by W. H. Vega
Even after all this time, I’ve never stopped being wary of those peaks. When you start to get comfortable around here, that’s when you know that you’re in trouble. The second you start to feel OK about this environment, that’s the second where you make a deadly, irreversible mistake. There’s no such thing as being safe in a war. And those who forget that pay the ultimate price.
Moving quietly, so as not to rouse my fellow soldiers, I set off in search of something to put in my stomach. It takes some rummaging, but I manage to whip myself up a cup of coffee. Not exactly the diner breakfast I used to enjoy as a kid, but it will do for now. It’ll have to.
I sink down onto the hard ground and sip my bitter brew. It’s hard to believe that, come tomorrow morning, this corner of the world will be a permanent part of my past. I’ve been a solider for so long now that I’ve almost forgotten what came before. Being here has changed me so much that it almost feels as though the rest of my life happened to someone else entirely. And in my case, that’s just as well.
It’s hard to believe that I’m the same guy who spent the better part of his childhood bouncing from one shitty foster home to another. I’m the same guy whose parents would have gladly sold him for some smack and a bottle of whiskey. I’m the same guy who finally found a family of sorts in three other reject kids, then ruined everything by losing his head one night before Christmas. I’m the same guy who found a girl he loved, a girl who loved him for who he really was, only to lose her forever.
I shake my head, dislodging those familiar, poisonous thoughts before they take hold. No way am I gonna spend this entire day feeling sorry for myself. Today is about saying goodbye to the war, or at least my involvement in it. I can’t be dwelling on everything I’ve done wrong in the past. God knows, that laundry list would last well longer than twenty four hours.
Heavy footprints plod across the ground behind me just as the sun peers over the horizon. I feel a broad hand slap my shoulder, and look up to see my best friend in the world blinking down at me sleepily.
“The fuck are you awake for?” Garrick grumbles, sitting down beside me.
“Couldn’t sleep, I guess,” I tell him, staring straight ahead.
“More nightmares, huh?” he asks.
“Yeah,” I admit, my voice gruff. I know that he’s just trying to look out for me, but this game of twenty questions is already getting on my nerves. “You all packed and everything?” I ask, changing the subject.
“What’s there to pack?” he laughs, shaking out his shaggy hair, “Everything I own is waiting for me back at Monica’s place.”
“I thought she dumped your sorry ass?” I say.
“Well yeah,” Garrick admits, “But she was nice enough not to burn my shit before I got back, I guess.”
“That’s nice of her,” I say, “Considering your lack of gentlemanly—”
“What was I supposed to do, man?” Garrick groans, “We were on leave, they were twins. You wouldn’t take one of them off my hands. I had no choice.”
“Sure,” I say, “Whatever helps you sleep at night.”
“That won’t be a problem, soon enough,” Garrick says, stretching out his long, burly arms. “Think about it, man. Next time we fall asleep, we’ll be doing it stateside. There’s something real nice about that, right?”
“I guess so,” I say, “I don’t know. Doesn’t make much of a difference to me.”
“Seriously?” Garrick says, “The whole our-lives-not-being-in-danger thing doesn’t do anything for you?”
“Last time I checked, our lives were in just as much danger back in Chicago as they are right here.”
“Now you’re just exaggerating,” Garrick mumbles, not entirely convinced of his own rightness.
He knows full well that I have a point. Things back in the States were never exactly rosy for Garrick and me. We were foster brothers, once—half of the quartet that came to feel like the only family I’d ever known. The two of us were so close to being free of the foster system when everything went to shit.
We’d been staying with this abusive alcoholic couple, Paul and Nancy Daniels, when things got out of control. As our two foster sisters started growing up, Paul started crossing the line with them over and over again. Finally, after Nancy abandoned ship, he went too far. Paul had already been harassing our littlest sister, Conway, but one night he tried to do something truly heinous to Nadia. My Nadia. Or at least, she might have been mine if I hadn’t beaten Paul so badly that he...never recovered.
Things probably wouldn’t have gone so badly for Garrick and I if it hadn’t been for the drugs. When the cops showed up to see what had happened between Paul and me, they found more than enough weed and booze to press some possession charges against me and Garrick. My public defender managed to keep the word “murder” out of my trial, but Garrick and I both got sent to juvie for a slew of other things.
Truth be told, prison wasn’t so different than most of the foster homes I’d been in. Once I learned how to stop thinking about Nadia day in and day out, the year I spent back there was almost bearable. It was getting out again that really sucked.
I was released right before my eighteenth birthday, so at least I never had to spend time with the criminals who were all grown up. Problem was, of course, that I found myself on the brink of adulthood with a criminal record and no practical skills. I’d gotten my GED while I served my time, at least. But with no family, no place to stay, and no career path to speak of, things were looking pretty bleak for me.
It was Garrick who suggested that we get back to dealing for a while, just until we got on our feet. I went along with his plan, for lack of any other option. We worked real low-level shit for some big shot dealer, but I realized pretty quickly that the drug trade was not something I wanted to get wrapped up in.
Just before we got too far in to escape, Garrick and I got our asses out of there and started thinking up new ways to get by. We were partners in and out of crime, and helped each other through those first few years after juvie. Everything in the world we had, we shared—our apartment, our ride, our odd jobs that kept us going. We did everything together. Which meant that when I had the brilliant idea to enlist, Garrick was on board before I even had to ask him.
At first, joining the Marines was just a scheme, a way to get by while doing something respectable. But once we arrived in Afghanistan, there was no way to ride out our time without a care. I learned pretty quickly that there was no “taking it easy” when it comes to war. Either you give one hundred percent, or you don’t live to tell the tale. Hell, sometimes even giving one hundred percent doesn’t guarantee you safe passage.
Some of the people around me took to military duty like they were born for it. There were some among us who got a thrill from being in combat, from diving into the line of fire, even from killing someone they’d decided was a “bad guy”. But that was never me. If I could have gone my entire three tours without having to raise my gun, I would have. I could never look at someone who was supposed to be my enemy and see anything other than another human being who's fighting their enemy. I’ve taken lives here, and I know that I’ll never be OK with that.
“Hey. You still awake in there?” Garrick asks, rapping his knuckles against my skull. My honorary brother has always been something of a giant, but since becoming a soldier, his enormity is only more pronounced. His already tall frame is now racked with solid muscle, his shaggy beard and hair complete the mountain man look perfectly.
It’s hard to believe that this is the same baby-faced kid who used to smoke weed and listen to Biggie with me in the Daniels’ basement. I wonder what my little foster sister Conway would think of Garrick now. She always had a little crush on him, but I wonder if even a non-existent mother could love a beard like that?
“I was just thinking,” I grumble, knocking Garrick’s hand away.
“What about?”
“Being back home,” I shrug.
“You’ve got a place set up, right?�
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“Yeah, I managed to figure something out,” I say, “It’s nothing special. Just a little one bedroom in the city.”
“Glad you’re coming back to Chicago with me,” Garrick says, “I’m gonna need a drinking buddy, now that the lady friend has kicked me to the curb.”
“Damn straight,” I grin, “You know I’m good for that.”
“And if we see anyone we know, we’ll be able to tell them something really badass. Like, ‘Dude, I was in the war’. Shit,” Garrick says, his eyes wide.
I laugh, shaking my head. No one would recognize Garrick, even if we had any friends waiting for us back in the city. Me, on the other hand, someone from the past might be able to pick out of a crowd. Not too much about my appearance has changed since I was seventeen. Sure, I’m much stronger, much bigger. My jaw sports a little more scruff, my sandy hair is a little shorter. But my face, my eyes, they’re still the same. I think they were pretty old even when I was young.
An unlikely daydream springs into my mind as I watch the sun rise over the desert. I imagine being home, at a neighborhood dive bar somewhere in the city. Garrick pops outside for a smoke, and I’m left alone at the bar. As I take another swig of whiskey, I catch sight of two big brown eyes peering at me through the mirrored wall behind the bar. Every cell in my body tightens. A smile breaks open beneath those beautiful eyes, and Nadia reaches up to tuck a strand of golden hair behind her ear...
“Garrick,” I say suddenly, “Do you ever...? Uh. Think about trying to get in touch with the girls?”
“I don’t think about much else besides getting to touch girls,” he cackles.
“No,” I press, “I’m talking about our girls. Conway and Nadia. You ever wonder about them at all?”
Garrick’s smile hardens on his face. “Jesus. Blast from the past,” he says, “What made you think of them, all of a sudden?”
“It’s not really all of a sudden,” I tell him, “I mean...they’re always kind of on my mind, you know? Not like, on the forefront or anything. But I wonder where they’re at now, is all.”
“Conway used to send me birthday cards,” Garrick says, his eyes going fuzzy, “For a couple of years after we got pulled out of the Daniels’ place.”
“She ever say what she was up to? Or where Nadia—”
“Nah,” Garrick says, “They were always pretty short notes. I don’t know if she ever forgave me for leaving her there alone.”
“It’s not like you had a choice. It’s not like either of us—”
“No. I know,” Garrick says quickly. Our arrest is not something that we ever discuss. The truth is, Garrick didn’t need to take the fall for anything that night. He could have easily let me shoulder the burden, and I would have done it gladly. But instead, he turned himself in. He stuck by me every step of the way. And our little sisters? They were left to fend for themselves.
“I like to imagine that they’re happy,” Garrick goes on, a faint, sad smile creeping across his lips. “Like...Maybe Conway found some boring dude, with a good job and a dog, to marry. Nice dude. Little house. Maybe a kid or two. And maybe Nadia went to college and became a doctor or something. She would make a bomb ass doctor, don’t you think?”
“Yeah,” I agree, “That she would.”
“Guess we’ll never know for sure, though,” Garrick says, digging the toe of his boot into the sand.
“Why’s that?” I ask.
“What do you mean, why?” Garrick asks, “It’s not like we can go looking them up on Facebook, or something. After what happened to all of us? Reaching out now would just be mean. Like, ‘Hey girls! Thought you might like a nice reminder of how shitty our lives have been. So, howdy doody’?”
“It wouldn’t have to be like that,” I say.
“But it would,” Garrick insists, “Trust me. They’re better off without us in their lives. I love you like a brother, Trace, but you know as well as I do that we’re trouble. Conway and Nadia were always way too sweet to be hanging around with us. Even though Conway pretended to be tough as shit. I mean, look at us. Ex-cons, dealers, now killers?”
“We’re not killers,” I say fiercely, “We’re soldiers.”
“I know that, and you know that,” Garrick says, “But are you sure that Nadia would see it that way?”
His question catches me right below the ribs. I have to admit that I’ve been fantasizing about getting in touch with Nadia with alarming frequency these days. Being in the middle of all this chaos, all this death and destruction, has forced me to realize what and who I truly care about. And in all my life, the only people I’ve ever cared about are Conway, and Garrick...and Nadia.
“It was just a thought,” I say quietly, pulling myself to standing.
“Don’t be mad,” Garrick says, standing up beside me, “I’m just being straight with you.”
“I know,” I tell him, “You always are.”
All around us, the camp is rousing itself from sleep. Our fellow Marines are walking with bouncing steps today. Everyone is excited to get on the plane home, to see spouses and parents and children. Me, I’m pretty stoked to have a decent burger and a beer, but that’s about as far as my enthusiasm goes.
As Garrick and I turn to collect what few things we have here, the distant sound of gunfire rings out across the valley. Everyone around me tenses, ready to go to battle in an instant. By now, we’re well-versed in danger. There’s still fear, and plenty of it, but we scarcely let it show.
As the explosions peter off, we begin to move once more. But the enthusiastic energy in the air has been dampened. Even though I don’t have anyone to go home to, being Stateside will still beat the hell out of this place. After three tours, I’ve had my fill of this brand of violence, thanks very much. I’d take whatever’s waiting back in the city any day.
Our final day flies by in a flurry of activity. Those of us heading home at long last hurry to tie up our loose ends, say whatever goodbyes we wish to, and make what shaky peace we can with this place. The intricacies and nuances of this war are so hard to grasp, especially from the front lines. I feel so removed from all the politics of America’s involvement here that any talk of motives and power plays just goes right over my head. In my mind, this has always been my battle to fight. It’s strange to finally be leaving.
We pile into the plane, those of us shipping off for home, and watch as our camp falls away beneath us. I don’t feel attached to the compound itself, just as I’ve never felt attached to any place I’ve ever lived. I realized long ago that I wasn’t born to stay in one place. I’ve been whipping around this world like a leaf on the wind my entire life, and I figure that’s the way I’ll always be. Settling down, finding a wife, starting a family...those are plot points in someone else’s story. Someone kinder, and smarter, and better than me.
Garrick and I hang back as our fellow Marines exit the plane, so many hours later. Let them savor the moment of seeing their loved ones once again. The two of us are all we have in the world, after all. And it’s not like that’s such a tragedy. Some people don’t even find one other person on this god forsaken rock they can trust.
I watch through the window as soldier after soldier is reunited with his or her family. Just before I step off the plane, I turn to Garrick and mutter, “Jesus. I need a fucking drink.”
Chapter Three
Trace
Stateside
“Oh, wow,” breathes the young blonde beside me at the bar, “You were over there for, like, years.”
“That’s right,” Garrick says, smiling at the raven-haired beauty at his side. “Three tours. Hell of a long time.”
“I think it’s so wonderful that you sacrificed so much for this country,” the brunette says, her voice rasping sexily.
“Just doing our duty,” Garrick winks.
“It’s not like we had any kind of lives to sacrifice,” I say, taking a long swing of my beer.
“What do you mean?” my blonde admirer asks. I catch Garrick shaking
his head at me desperately, trying to get me to shut up. But his anxiety only eggs me on.
“Garrick and I are hardened criminals,” I say, adopting the cheeriest voice I can mutter.
The girls break into nervous laughter, trying to determine whether or not I'm kidding. I warned Garrick that I wouldn’t be a great wing man tonight, but I don’t think he counted on me being this bad. But I just can’t help it. Somehow, the idea of scoring some chicks by bragging about our service just rubs me in all the wrong ways.
“So I guess you’re the joker of the bunch, huh?” the blonde asks me.
“Nothing funny about our pasts, I can assure you,” I smile, “Garrick and I, we have seen some shit. We grew up in the foster system together.”
“That must have been terrible,” says Garrick’s brunette, laying her slender hands on his muscular forearm.
“It was,” Garrick says, giving the girl his best puppy dog eyes. “But I think all that suffering made me a better, more compassionate man. You know?”
“Oh, totally,” sighs the girl on his arm.
“Oh, please,” I mutter, rolling my eyes.
“Can we buy you girls another drink?” Garrick offers, steamrolling my cynicism.
“Sure!” chirps the blonde, slipping her arm through mine, “I’ll take whatever you guys are having.”
“Whiskey. Neat,” I say firmly.
The girl’s smile falls. “OK...Maybe just a margarita for me.”
“Coming up,” Garrick says, flagging down the bartender. He and his dark haired lady friend move off down the bar, leaving me to entertain Windy City Barbie here on my own. It’s not that I feel rusty or out of practice with women. I just can’t muster up the energy to care. I shift away from her, freeing my arm from her grasp. The girl’s light brows knit in hurt and concern, and I brace myself for the backlash.
“I’m sorry that you’re hurting,” she says quietly, taking me off guard.
“Wh-what?” I stammer.
“I don’t mean to throw myself at you. You’re probably not in the mood. I get it. A couple of guys from my home town went off to fight in the war, after 9/11. It’s not the kind of shit you bounce back from.”
