Playing the Field

by C. J. Pinard

  I rolled my eyes, lifting the food back to my mouth. “It’s a women’s prison, and she’s not a ‘badass’ – she’s doing some overtime tonight at the hospital for some extra money.”

  My mom looked at me, her blue eyes curious. “What’s at the hospital?”

  I shrugged a shoulder. “A sick prisoner, I guess.”

  Her eyebrows knit together. “Is that safe? I mean, I hope she has a gun or something. She has a daughter to think about.”

  I set my fork down. “Mom, she’s been doing that job for a number of years. I think she can take care of herself.”

  She put her hands up in surrender. “Okay, Jace. I just really like her, and don’t want to see her get hurt.”

  I softened a little, and then Dalton spoke up. “She can take care of herself, Peggy. I’ve met her. Jace doesn’t think she’s a badass, but she kinda is.”

  Jory snorted, and I bit back a laugh. I heard my father’s fork smack his plate. “Dalton, stop calling your mother by her first name.”

  I looked him, his black hair up in a ridiculously high Mohawk, the piercings in his lip and eyebrow glinting under the dining room lamp. “Okay, father.”

  “I mean it. And while you’re at it,” my dad ground out, his gaze grazing over Dalton’s appearance while pointing at him with his fork, “take that metal shit out of your face. You look like a freak.”

  “Okay, father,” Dalton repeated. But we all knew he wouldn’t. He’d probably go get another piercing just to piss off my father for that comment. I shook my head and got up, putting my plate in the sink. I pulled out my phone and shot off a text to Miranda as I made my way to the living room:

  Having fun? My family misses you at Sunday dinner.

  I went to the couch and turned on the game, the Oakland A’s vs. the Texas Rangers. I plopped my butt on the couch when my phone buzzed:

  Oh yes, loads of fun, watching an inmate in a coma. I’m having a blast here.

  The sarcasm wasn’t lost on me, but I smiled anyway.

  I replied: Easy work for double pay.

  She said: I can’t argue with that. Tell the fam that Ash and I will be at the next dysfunctional family dinner.

  I threw my head back and laughed. Jory plopped his ass next to mine and glanced at my phone, then back up at me. I looked into his aqua eyes, then up at his light blonde buzz cut and just laughed at how much he looked like me.

  “What’s so funny, asswipe?” I asked.

  He continued to grin. “Got me a girlfriend.”

  I snorted, looking down at my phone. “Has she figured out you’re a lazy asshole yet?”

  He smacked me on the side of my head, which made me drop my phone. I turned back to him and punched him in his chest. He gasped and pushed me onto the floor, where we wrestled like a couple of ten-year-olds until my father and Darcy’s husband pulled us apart.

  “You’re such a dick!” Jory yelled at me.

  “I was joking, you dickweed!” I yelled back.

  He wiped a small amount of blood from his lip and looked it on his finger. “You busted my lip.”

  I said nothing, going over to my mom and sister, kissing them both on the cheek, then fist-bumping Dalton and heading for the door. “I’m outta here.”

  As my hand reached the handle, I heard, “Where you going, Uncle Jace?”

  I closed my eyes as my heart dropped into my stomach. I plastered on a smile and turned around, crouching down as my five-year-old niece, Addison, walked toward me. Her blonde hair was in ringlets around her shoulders and she was clutching a Barbie in her right hand. “I have to go, princess. I’ll see you next time, okay?”

  She hugged my neck. “Okay.”

  I got into my car feeling like a total and complete asshole. Jory didn’t deserve that, no matter how much of a lazy slacker he was, and I’d practically ruined Sunday dinner. I put the car in second gear and tore off toward Santa Cruz so I could sit on the beach and stew in my own guilt for a while.

  I parked my car at the boardwalk and locked the car, heading toward the beach. Once I’d reached the sand, I reached down and took off my Converse, which I’d worn with no socks, and carried them until I was close enough to feel the salty spray of water on my face and let the roar of the waves crash into my ears. I was hoping the sound would drown out the thoughts tumbling around in my brain, but sadly, it was no use.

  My mind was jumbling around, like those white balls of numbers inside the lottery machine when they were choosing a winner. Thoughts of my family. Thoughts of my jobs – all three of them. Thoughts of Miranda and her daughter and her situation. I had never in my life met a stronger woman. She was essentially raising Ashlynn alone, and working a job inside what had to be a very negative and probably sometimes stressful environment. She had assured me over and over that her job wasn’t dangerous, but there had to be some sort of thick skin one had to wear in order to work at a place like that.

  But more than that, she had to be strong to raise a child alone. I hoped her ex was helping financially, but I didn’t know. I was gonna ask eventually, but first, I had to man-up and tell her about my Marine Corps reserves job. Today was Sunday, and next weekend I had training again. As I was fast running out of excuses as to why I’d disappear once a month, a part of me wished she’d just figure it out. Didn’t she say she dated a few military men while in college, like that Chris guy? Why was this flying over her head? But in my heart I knew I had a responsibility to be a man and tell her what I was up to. Would I lose her once she found out? I didn’t know, but the stress of keeping this from her was starting to eat at my gut from the inside out. Not only that, I had nothing to be ashamed of. I was proud of being a Marine.

  While I was in high school and had been asked by my guidance counselor which branch I’d wanted to join, the Marine Corps was the first one out of my mouth. I respected the other branches, but I wanted to be a devil dog, a tough, take-no-shit fighter who would die for honor and country if I had to. Why was I so hesitant to tell Miranda about what was already a part of me? Probably because she had some bad experiences with Marines, and deep in my chest, I knew she may walk away from me if she knew. But hadn’t she told me she loved me? Yes, she had. Love always protects, always trusts, always hopes, and most of all, always perseveres. My mind drifted back to the Sunday School class where, as kids, we’d learned about love in 1 Corinthians 13. If she loved me – she had made the choice to love – then she would have to take the good with the bad – right? I didn’t know. So many people these days would run out on a relationship when things got bad. Nobody seemed to want to stick it out for the long haul, like my grandparents who had been married for 60 years. There’s no way that was an easy 60 years for them.

  But Miranda was tough, and I could tell she could persevere. She was raising a daughter alone while working in an environment that I doubt she had set her goals to when she had gone to college and worked hard to get her degree. Surely she would understand what I was doing – and why I did it.

  I didn’t know what I was gonna do as far as my family, but I do remember that during the July 4th barbeque my parents had had, they’d welcomed Miranda with open arms, even Jace’s daughter Addison taking a liking to Ashlynn, no matter how much of a neglectful father I thought Jory was to her – and I owed him an apology. Maybe if he saw me manning up and being a good role model to Ashlynn, he too would realize his daughter needed a father. Perhaps his new girlfriend would calm him down a bit.

  I looked out at the crashing waves, a full moon now shining off the black water that scooped up onto the brown sand, then retreated again, just to repeat its never-ending cycle – one I never got tired of watching. The beach calmed me, helped clear my thoughts. The salty smell of the air, the seaweed lying haphazardly on the beach, the beachgoers with their bonfires and parties – it all mellowed me. Cleared my head.

  And it was with this clear head that I knew what I had to do. I had to ask Miranda to marry me. She was it, she was the one, I just knew it. It was as cle
ar as the very military presence that was embedded in my bones. But before I proposed, I had to tell her that I was a Marine. Then I had to pray she’d accept it.

  Chapter 12

  A ring. Just a simple engagement ring. Why it so hard to find the right one?

  I had been to a few jewelry shops but nothing seemed perfect enough for my queen. Nothing had seemed to scream out “hot, royal woman” to me. So with disappointment but not defeat, I got into my car and drove to Nevada for my weekend warrior training, damned and determined to get Miranda a ring, and then tell her about my Marine Corps service – in that order – in hopes that a shiny piece of ice would distract her from what could be a crushing blow of a confession.

  I had already been told the training this weekend would be grueling, and I was prepared for it. I had to keep my head in it and not think about a curvy blonde whose lips had me unraveled at the thought of them.

  My official title was Technical Surveillance Specialist – but I did very little of that during my weekend training. I was mostly stuck doing grunt work, which I didn’t mind sometimes, as long as it involved me getting to play with guns and explosives. But there were times when I had to get out the computer equipment during mock drills and such, or when we had to test the equipment to make sure it still worked properly. I loved doing reconnaissance surveillance and gaining intelligence from it – and I was good at it – but in my heart, I really, really wanted to get down and dirty, be a grunt and shoot guns and toss grenades and destroy the enemy. I wanted to make the U.S. proud and say screw the politically correct bullshit. Computers interested me, I had found my niche, so to speak, with them, but deep down, I was simply a Neanderthal with good teeth and a charming dimple.

  My weekend flew by. Usually it dragged, but by Sunday morning, we had been dismissed, and I was more than ready to go home. With the thought of needing to get Miranda a ring still ruling my every thought, I hopped in the Mustang and headed back home. I had a three hour drive ahead of me, and I just knew my brain wouldn’t relax or slow down until I got home. So I suffered with the constant barrage of thoughts of Miranda during that boring drive. Her body, her lips, her curves, her tongue, her legs wrapped around me, her laugh, her smile, her witty comebacks… and lastly, her daughter. Her sweet little brown-eyed girl who had pierced my heart with her infectious grin and girly giggle that made everyone in the room smile when it came tumbling out of her tiny mouth.

  With exhaustion blanketing my body, I finally reached home. I parked in my designated spot in the lot of the complex, slogged to my front door, and slid the key in, pushing the door open. I tossed my keys on the entry table and briefly eyed the small kitchen as I passed by it. I was hungry, but my tiredness overrode the hunger. I figured I would text Miranda, let her know I was home, then crash for a couple of hours before solidifying my plans with her for later tonight. I told her I’d see her Monday, but being that we got out early today, I was hoping she’d want to see me tonight. But I needed some serious shuteye first.

  My phone was in my hand as I made my way to my bedroom. I looked up when heard noise, alarmed that there was someone in my bedroom, and I almost dropped my pack as I froze in horror. My fright was quickly replaced with relief as I saw Miranda, wearing something sinful involving red lace and satin, sprawled across my bed all seductive-like. A smile crawled across my lips until I looked into her eyes and saw surprise followed by hurt, and then finally disgust. Looking down at what I was wearing, it was clear the jig was up. It was too late. She’d seen my Marine uniform, and as irony would have it, there was no way to camouflage this situation.

  There would be no breaking it to her gently. No easing her into it. She now knew I was still a Marine and I had to live with the consequences.

  As she stormed out of my apartment with her clothes crumpled in her arms and tears streaming down her beautiful face, I knew I had nobody to blame but myself for her hurt and what was sure to be a future of despair without a beautiful queen by my side.

  I slumped to the floor of my bedroom and dropped my head to my camouflaged knees and fought to keep from crying like the pussy I knew I was.

  The worst part was that I knew I had nobody to blame but myself.

  ***

  I was in hell. This was no way to live. Of course I had texted and called Miranda several times after she left my apartment. I knew deep in my gut that I wouldn’t get a response, but I thought she should know that I did care and I was sorry, even if she didn’t hear or read my messages. I was truly sorry from the bottom of my sorry-ass heart, and she needed to know that I wasn’t just gonna give her space. I was gonna let her know I still cared, until she gave me a minute of her time so I could explain.

  But what would I say? Sorry, I was too much of a wuss to tell you I was still in the Marines? That wouldn’t fly, that wouldn’t get you back. You’d tell me to fuck off and not think about me ever again.

  Maybe I’ll write her an email. No, no emails. A letter, a real, honest-to-God letter, in my own handwriting, with an envelope and a stamp and everything. I’ll mail it to her house or drop it into her mailbox. Would it work? Would she swoon under my words and realize she meant the damn world to me and give me the floor for a few minutes so I could beg her forgiveness?

  “All those military men, they only want one thing…”

  It played over and over in mind, like an iPod on replay.

  “They are all players and cheaters…”

  Why did she think like this? Who had screwed her over so badly? Who had skewered her heart and crushed it until she was jaded?

  Anger washed over me. Not anger at Miranda, but whatever dickhead had done this. She was a beautiful angel and deserved the world. Not to be cheated on and left.

  Damn, was I whooped or what?

  “Lawless, second base – now!”

  The coach’s voice bolted me from my unhealthy loop of thoughts that were ruling my brain. Time to get my head back into the game. It seems between the baseball, the weekend drills, and the small web design company I was trying to keep afloat, that I wouldn’t have time to dwell on such things like a woman. But I did. She was all I thought about. A woman had never done this to me before. Even my ex, Sam. She was fun and cute, but in the end, I’d realized she wasn’t for me. In my heart, I probably knew it early on, but I had clung to the idea that we could make it work. That we were compatible – when in reality, we weren’t meant to be. Not even close. She did me wrong and was wrong for me, and I was glad I’d had a clear enough head to let her go and not wallow in the what could have beens.

  I was manning second base, but whoever hit the ball past left field was probably gonna make it to third, if not home, since my head was elsewhere, and the current third baseman was a total bonehead with personal problems not dissimilar to mine.

  To my surprise I caught the ball sailed at me from the left outfielder and sailed it to third base, hoping to knock the guy out. An adrenaline spike hit my system as the ball pounded into the third baseman’s glove, and the guy was called out.

  I smiled to myself – this was why I played. This was why I did this. This was why I didn’t have time for a girlfriend. She could hate me and there was nothing I could do about it… I may love her down to the depths of my player’s heart, but she’d have to accept it all from me, regardless.

  ***

  It had been two weeks since Miranda walked out on me. I kept myself busy as hell with work, drills, and baseball – watching it on TV and practicing. I watched old movies like Full Metal Jacket to remind why I loved the hell out of being a Marine. I watched movies like Swordfish to remind me why the inner computer nerd in me loved computers and helping those who didn’t. Then finally, I downloaded Bull Durham from Netflix, the baseball god inside of me soaring at watching a movie about a baseball player who was hot and broken over a woman. Let’s just say that it didn’t help the angst piercing my heart over Miranda. If anything, it made me hurt worse.

  It had taken me this whole time to pen a letter to M
iranda. I had typed it out on the computer, changing and revising it a million times, until I had it where I wanted it. I finally printed it, then painfully wrote it out in blue ink on lined paper like I was in high school. But I was happy with the final result and decided… screw the post office – I was gonna deliver it in person.

  Dear Miranda,

  The crushing blow to my heart is still lingering in my chest. A blow I know I deserved, and that I know you are feeling too. Not telling you I was still in the Marines was a total dick move on my part. I pussied out when I should have manned-up, and for that, I will forever pay the price.

  Yes I said “still” in the Marines. After high school, I immediately joined the United States Marine Corps. I had no doubt whatsoever that it was what I wanted to do – what I was meant to do. Like the blood that runs through my veins and the DNA that courses through it, the USMC is a part of me. I’m sorry that hurts you. I’m sorry that scares you. I’m sorry I haven’t had the nerve to tell you. If my commanding officer found out about this, he’d have my balls in a vice at this point, squeezing to the point of passing out. And I would deserve every ounce of pain.

  I did four years with them, then I got out – with a lot of angst in that decision you must know – to pursue a degree in computers, thanks to the GI Bill. I knew my parents wouldn’t be able to afford four years of schooling at a state college. And why should they? I had been 22 at the time. It was time for me to venture out on my own. The degree from San Jose State is one of my proudest accomplishments.

  But I’m more than proud to say I’ve done two tours of duty in Iraq and Afghanistan. Was that a war I agreed we should be fighting? I wasn’t sure. All I know is that the government told me to go somewhere, so I went. I saw horrible, awful – horrific things you cannot imagine, and things I will never, ever share with you. Miranda, you know I’m an open book. I will talk about anything. I think you know that, my queen. But there are horrors and atrocities that nobody should have to re-live or repeat. And I won’t. So please don’t ever ask me.