Finding Mikayla

by Samantha Christy

  “Ah, Colonel?” Mitch sticks his head in the hallway to get the colonel’s attention before he leaves. “When can I expect to get outside the gates? I’m eager to see the outside world, sir.”

  Colonel Andrews nods, sympathetic to Mitch’s memory loss. “Soon, Sergeant. You can tag along on next week’s supply run if it suits you.”

  “That will suit me fine, sir. Thank you.”

  The colonel waves goodbye to Claire through the exam room window. It doesn’t escape me that Claire gives him a wink as he leaves the clinic.

  “Mikayla,” Mitch addresses me as I re-enter the room. My eyes snap to Claire to see that, yes, her raised brow tells me that she did catch the way he used my full name. “Would you mind if I do the stitches?” he asks.

  “On your first day, Mitch? I don’t know if that’s such a good idea,” I say.

  “You know, I’m pretty good at them,” he says. “In fact, they are kind of my specialty.”

  I look at Claire to see her smiling face following our conversation. She says, “Kay, dear, let him do it. He has to prove himself sometime.”

  He quickly sanitizes his hands and puts on a pair of latex gloves. Then he holds a hand out for the syringe of lidocaine I’m holding.

  “Fine,” I say, putting the syringe in his hand. I turn to Claire and say, “But if you have an ugly scar, don’t whine to me about it.”

  “She’ll hardly have a scar at all. I’m that good,” Mitch assures both of us.

  I remove an elastic band from my wrist and secure my hair back in a ponytail so I can lean down and watch carefully. I notice Mitch staring at the nape of my neck as I gather up and tie my hair back. Then I glance over at Claire to see a large smile spread across her face.

  I watch him expertly stitch up Claire’s arm. But, I’m not about to tell him that I think he did a better job than I would have done. His head is big enough as it is without me adding to it.

  “I barely felt anything at all, Mitch. You are very talented,” Claire says. “And you have such a soft touch for a man. Don’t you think he has a soft touch, Kay?”

  “Uh . . . I guess,” I say, remembering his hands on me yesterday. I turn away so I don’t give Claire the satisfaction of my blush. I hear her quietly laugh under her breath.

  Besides Claire, Kelly Nelson was the only other person who showed up at the clinic today. Kelly thought her water broke, but it turns out she just peed her pants when she sneezed. Mitch and I got a lot accomplished thanks to the peace and quiet.

  ~ ~ ~

  I loathe sitting in the bleachers watching everyone else play softball. I hope by next week my ankle will be strong enough for me to play again. The team I play for, the ‘Civvies,’ is on the field. Of my friends, Amanda, Pam and Craig are also on the team. Austin, Tom and Holly play for the army team, as well as John and Lt. Camden, who folks teasingly call ‘Lt. Latrine.’ Mitch has joined the army team and I can’t keep my eyes from following his every move as he wears another one of his tight t-shirts and a pair of snug baseball pants, compliments of Don, who is also watching in the stands with me. I realize that watching him distracts me from missing Jeff—as wrong as that may seem.

  “Kay, I didn’t think you’d be here tonight with your injury and all,” I hear Jamie say as she makes her way to the top bleacher, not even trying to be modest in the short skirt she is wearing. I don’t recall ever seeing Jamie show up at a game. She has never indicated the slightest bit of interest in sports.

  “I still want to cheer for my team, Jamie.”

  “Oh. Well, I’ll be cheering for Army tonight,” she informs me. She turns to Don and says, “Bravo, Don. I’m assuming you outfitted that hunk of man out there?”

  I roll my eyes at the two of them so obviously ogling Mitch. But then again, am I any different? Isn’t that what I’m sitting here doing even though I’m not so vocal about it?

  Two hours later, after Army beats us by a large gap, I smile at myself wondering if my absence was the reason for the big loss. I never had time for sports before, but over the last year, I’ve taken to just about any outdoor activity I can find. I try to maneuver myself down from the second level of bleachers when one of my crutches falls out of my reach. Mitch runs over, climbs up the two steps and helps me down before retrieving the crutch for me.

  “Such a gentleman,” Jamie says coming up behind us. “And a great softball player, too.” She tries to work herself in between me and Mitch. She grabs Mitch and laces her arm around his elbow. “How about walking me over to the bonfire, Mitch?”

  He looks between the two of us. “Well, I was going to make sure Mikayla made it over there, Jamie. But you can walk with us if you’d like.”

  “It’s only a little sprain, Mitch. I’m sure Kay can make her own way over there. Austin is here to help her if she needs it. Isn’t that right, Kay?”

  Well, what am I supposed to say to that? I saw him first comes to mind. I can’t think of a plausible reason to get Mitch to walk me, so I say, “Yeah, I’m okay. I’ll just wait for Austin. You guys can go ahead.”

  I think I see a hint of confusion flash across Mitch’s face before he says, “If you’re sure, Mikayla.”

  “Yup,” I say. Then Jamie pulls him away and starts gushing about how adept he was at running the bases and pitching the softball. I shake my head and silently curse myself for the twinge of jealousy I feel as I watch them walk away arm in arm.

  ~ ~ ~

  The bonfire is in full swing when we arrive. The Oasis is packed; its outside seating area filled with adults and children. I think there must be a hundred people out on this beautiful, mild spring evening.

  Don graciously offers me his chair since the rest are occupied. Normally, I would never accept it, but my ankle is throbbing from hobbling around all day at the clinic.

  I’m not a big dancer, but sometimes the girls and I have been known to let off steam that way. But not tonight. Tonight I’m destined to be a bystander, an onlooker of the festivities, just as I was at the softball game.

  As I listen to the music, courtesy of a drummer and a few guys playing guitars, I look around to see who is here, telling myself that I’m not trying to find anyone in particular. I wave as I make eye contact with Evan, one of the men who found Mitch that first day; and Georgia, the sweet old lady who knit me a sweater last winter after I helped her husband battle a bad stomach bug. When I spy Mitch sitting next to Jamie, across the open expanse that houses the bonfire, I wonder how they are getting along. He is perusing the crowd, taking it all in. This is the first time he’s seen so many of our residents in one place. Jamie, on the other hand, is only looking at Mitch.

  “They aren’t on a date, are they?” Holly spits out behind me. I turn around to see her, Pam and Amanda along with Tom and Craig as they all stand gathered around the back of my chair.

  “No,” I say. “She kind of made him walk her over here after the softball game.”

  “Does Jamie know they aren’t on a date? ‘Cause it doesn’t seem like she does,” Holly says.

  I look back over at them and see Jamie fawning over Mitch as he looks slightly uncomfortable. When his eyes find mine, he shifts away from her and adjusts his chair so her thigh is not pressed against his. I wonder if it’s all women he doesn’t want touching him or just her.

  There is a break in the music and some people get up to visit the latrine. Others generously pass around bottles of liquor to their friends. A few soldiers sneak away to share cigarettes off to the side of the building.

  It’s fairly quiet during the break and I can hear Peter Richards, a guy from the band, ask Mitch if he plays guitar. Mitch laughs and shakes his head. “I wish,” he says. “I always wanted to learn how to play.” Then he gets a pensive look on his face while he stares at Peter’s guitar. “Uh, would you mind if I gave it a shot?”

  “No, go ahead man, I’m taking a breather.” Peter leaves his guitar with Mitch and walks away.

  Mitch picks up the guitar and places it on his th
ighs. He closes his eyes and feels the strings along the neck with the fingers of his left hand. Then he starts strumming and out comes perfectly played chords followed by a very surprised look on Mitch’s face. He immediately looks up to where I sit. He smiles and shrugs his shoulders at me. I give him an encouraging nod, hoping that this may be what jogs his memory.

  “Mitch, play us a song!” Don yells, coming back from the bathroom.

  “Okay, but cut me some slack. I’m winging it,” Mitch says, drawing a laugh from the crowd.

  He starts to play and falls into a song like he’s played it every day of his life. He closes his eyes and smiles while dozens of people jump up to dance to the catchy tune he is playing. I can see Mitch’s lips moving to the words, but I can’t hear him over all the singing voices in the crowd. A frown erases my smile when I remember that Jeff used to play guitar. It’s one of the only things he ever did outside of medicine. I’m not sure he even enjoyed it. I think he did it purely to keep the dexterity in his fingers. A surgeon’s fingers need to be strong, he would say.

  I try to remember if I ever longed for Jeff’s hands to play me just as I’m longing for Mitch’s hands to dance across my body like they are dancing across the strings of the guitar. It was different when Jeff played. He didn’t play with passion; he didn’t let the music in. But the way Mitch looks right now, it’s like the music is flowing through him, controlling him, freeing him. He looks . . . at peace. All I can think of is that I’ve never seen anything sexier than a man getting lost in music.

  The song ends and the crowd erupts with applause. Men walk by and pat him on the back. Women scream cat calls. Mitch doesn’t even look uncomfortable with all the attention. He still looks dumfounded, however, so I don’t think he has remembered anything.

  “Hey, Whiskey!” shouts a man from the crowd, referring to the nickname sometimes given to army medics, “play something slow so I can dance with my girl.”

  Mitch looks deep in thought and I wonder if he even knows what other songs he can play. After a minute of silence and crowd anticipation, he locks eyes with me and begins to play. After a few strums of the guitar I realize what song it is. I remember it from a few years ago. It’s a song about a man who has feelings for a woman, but he’s afraid to ask her to be with him. He is afraid that she will turn him away and his heart would break because he’s been burned once before. As Mitch quietly sings the lyrics, other voices pipe in and project the song for everyone to hear. I find myself unable to tear my eyes away from his. It’s like there’s a magnetic pull holding my stare to Mitch’s. I can see his lips still moving, singing the chorus about the man asking the woman to take a chance on him.

  All of a sudden it hits me and I realize that I can’t deny it any longer. I want him. I want him so badly, my body is shivering. I may even need him. I’m drawn to him like I’ve never been to anyone or anything before.

  My eyes become blurry as an image of Jeff races through my mind. The spell is broken when someone spills drops of liquid onto my hands and I break our stare. I look into my lap only to realize that tears had slipped from my eyes. I feel like I’ve betrayed Jeff merely with my thoughts. I reach around to grab my crutches and hobble away before the song is even over.

  Holly walks along after me. “Kay? Are you alright? What was that back there?”

  I stop and quickly wipe my eyes. “What do you mean?” I ask, trying to sound like I wasn’t just crying.

  “Well, Jamie was looking at Mitch and John was looking at you, but you and Mitch couldn’t pull your eyes away from each other. Hell, there were so many pheromones oozing from you two that I think everyone here will get laid tonight.” She laughs. “I don’t even think Mitch noticed that Jamie left in a huff halfway through the song. He sure as shit noticed when you got up, though. I think he only stayed put when he saw me come after you.”

  I remain quiet so she studies my face in the moonlight. “Oh, crap, Kay. Are you crying? What’s the matter?”

  “I don’t know, Hol. I’m having all these feelings that I don’t want to be having. I feel like a terrible person. I don’t know what to do.”

  She nods her head at me in understanding. Then she pulls me into a hug. “You sleep on it, Kay. Then you do what feels right. You do what your heart tells you to do.”

  Chapter Nine

  For the second night in a row, I can’t sleep. I quietly get up and leave the apartment to do the one thing that I know will help my insomnia.

  I slowly make my way across the parking lot, carefully placing my crutches so I don’t fall down. When I get over to the courtyard and approach my usual spot, I see movement on the grass. Someone is there.

  Damn. I turn around to head back inside when I hear. “Mikayla?” My heart skips a beat when the low familiar voice speaks to me.

  “Sorry, I didn’t mean to bother you,” I say. “Uh, how did you know it was me?”

  “You’re not bothering me, Mikayla.” Mitch stands up and walks over to me. “Your crutches squeak every time you put weight on them. You can’t sneak up on anyone using those things.” He laughs. “Do you need help getting to the latrines or something?”

  “No. I was just, um . . . I was uh . . . coming out to look at the stars,” I say, sure that he will find my pastime ridiculously silly.

  “You’re kidding,” he says.

  “I know. It’s stupid, but it relaxes me. They are so bright without any street lights to obscure them. You should try it sometime.”

  “What do you think I was doing out here?” He smiles.

  “Really?” I didn’t mean to sound so surprised that a man—a man in the army no less—would take the time to appreciate such things.

  “I started doing it on my first tour. It’s so dark over there. No street lights. No illumination from a nearby city. Just darkness, dotted with incredible stars and constellations. It was the only way I found calm in the madness.”

  I find myself wondering just who this man is and why is he turning my world upside down.

  “Come here,” he says, gently tugging on one of my crutches. “Lie down with me. The sky is so clear tonight and I’d hate for you to miss out.”

  I sit down and put my crutches to the side. I lay my head back and look up at the beautiful night sky. We don’t talk, but I’m painfully aware of his presence mere inches from me. I can hear him breathe. I can hear the grass rustle when he moves his leg. I can hear the hitch of his breath when I move my arm and it brushes against his.

  Finally, our silence is broken when he asks, “So how did you come to be at Camp Brady? You weren’t living here when you were in residency, were you?”

  My mind goes back to March 31st of last year. It’s a day I try not to think about. The death, the destruction, the sheer panic.

  He must sense my hesitation. “It’s okay, Mikayla, you don’t have to talk about it if you don’t want to.”

  I contemplate not telling him my story. Then I feel guilty because I have memories of that day while Mitch has none. He woke up in a transformed world unaware of what happened to him or those he loves. So, for the first time in almost a year, I tell my story.

  “No, I didn’t live here. When Jeff joined the Army Reserve several years ago, they put him through training. I think the training scared him a little because that’s when he started talking about disasters and how we would deal with them. Hurricanes, acts of war, terrorism—joining the army made all of those seem like real possibilities to him. So one day, he sat me down and told me that if anything like that ever happened when we were apart, I was to go to Camp Brady and he would find me there. It was only about forty miles from Gainesville where we lived. He knew they would have emergency supplies and means to care for people. But I never really took it seriously. I was young. I never thought anything like that would happen to us. A bad hurricane maybe, we do live in Florida, but beyond that, I couldn’t imagine.”

  “Jeff was smart to prepare you,” Mitch says. I look over to see him on his side, propped up on
his elbow. A piece of hair falls into my eyes and he reaches out to brush it behind my ear. That small movement, that tiny gesture, has my heart racing and blood pumping in my ears.

  I look back at the night sky and continue my story. “It was early on Easter morning and I was getting ready to go to the hospital. I had volunteered to work the holiday. The thought of all the kids in pediatrics getting a visit from the Easter Bunny . . .” I stop talking because I can no longer get words past the lump in my throat. God, I haven’t thought about this in so long. I’d completely blocked it from my mind.

  I feel Mitch’s finger wipe a tear that escaped my eye and was rolling down the side of my head. I take a deep breath and tell him, “When everything went dark—the lights, my laptop, my cell phone—and the world got eerily quiet, I went outside my apartment where others had started gathering. Of course we thought it was just an outage, but a neighbor said that an outage wouldn’t render all our phones dead and useless. Then it happened.” I close my eyes as I tell him the rest. “The explosion. We heard the loud popping noises as transformers sparked everywhere. People screamed as a plume of smoke and fire mushroomed in the sky only a short distance away. It was the hospital. I know now that the solar flares caused an electrical surge that sparked fires all over the place. But the hospital, with all the oxygen tanks, just exploded. Gone . . . in the blink of an eye.

  “We were all speechless, stunned, in shock even. A short time later, people came running from that direction saying it was all gone. There was nothing left of it but fire and rubble. A few men told the group of us that we were probably under attack and that it was nuclear weapons that rendered all electronics useless. They said we should find our families and prepare for the worst. When I saw a plane fall from the sky and realized all but a few cars had stopped moving on the street, I remembered what Jeff said. Knowing it would be pointless for me to even try to help at the hospital, I went into my apartment and gathered up a few things.