Quicksand

by Dyllan J. Erikson

  ~Raiden~

  “Get up Raid, too fucking early to be dealing with this shit, man.” Weston kicks my cot jostling me out of an uncomfortable sleep.

  “Yeah, man, I feel it.” I sit up, swinging my legs over the side to slip on my boots, feeling the grit of sand on my tongue. I’ll never get used to the taste of sand, no matter what you do it always ends up right there, grinding between your teeth.

  I take my time lacing up my boots, wondering if when I’m stateside again, it’ll go away or if it’ll be with me forever. The sand like a memory you can’t shake, this place will stay with me. Too many brothers have fallen. Too many live with those memories you can’t avoid from battle, so suffocating that you can practically see it clawing at them from the inside. No one knows how it feels but us. Those of us out in the deep shit, out there fighting and getting that blood on our hands and having to wash it away knowing it came from either the enemy or your best friend.

  “Yo, Raiden you coming or what? I don’t have all day to wait on your ass!” I hear Weston yell from outside the tent. Impatient as ever, but my best friend no matter what.

  “Yeah man, I’m coming just let me get my head on first!” I shout back, shaking my head. Always riding my ass that one, but he’s a good guy. I respect him and he respects me, we get some good banter going, have to keep things light or this place will swallow you whole and spit out nothing but your bones. Swatting open the flaps of our tent I make my way to the mess hall. A little food, a little coffee and I will be at least halfway functioning.

  “Hey Michaels, it’s your turn to dick around on the computer before we head out for the day.” Gage – one of my platoon brothers- nudges me in the shoulder, a twinkle in his eye, like I’m gonna spend my time with the comm jerking it like he does. No thank you. Not my style. I’d rather have the real thing wrapped around me, not some cyber chick.

  “Thanks, man, gonna head over now then.” I grab my coffee and drain it in two gulps, it’s shit, but at least it’s something to get me going – you learn quickly in the desert that you take what you can get and shut up about it. I stomp over and into the comm tent, my boots kicking up dust. I grab the stool that’s entirely too small for my big frame and start up the computer. It’s a wonder this thing even works, like I said before - the sand gets everywhere.

  Clicking open my email, I see the usual. Only a couple spam messages, one from my mom and one I don’t recognize. Huh. Norwegianbeauty? I raise my eyebrows confused as all hell. Sounds like a sex offer site and I will not be buying that shit. I go to move it into the trash but stop when I read the subject line, “For Whatever Reason I am Writing You.” That doesn’t sound like a sex for hire site.

  “Hi,

  I’m not really sure what to start off with… Well, I guess I’ll take a shot at it. My name is Elli, pronounced Ellie.”

  That’s different, why is some chick named Elli emailing me? Reading on, my hands tighten into fists on the desk on either side of the computer. This girl… this woman sounds wounded, she sounds screwed up to be perfectly honest. What would she get out of writing me? “They said to reach out to someone who knows what Garrett went through. Reach out to someone who knows what a soldier feels like.”

  This really doesn’t sound good. “With the knowledge their husband didn’t want to exist with her in this world anymore? Why am I asking you this…?” And then she tore my heart right out of my chest with how she signed it…. “The Veteran’s Widow.”

  Fuck me running. I don’t know if I’ve ever read anything like that.. Made me feel like her whole situation is now my problem is what it did. I look down, realizing my knuckles are turning white with how clenched they are. Her husband killed himself. It sounds like PTSD, and the thought of PTSD taking another soldier nearly sends me into a blind rage. When a soldier comes home they should have the help they need, the help they deserve, this shit just shouldn’t happen!

  I can’t even reply to her right now, or if I can at all, it’s just hitting a little too close to home. I shut the computer down and use my rage to propel me out of the tent with The Veteran’s Widow on my mind and already a fair amount of sand in my boots.

  ~Elli~

  I open my eyes and I see the stars. Not the sky, just the old cheap plastic glow in the dark stars on my ceiling that dim with every passing moment. I feel at times those poor fading stars are a metaphor for me, slowly losing their light, only tethered to this world by a small sticky part that just refuses to unstick.

  I grunt, I should probably get up. I roll over to face my fur baby and rub Dahlia behind her bat-like ears. My furry partner in crime is one of the only things truly keeping me in this world. My parents would probably miss me…and Jen of course. What it really comes down to is that I’m just not that desperate yet. I know my light is dimmed and trying to leave me but something about inflicting the pain I feel because of Garrett on my family and best friend just feels too cruel.

  I drag myself out of bed and move toward the hallway, hearing Dahlia flop off the bed. The sound of her pads slapping the floor follows me through the house to the kitchen where she knows there is food to be had. Dahlia was my birthday present a year before Garrett died, he surprised me with a beautiful and fierce German Shepard puppy that had my heart from the instant I laid eyes on her. We absolutely fell in love with each other, and the bond has only strengthened now that it’s just us two.

  I lean my hip up against the counter watching her hastily scarf her food and breathe deep, searching for the strength that I know is there to make it through another day. From beside me on the counter, my phone beeps with a message alert. Jen, my best friend in the world. Ugh, I wish that pain in my ass would be a pain in my ass another day, not today, I just don’t have the energy for her. I swipe up my phone and read, “Hey girl, spa day this weekend my treat, okay? Don’t you even try to bail; I will kick your sexy little ass clear to next Sunday.”

  I chuckle, she’s pushy and blunt but even feeling as empty as I do, I can’t not smile at her efforts. I tap out a reply and try at least a little to sound like I care if I have a spa day or not. To be honest, I stopped giving a shit about pampering myself. I can’t remember the last time I paid any mention to my appearance. I just don’t really try anymore. I just don’t see the point.

  I look across the kitchen into the living room where I can see myself in my full-length mirror. I wasn’t able to keep food down for a few months after I found Garrett so my normally plump curves have deflated a bit into a toned but smaller version of myself. My eyes cast up to my blonde hair that has lost its shine but grown to fall just under my shoulder blades. My eyes, those are what bother me the most. Though they are an arctic blue, they just seem…lifeless. They roll at the thought, I know firsthand what lifeless eyes look like- how morbid- and… mine only have a pinch more life in them than that.

  I look away from the mirror and try my best to clear my thoughts. A blank slate for a new day, anything is possible and all that jazz. I shuffle to the back door to let Dahlia out now that she’s done scarfing her food, then sit back on a stool at the counter and run my fingers over my face. It’s a nasty little habit I’ve formed, having my face hidden makes me feel safe, then maybe people won’t notice me and I can stay in my hurt bubble and mope. I hear the telltale alert of my phone again, but when I go to check it I notice instead of my adorable yet annoying best friend it’s an email…

  To: Norwegianbeauty@gmail.com

  From: usmcraider1@gmail.com

  Subject: Sand

  Hey Elli,

  I don’t really know where to start after reading all that.

  But I guess I can tell you my name is Raiden. I am a soldier in the United States Marines, stationed near Baghdad Iraq. It is a hot fucking disaster over here and if I had it my way I would be on a beach enjoying the only sand that I don’t loathe with the ocean coming right up to my chair.

  You like the beach, Elli? I used to go all the time when I was stateside, there’s nothing like it.
/>   What’s your dog’s name? What breed? I guess I’m askin’ you these questions to get your mind off of everything for a minute. Because honestly, all I could picture while reading your email was a broken woman. A broken woman spreading her cracked and bleeding pieces out on a table and poking at them.

  Don’t. If there is anything I can say is, don’t poke at the pieces, Elli, they’ll just cut you deeper.

  This is my third tour in this hell hole, and you said be safe if it’s an option…Sometimes it is, sometimes it isn’t but I have a damn good group of men around me and I do what I gotta do and come back to base.

  I don’t know how you feel, Veteran’s Widow, but I know what it feels like to lose someone, to walk into it, see it firsthand… That’s something I wish you wouldn’t have gone through; I wouldn’t wish it on anyone. But I know. I hope that helps because it’s all I can offer. You said you were “stupidly” following advice in writing to me. Well, Elli, I’m glad you did...

  -Raiden

  My lungs are burning with the breath I didn’t realize I was holding in. My eyes finish trailing over his name, Raiden. The name sounds so masculine to me, so strong and noble. I let my eyes close slowly and try to regain some kind of grip on myself. I haven’t talked to a man in two years, save for my dad and that’s few and far between. My phone feels like lead in my hand, the weight of his words taking away some of the weight that was sitting on my chest. I take my palm and rub it against my sternum, feeling how hot my skin is under the thin T-shirt I’m wearing.

  I hear what I imagine his voice is, strong and deep, whispering to me, “Don’t poke at the pieces Elli, they’ll just cut you deeper.”

  Is that what I’ve been doing? Laying it all out there and forcing myself through a personal hell comparable to the real thing?

  Sick self-torture?

  Would it be so bad to just let myself move on?

  Would it help?

  My phone still sits heavy in my hand, Raiden’s words still there on the screen, giving me strength I didn’t know I had.

  What is happening right now? I lock the screen and set it gently on my tile countertop, breathing in and out, letting in everything I try not to let myself feel. What is it about his reply that is making me want to open up? Basic human interaction with someone who doesn’t know me, and doesn’t know my story is refreshing. It’s almost thrilling to be able to talk to someone and have them not pity me, he made me think about other things than my crushing guilt and sadness. Do I feel hopeful? Do I feel better? Will this email actually help me and now Jen will never drop it? Who knows. Sitting there and thinking it over, I feel some of those broken and cracked pieces inside me shift back, just a fraction, out of my heart as a smile ghosts my lips.

  What a way to start my day.

  ~Raiden~

  Sitting back on the stool after having just written what I hoped to be a reassuring email, I angrily scrub my hands down my face.

  How can this woman have gone through something I can only imagine as terribly tragic? She didn’t go into detail about what this Garrett did or what she walked in on but it clearly had horrific stamped all over it.

  Ding.

  I peek through my fingers at the sound of this ancient computer and see an email from Elli. She already emailed me back, right after I sent my reply. My pulse thunders through my ears, I have absolutely no idea what to expect here, but I can barely open it fast enough.

  To: usmcraider1@gmail.com

  From: norwegianbeauty@gmail.com

  Subject: The Beach

  Raiden,

  I won’t say thank you just yet because the pain I deal with every day is unimaginable. But reading your words of comfort and support coming from someone I haven’t met…meant more to me than anything has in a long time.

  I do like the beach and I do love the sand. Though I can safely assume this sand I love is different than the sand you’re surrounded by. Which is why you said you loathe it, I’m assuming again that the sand in Iraq is much different than in the U.S.

  I feel selfish writing you because now that I know your situation, I realize I truly have more to be thankful for than I am, even if I haven’t been appreciating it

  Why three tours? Voluntary? Garrett only did… you know what? I can’t, not yet. I’m not going to talk about him, not even going to mention him again.

  Tell me about what made your days on the beach so special? I need something to distract me from…. from feeling like I’m drowning.

  My German Shepard is a two-year-old spoiled brat. Her name is Dahlia because dahlias are my favorite flower. Interesting I know. Some Marine in Iraq is getting told about favorite flowers, thrilling I’m sure, ha.

  Stay safe,

  -Elli

  I read the email for the fifth time listening to my heart pound erratically in my ears. She responded… She said my words meant something to her, that they helped her somehow.

  I can’t remember the last time I felt like this, happy to help someone who isn’t one of my brothers. Happy to help some woman I don’t know from Eve.

  I wonder what she looks like. I let my eyes drift closed, trying to imagine what Elli looks like. Something about the sarcastic, funny comment about me learning her favorite flower makes me think she’s intelligent and witty. I bet she’s fucking stunning, with a personality like that. It’s messed up I guess but I have a feeling this wounded beauty is just that, a beauty.

  “Michaels, where are you!?” Roused from my thoughts, I hear Weston shouting somewhere close to the comm tent. I close the computer and for the second time in not so many days, walk out into the hot air with thoughts of the Veteran’s Widow on my mind and today the sand in my boots doesn’t bother me as much.

  ~Elli~

  “Would you stop staring at me like that, Jen?” I playfully scowl in my best friend’s direction while she just keeps staring at me. She’s been like this since she picked me up twenty minutes ago, it is for sure pissing me off and not just because she is driving and not paying attention to the road. “Girlfriend, you are wearing makeup. You haven’t worn even a little mascara in two whole years.” She says this with an air of astonishment as if me wearing makeup is the biggest thing to ever happen.

  I glance down at my hands clutching my phone like it’s going to suddenly fly out of my hands and smirk just a little. “OH MY GOSH, E you’re smiling!” I can almost feel the sonic blast from Jen’s shrieking.

  “OUCH Jennifer, what the hell is wrong with you!?” I giggle and shake my head, my hair falling in front of my eyes, another shield I put up when life feels a little too close. I like to pretend I live in a bubble of grief and hiding from life becoming normal again is just what I do. I guess it is kind of a big deal, she hasn’t seen me make any effort to be anyone but a broken woman in what feels like forever. I really did try once, I used to love getting primped up and polished with her and hitting the clubs, dancing the night away.

  I sit back for a bit and breathe deep, I feel good. For the first time in quite a while, I feel just a little more okay than I have been. Today I woke up and just felt like I could breathe a little deeper than I have in the past two years, not that I will ever get over the pain of losing Garrett, But, you know what? Mascara won’t kill me.

  I feel Jen side eyeing me again so I turn my full attention to her, twisting around in my seat. I level her gaze, knowing she has something to say and won’t let me be until she gets it out.

  “Honey, I don’t know what happened to bring this on but…I am so glad it did.” She gets watery at the last part and reaches out for my hand, which of course I take in my own because I didn’t want her to cry because of me.

  “Jen, you are my best friend and I know I haven’t been here,” gesturing around me, “in two years, but I finally feel like making an effort again. .” I turn back forward and give her a glance seeing she is full on grinning at me. So I grin back. A week ago I wouldn’t have even smirked and it feels amazing.

  We spend hours at the spa, havin
g massages, manicures and pedicures and Jen even talked me in to having a makeover done. Although that might have been the bottle of wine we went through. When she dropped me off at home I grabbed a beer from the fridge and settled into the couch. Garrett’s favorite beer to be exact. I never liked it when he was alive but there’s just something comforting about tasting something he loved. I let the rich deep flavor wash over my senses. It’s almost like he’s here with me again, a small way to connect with him.

  The last year when he came off tour was…. devastating. He just no longer resembled the man I married, the man who would do anything for me and would die before ever hiding anything from me. No, he was a stranger that I shared a bed with and it tore me apart. Every. Single. Day.

  I take another sip and lean my head back, my blonde hair spreading out across the back of the couch. How could I have not known something was seriously wrong? Was I blind?

  No, shaking my head back and forth in pain and frustration. No, I knew something was off, I knew it when I looked into my husband’s deep green eyes. I fucking knew it. But he wouldn’t talk to me and every time I tried to bring up the tour, he would snap at me. My Garrett never snapped at me. He was loving and attentive, he was forthcoming and he absolutely worshipped me.

  I don’t know that it is fully my fault for what happened, or that I should be blaming myself but I don’t honestly know how not to. He was my responsibility. That’s what happens in a marriage, you become each other’s responsibility.

  I slip into my memories, clutching the bottle tighter. Let the hurt consume you, Elli, give in to it. I let my memories burn me with the white-hot fire that is always right under the surface. I let myself see his face, his big bushy beard his smiling lips under it, his green eyes looking at me adoringly. I smile at that memory using one hand to rub my chest where my heart used to be, remembering how it felt to be looked at like I was truly the only thing on this Earth that made any sense.