting the chopper or I’m on the ground looking up at it, I still see him get hit. I still can’t do anything to save him.”
“Is that the part that bothers you the most, Austin? The fact that you couldn’t save him?”
Another thing I can’t stand about this therapy crap is that he asks questions that he already knows the answer to.
“Of course it is,” I reply, looking down at the tile floor. “You know what bothers me the most is that he was there to replace me. He was there trying to get the lay of the land and see how we did things the six months we were there. He was just supposed to be learning the ropes from me, shit got hot while we were doing my last extraction, and it happened. It just feels so wrong, and there’s so much more I should’ve done.”
Major Nelson scribbles something else on his pad, and watching him do it makes me feel a little more frustrated.
“Captain Sloan, what more do you think you could’ve done to save the Lieutenant? Didn’t you tell him to take cover?”
“Yes, I
told him to keep his head down, because when he got up, he didn’t have his Kevlar or his vest on, and that’s my fault.”
“It’s your fault he didn’t have his gear on?”
“Yes. I was the ranking officer, and just because we don’t usually have contact when we do extractions, that doesn’t give us an excuse to go in there without being fully geared up. I should’ve made sure he had his gear on the entire time, no matter how hot it made him. That’s my fault.”
More writing on the notepad.
“I see. Have you ever thought Lieutenant Weston was a grownup—a trained pilot who knew what he was about to get into when your team took off that day? He knew the dangers and he still didn’t have his gear on.”
“That doesn’t matter, Major. I was in charge. I should’ve made sure he had his gear on before we went into the shit. There’s no excuse for allowing that. That fact can’t be disputed, so I really don’t even know why we’re doing this. There’s nothing you can say that’ll change that fact, so what’s the point?”
“The point, Captain, is that you did everything you could’ve done. Our first session, you told me you screamed at the Lieutenant to put his gear on and to stay down, and then when he opened the door, you told him to get back in his seat. He didn’t listen to you. What we’re trying to get you to realize and accept is that Lieutenant Weston made his own decision. You told him, but he chose otherwise, and when you’re trying to fly a helicopter and maneuver it effectively while picking up a team, you can’t get out of your seat and force the co-pilot to put on his gear. You told him, he made a choice, and he suffered very unfortunate consequences for that choice. But, it was his choice. Now, that doesn’t mean his death isn’t tragic, it just means it wasn’t your fault.”
I take a deep breath and think about everything I just heard. It’s not like I’m hearing it for the first time. I’ve thought this exact same thing before, but it’s so much easier said than done. I was there, and I feel like I should’ve been able to do more to protect him. I should’ve done more.
“Look, I know what you’re thinking, Captain,” Major Nelson continues. “It’s a lot easier said than done, right? I know it’s difficult, but that’s why we’re here. We’re going to help you. Have you tried talking to anyone about how you’ve been feeling?”
“No, not really.”
“No? Not even your parents? I would think a retired Colonel, like your father, would have some good advice in a situation like this. Especially since he was a pilot as well.”
“Well, he was an F-12 pilot and he never saw combat. I’m sure he’d have great advice, I just haven’t asked him for it.”
“Will you? Maybe your mother?”
“I don’t know if I’ll talk to my parents about it. They’re living happily ever after in Seattle, living the retired life, so I don’t know. I like to deal with things on my own. So, I might talk to a friend about it, but for the most part, I just have to deal with it on my own, Major. Well, with you too, apparently, but mostly on my own.”
The major exhales like he’s disappointed in something I’ve said, but staying calm is what he’s best at. He turns to the side and drops the notepad onto the floor and it lands with a slap, then he turns his attention back to me.
“So, how about things not related to your deployment? You’re on R&R now, right? How’s that been going?”
I lean back in the couch and it squeaks and squeals from the movement.
“Well, I had to go through all the post-deployment stuff the first few days we were back, and I only have a little more to do before I’m officially on R&R, but I plan to have fun with it. I’m gonna take the two weeks of R&R, then another 30 days of leave. Maybe I’ll visit my parents up in Seattle or something. I don’t know.”
“Great. That’d be good for you. Getting some time to see your parents would be good. How about here in Vegas, though? Anyone special for you to spend your time with here?”
“Well, my friend Jason is coming down from Seattle this week, actually. We grew up together. He’s a lawyer, and he just won a big case at home and now he’s coming down to Vegas with his business partner to represent one of his college buddies in a new case, so he’ll be around for a while. I’ve got a few work colleagues and stuff too, but that’s about it. I met a girl, but I think she’s giving me the cold shoulder. It’s been a week since I last saw her.”
The major raises his eye brows like he’s surprised.
“A girl? What’s her name?” he asks, ignoring what I said about her leaving me hanging.
“Her name’s Layla, but like I said, it’s been a week since I last saw her, so I wouldn’t get too excited, Major. She’s gorgeous and all, but I don’t think she’s into me like that. She was insisting that there’s things about her I don’t know about that would make me not want to be around her. I told her to call me a week ago, and I haven’t heard from her since. So, I guess it’s a wrap for that.”
“Well, don’t give up hope, Austin,” the major advises as he gets up from his seat. “Maybe she’ll come around. You’re a good guy, and we all have our problems we have to work out. Maybe while she’s taking the time to work out hers, I can help you work out yours, and by the time she does call, you’ll be one hundred percent ready to go. PTSD is a difficult thing to go through, even for somebody as tough and brave as you.”
I get up from my seat and follow the major towards the door, relieved that the session was short and sweet.
“Maybe you’re right. I’ve got my own shit to work out. It’s not like me to get deep with a chick anyway, so it’s whatever.”
The major reaches down and opens up the door. The cold air from the hallway whisks into the room and hits me in the face.
“Maybe it’s for the best for now. Just keep holding on to hope, Austin. You never know what life might bring you.”
“I hear you, Major. Thanks. I’ll see you next week.”
Layla
“Can I get you something to drink?”
“Umm, just a Sprite for now is fine.”
“Okay, a Sprite, and do you still need some time to look over the menu?”
I look at the selection of food and it all looks and sounds so good. I can’t pick one particular thing yet. Maybe Marlene can help me decide.
“Yeah, can I get a minute please?” I reply, looking up at the muscular man who looks like he’s going to crush that pen and notepad any second now. “Plus, my girlfriend is coming, so I’ll wait until she gets here. Thanks.”
The extra-large waiter walks away to get my drink, and I continue to stare at the menu. As I was leaving Red Pony early this morning, Marlene was close to getting off too, so she suggested coming to Red Robin to eat lunch together. At first I thought to decline, simply because I’m tired from a night of dancing on that stupid pole in that stupid basement of that stupid club, but Marlene is my closest friend, so I couldn’t turn her down. Plus I found a bit of irony in eating at Red Robin after leaving Red Pony Gentlemen’s Club.
The waiter brings my Sprite back, and after I tell him I’m still not ordering until Marlene gets here, he leaves me alone. I sit and think about the night I just had. It was a lucky one. It’s not too often that it happens, but I was actually able to avoid being paid for last night. Every available girl is also a stripper, and we have to dance until there’s someone who’s willing to drop two grand to spend the night with us, or at least five hundred for some “personal time.” It was pretty empty most of the night, even in the upstairs lounge, and I was thrilled when my shift came to an end and I knew I wasn’t going to have to do some nasty shit with some gross boy who’s too much of an asshole or too ugly to meet someone the normal way. It was the highlight of my whole night, and even though Damien tried to give me shit about not dancing sexy enough or looking too standoffish when I was dancing, even he couldn’t mess it up for me. That’s my final reason for being here, a night like that is worth celebrating with some lunch at Red Robin. Yum!
After about ten minutes,
the burly waiter saunters back over to me. He gives me a look that I read as saying, where is your fucking friend already? But, that’s not what he actually says.
“Hi, ma’am, is your friend still coming?” he asks, which instantly annoys me. I look around the restaurant and it’s nearly empty. It’s not like there’s people on the waiting list.
“Umm, yes she is still coming. Are you in some sort of a rush to get me out of here, or what?” I snap. The big guy’s eyes bulge.
“Oh no, absolutely not, ma’am,” he backpedals. “I was just curious and wanted to check up on you. I apologize.”
“I’m fine. I don’t need to be checked up on, and I’ll let you know when she’s here, that way you don’t have to keep coming back.” After the words come out my mouth, and I see the sad puppy look on the waiters face, I immediately feel bad for being so defensive. But, before I can rephrase, he walks away.
“Shit. Sorry, way-too-muscular-waiter guy,” I whisper to myself. Then I pull out my phone and check to see if I have a message from Marlene, because she really is taking longer than I expected.
There’s nothing, so I decide to reach out to her first.
Me: Hey, you still coming? I just hurt the waiter’s feelings.
After about thirty seconds, my phone chimes.
Marlene: Hey, I’m so sorry, girl. Amanda is having a meltdown moment. Something about her mom being sick. Like, REALLY sick. I have to head home. I’m sorry, honey. Rain check?
Me: Oh . . . I’m so sorry to hear that. Definitely rain check. Go take care of your girl. I’ll talk to you later. Let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.
Marlene: Thanks, hon. TTYL.
I place my phone on the table and hope that everything’s okay with Marlene’s girlfriend. I don’t have a mother, but I can only imagine what it’d be like if my life was normal, and I actually did have one that gave a shit about me, and then she got deathly ill. I mean, I literally have to imagine it, but I’m sure it’d be extremely difficult, so I really feel terrible for Amanda. She’s a first grade teacher, and a really nice girl. Beautiful too. Marlene and her are a gorgeous couple, and I’m just sitting around waiting for the day they send me the invitation to the wedding that I know has to be coming, because they’re just too great together.
