by Logan Chance
My mother was a mess, and my father was an asshole. Even still to this day I don’t talk to him much. He tried for a while, buying Alice and I anything we wanted, whenever we spent time with him. But, after a while he came around less and less. And, as we grew older we never wanted to see him much either.
My mother was a non-existent mother, crying herself to sleep most nights and working her life away during the days. I don’t fault her for any of it. I love and respect her, but I know she didn’t have it easy after the divorce.
My father remarried, a girl half his age and not much older than Alice. My mother never did. She’s still alone, but swears she’s happier now.
Most times during my teens, it was Ryan’s mother I went to for advice. I think she always knew I had a thing for Ryan growing up, but I would never admit that to her.
“Want some coffee?” she asks.
“Sure.”
“I’ll put a pot on. They’ll probably be awhile,” she says, grabbing the pot and running it under the faucet to fill it with water. I trace my fingers across the table scarred with memories. I feel weird, like she sees me as a daughter, so technically, this is incest. Ugh. Is that how she sees us?
Once the coffee is made and she offers me a cup, she sits down and we continue our idle chatter until she finally asks about him.
“Are you in love with my son?”
I nearly choke on my coffee. I didn’t expect that question. Are you sleeping with him? Are you dating him? Anything except love.
As much as I want to say yes, we’ve only reconnected recently. “I could love him.”
She pats my hand with hers. “I always knew you were the woman for him.” Oh, thank god. “And, I couldn’t be happier. He’s a good man.”
“Yeah,” I say, taking a sip of my hot coffee.
A frown tugs at her lips. “I’m worried about him.”
I set my cup down. “Why?”
She glances down to her aging hands. “No reason. I just worry. It’s what mothers do.”
Her hazel eyes meet mine, and I offer up a smile. “You sure?”
She nods, and we sip our coffee as the boys carry surfboards through the hallway and out of the house. Every so often I catch Ryan staring at me as he passes by the kitchen, and my heart melts.
“Did I ever tell you about the time Ryan first met you?” his mother asks me.
“No. I think we were five, right? Kindergarten?”
“Yes. He came home from school and said he’d met a new friend. A best friend. I asked about his new friend, and he told me about you. He said you were the prettiest girl in the whole class.” She smiles. “He said you were going to be best friends forever.”
I laugh. “Well, I was kinda hot with the pigtails. But, seriously, he’ll always be my best friend.”
“Well,” she places her hand over mine, again, with a gleam in her eye, “he’s very lucky.”
I hug her, wrapping my arms around her petite frame. “I just remember him being the only boy in class who was nice to me.”
“Ryan’s always been a sweetheart. He used to help me cook while his brothers were out back fighting or Lord knows what…Ryan was always here with me.”
I lean back, resuming my seat across from her. “Can I ask why he joined the military? In high school, he was always so gung ho about it.”
“It was the commercial.”
“Commercial?” I shake my head in confusion.
“You know the one. With the man climbing up the volcano, through the lava, and he slays the dragon at the top.”
I laugh. “What are you talking about? I’ve never seen that one.”
“Coolest commercial ever. I wanted to be a marine so I could kill dragons,” Ryan says, sneaking up behind me, wrapping his strong arms around me. He nuzzles his nose into the crook of my neck as I laugh along with them.
I’m happy. And I want this always.
“So, Ryan the dragon slayer…sexy.” I giggle.
“Who’s a dragon slayer?” Lance asks, walking into the kitchen.
“Ryan is. Did you slay any dragons over in Afghanistan?” Devin asks.
He kisses the top of my head before letting go, standing up to tower over his brothers. “Yeah, big ones.”
He grabs Lance, his arms wrapping around his neck, locking him in place. All three wrestle in the kitchen. Devin lunges toward Ryan, hitting Lance’s head in the process.
“Take it outside,” his father barks, trying to break them up before they shatter the many glass containers filled with pasta and cereal on the granite countertops.
Ryan winks at me before the three disappear outside.
“You sure you want to date him?” his mother asks me.
I smile, a warm feeling traveling through me. “I’m sure. “
Later, when the sun has disappeared and the night sky is twinkling with stars, Ryan and I sit outside snuggled in the large hammock tied between two royal palms. He holds me close, his fingers twirling through my hair.
“I could get used to this,” Ryan says against my ear.
“Me too.”
And I could. I used to imagine this scenario all the time in my head. A new beginning to a happily ever after.
17
Cryin’
Say goodbye to the sun.
The past few weeks with Lizzy have been amazing. We’re building toward something. A future I want more than anything.
Fuck the doctors. Fuck the psychiatrist. I won’t let this war change me. I’m fine.
I walk into work with a big smile on my face.
“Someone’s happy,” my mother says as I walk behind the old converted surfboard counter where the register sits.
“Yeah, I guess I am.”
“Is it a certain blonde making you feel this way?” she asks, knowingly.
“Yes, Mom, you always make me happy.” I kiss her cheek, and she smiles.
“Not me, silly. I meant Lizzy.”
I knew what she meant. And, Lizzy makes me extremely happy. “Yeah, her too.”
My mother beams as I get to work.
It’s summertime here in Miami, and the onslaught of locals we get in the store today is overwhelming.
By the end of the day, my head is throbbing. A throb so bad, I pop a few pills before I head out to meet Lizzy at the beach for an afternoon swim in the ocean.
I grab a new board I’ve had my eye on and head out to my truck and hop in.
As I walk up to the shore, the hot sand under my feet, I spot her dipping her toes in the ocean.
She waves her hand as I step closer.
I set the board down and pick her up, spinning her around as I plant my lips on hers. “Ready for another lesson?”
“How about I sit here and just watch.”
I kiss her cheek, and grab my board. “Ok, suit yourself,” I say, taking off running into the ice-cold water.
The tide isn’t too high and the waves break a bit too soon, but, all in all, a good day for surfing. I paddle out. The sun reflects off the sea, casting a few shadows in my vision.
A perfect wave comes at me, and I turn my board and stroke my arms faster. I catch it at the right time and hop to my feet. It’s the best feeling in the world, riding a wave. A freeing, relaxing calm washes over me, and I twist and turn my body to stay up.
As soon as the ride is over, I paddle back out for more. I’ve been riding waves since before I could ride a bike. My father had us out on the ocean at an early age, and it’s the one thing that centers me when I’m stressed.
I missed the beach while I was overseas. But, I missed Lizzy more. The men I served with just weren’t as funny as her.
I catch another wave and wipeout the second my feet land on the board. The wave crashes over my head, tumbling me along the sandy ocean floor. When I finally resurface, my head aches so badly I can barely see straight.
“You ok, soldier?” Lizzy asks, as I head over to where she lies on a red beach towel. With a book in her hand, and wearing huge
sunglasses and a floppy hat, she smiles up at me.
“Yeah, I have a bit of a headache. Want to get some food?”
“Uh, sure. We can hit that pizza diner place.”
Ah, Papa Giorno’s was a hot spot in our teens. High school kids hung out there every weekend, and I’m sure with the laid-back atmosphere and arcade games in the back, the place is still crawling with young kids.
I follow her closely on her Vespa. My truck is huge compared to her tiny little ride, but it suits her. She’s never been a normal girl. Always doing things her way. Like at graduation, she was the only girl in school in black combat boots and shorts under her robe.
She’s not a combat boot type of girl, but she wore it she said in “support” of me joining the military. I think she did it more to rebel me joining instead, but I’d never tell her that. She was in enough trouble from the school administrator that day for not dressing “properly”.
She’s always marched to the beat of her own drummer, and it’s one of the things I’ve always been fascinated by.
In the military being unique was frowned upon. We were just a number, a machine, a weapon for them to use. And I was ok with it. I wanted it. In the military, they say killing is only bad if you don’t enjoy it. I heard that the whole time I was there. Kill this person, don’t kill that one. Kill that guy, don’t kill that one. They all looked the same. It grew harder the longer I was there.
The first man I killed was quick. It shocked me at first, seeing the blood. It took me a second to realize I pulled the trigger, but he had an RPG aimed at my unit.
It got easier after that. It’s only wrong if you don’t enjoy it. But, sometimes I think it’s only wrong if you do.
The things I saw will haunt me for a lifetime, but I don’t regret going. I don’t regret anything I did. It’s funny, if I was here in the US and did the same things, I’d be in jail…maybe even death row. But, war is a different monster.
When the IED explosion happened, I lost two of my friends. Davis saved my life that afternoon. He died shortly after, his body not surviving the blast. But, I survived.
I was discharged immediately, the doctors claiming I wasn’t fit to fight, claiming I sustained a brain injury. I was on the first flight back to the states.
They went over everything I could experience for the rest of my life, but it’s all guesswork. No doctor can predict the future. The first doctor said I wouldn’t survive the flight home. Another talked about losing fine motor skills.
All in all, no doctor knows everything. They’re just guessing, like the rest of us.
I park my truck beside her blue bike and hop out.
“I’m starving,” she says, removing her black helmet and running her fingers through her long locks.
I open the door for her and take stock of the joint. Yep, I was right…nothing but a bunch of teenagers. We fall into a red, vinyl booth and my stomach grumbles. Taylor Swift, or some other teeny bopper artist, plays from the jukebox in the corner. It’s loud and aggravates my already pounding head.
“What do you want?” she asks, grabbing her copy of the menu.
“I’m easy. Go ahead and get your ridiculous, nasty pineapples. I’ll pick them off.”
When the waitress returns, we place our order and then grab hands across the table.
“Did you want to see a movie tonight? I’ve been wanting to see that new romantic comedy,” Lizzy says.
I roll my eyes. “Ok.” Anything for her.
The same group of guys from the other night catches our attention as the server puts our sodas in front of us. Six or seven gangly men stand near a few of the arcade games laughing loudly and busting each other’s chops. The place is packed and the constant chatter drowns out the music playing from the jukebox.
Our pizza arrives, and I pick off a few pineapples and take a bite.
“Oh God, not them again,” Lizzy
says, jabbing a finger in the direction of the guys making a ruckus.
“Don’t worry. I’m sure they learned their lesson.” I raise my fingers to my temple and try to massage out the pounding of the migraine coming on.
“Are you ok?”
“Yeah, I’m fine.”
The group in the back make fun of a younger teenager, and they’re trying my patience. Lizzy senses my agitation and pats my hand with hers. “They’re a bunch of jerks.”
“Yeah.” I finish off my slice and grab another, removing the heinous yellow cubes of fruit.
“You should try a pineapple,” Lizzy says, laughing.
“No thanks. It’s gross.”
She takes a huge bite, grabbing a few of my discarded pineapples and tossing them in her mouth. “Yum, delicious. You should try one.”
“You’ve been trying for years to get me to eat pineapple. I’ve had it before, I just don’t like it.” I laugh.
“Ok,” she peeks over her shoulder at the jukebox in the back, “I’m going to go put on a song. Save my spot.”
She walks away, her long legs carrying her through the restaurant like she owns it. I pop a pineapple in my mouth and immediately regret it. The sour aftermath of it makes me pucker my face, and I grab a sip of my soda as Lizzy puts her money in the machine.
I squint as the sun’s rays slam through the restaurant and hide her image from me. Blinking a few more times, my mind races. Oh no. It’s happening. Guess the doctors were right. Fucking IED.
Not now.
Not here.
Please God. No.
God doesn’t listen, and my whole world crashes.
18
Lizard
Sometimes being a true friend is not enough.
I know just the song for Ryan. The jukebox has to have Backstreet Boys. I laugh and lower my finger along the glass as I try to read each title.
The horrible guys from the back move closer as I pretend not to notice. I lean over the machine as one of them comes up behind me.
“Need help? Don’t play something stupid,” a smelly man says. It’s the same one whose finger was twisted by Ryan. His toxic fumes of body odor and cigarettes waft through my nose. I ignore him, but he doesn’t stop. His friends have gathered around, and I quickly choose any song as they box me in.
The place is overrun by school kids, and no one even pays attention to us in the back.
“Can I go to my seat?” I push on the main guy’s chest.
“We just want to talk to you a little,” another redheaded man says.
“Well, I don’t really want to talk to you.” I try to push past, but these guy’s tower over me. I laugh a little, knowing nothing too bad can happen in such a public place.
“I have my own man to talk to, thanks.”
“Who that idiot over there?” A blond guy points in the direction of Ryan, and I glance over to him.
What is he doing?
I stand on tiptoes to gain a better view of Ryan knocking over a few things on the table as he tries to stand up. He bumps right into the waitress carrying a large tray of drinks and everything crashes to the floor.
Something’s not right.
“Let me through.” I push on the man’s arm.
“Lizzy,” Ryan calls as he stumbles, falling to his knees on the broken glass on the floor.
The guys cornering me laugh. “Look at that fucking moron. That’s your boyfriend?”
Something’s wrong.
With my nails, I dig into the tallest man’s arm as hard as I can.
“Fucking bitch,” he says, stepping a little to the side.
“You need to get back to that retarded boyfriend of yours,” another guy says. I slam my foot into his shin and rush over to Ryan’s side.
“Are you okay?” the waitress asks as she picks up shards of broken glass.
Ryan’s on his hands and knees, almost crawling through the glass.
I crouch down, placing my hands on his shoulders. “What’s going on, Ryan?”
“I can’t see,” he whispers. “I can’t see anything.�
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My heart races. “What do you mean?”
“I can’t see anything.”
I wave my hand in front of his face, noticing the far off look in his eyes. They don’t focus on me, and I need to get him out of here. “Ok, listen to me. We’re leaving.”
I stand up, helping him to his feet.
“Do you need help?” the waitress asks, motioning to another server.
The whole restaurant has gone quiet, I’m not even sure if the music’s still playing from the speakers.
My heart slams in my chest. “No, I just need to get him to the hospital.”
“Should I call 911,” says a man rushing over in a suit and tie.
“No, I’ll take him.” I grab Ryan’s arm, linking mine in his to guide him out. Crowds of people have gathered around, but in my panic their voices aren’t registering. I walk with him out the glass doors, and his foot gets caught in the threshold, tripping him a bit. “Lizzy, please help me.”
“I’m sorry. I’m trying.” Tears sting my eyes as I search for his truck in the lot, walking slowly as to not let him trip on anything else. “Where are your keys?” I ask.
“Left pocket.” He digs for them, holding them in his fingers and out away from me.
I help him into the passenger side of the truck and bring my hand to his face. “I’m taking you to the hospital.”
My heart breaks when I see the expression on his face. “I’ve never been so scared in all my life,” he whispers.
“We’ll get this figured out.” I shut his door and rush to the other side.
Racing down the street on my way to Mount Sinai Hospital, my mind is unable to catch up to the events happening. What the hell is going on?
The car is silent, and I’m not sure what to even say. I drive through the traffic of the late afternoon, hoping everything will be fine.
“Are you ok?” Lame question I know, but he’s not the only one afraid.
“All I see are shadows. Like I know when you turn the car, or when you are driving away from the sun, but that’s it. I’m kind of freaking out here.”
“I know. We’re almost there,” I reassure him. “They’ll get you all fixed up soon. I’ll call your family when we get there.”
