Mason
The road to misery is paved with good intentions. It’s been forty-one days, six hours, and fifty-two minutes since Kiran left. She didn’t even say good-bye. Well, she did to Molly, but not to me. She went to the hotel the night of our fight. She met Dana at the airport the next day. I only know that because Dana told me, although she refuses to offer any details of their conversation. Dana is beyond pissed at me. Even Molly, who continues to do her job with total professional efficiency, doesn’t seem all that happy with her master. Not even when I offer her a cut of my steak. No sir, all the women in my life think I’m a jerk.
I keep busy so the days don’t seem endless. I make it a point to go to the track and run every morning at least ten miles. In the evenings, I weed around Gram’s jasmine shrub, trying to rip prickly thorns out of the ground. I’ve neglected it for so long I’m pretty sure it’ll die soon. I take my therapy sessions more seriously now. I finally accept that I have PTSD, something I denied since the beginning. I talk about Kiran to Dr. Green, a former Marine himself. He reiterates the same stuff he’s always telling me about negative coping, but I pay attention this time. Negative coping is using quick fixes that make a situation worse. Symptoms include avoidance, always being on guard, and pushing people away. The definition fits like a glove.
So I do some hard thinking and even harder work.
I put my nose to the grindstone and find myself a job. It’s been a challenge adjusting to civilian life, but having a set schedule helps. I work as many hours as they give me. I’d offer to work for free if they’d let me.
The only thing I don’t do is go to the shed. It’s funny, the very thing that helped me cope now drives me crazy. My head can’t focus, and my hands won’t cooperate either.
Eventually, I start returning calls from my military brothers. They welcome me back into the fold with fist bumps, ice-cold beers, and Friday night football. And something else I can’t quite name. It’s more than friendship and a different kind of brotherhood bound by something even deeper than blood. I’ve been through hell with them.
The guys in my unit are another family. We swore allegiance to each other once, and I managed to push them out of my life. Kiran isn’t the only one I abandoned. Tonight, we’re all hanging around a dive bar in Charlotte. The kind of place a guy can adequately drown his sorrows. Hell, what am I thinking? I could consume an ocean of liquor and it wouldn’t be enough.
“Whatever happened to the girl, Cutler?” Gunner asks.
We hit on just about every other topic. I should have been more prepared for this landmine.
“The girl?” I ask, going for nonchalance. It’s a fail.
“Stop fucking around. You know who I’m talking about. The girl whose picture you taped to the top bunk so you could stare at her every night.”
“Yeah, the five-year plan,” Cankles adds. His real name is Richard. But he got cranky during long drills and whined about his ankles. Rule of thumb in the Marines, no one likes a whiner. You end up with a nickname like Cankles. The name stuck.
I take a long drag of my pint. “It didn’t work out.”
“That’s too bad. I was rooting from the sidelines, Cutler,” Gunner says.
“We all were,” Chip adds.
“You were? Y’all had no issues telling me how stupid the whole idea was.”
Joe chimes in his two cents, which is worth less than a half-penny. “Yeah, only cause it’s pretty farfetched. But if you had made it, you beat some incredible odds.” Joe is from Goodrich and my age. We’ve been friends from babyhood to boot camp. He’s right. We were the craziest long-shot ever. Yet, I had no troubles betting on us. She didn’t either.
“Fuck her,” Chip says. He knocks his beer against mine like he’s making a toast.
That is not something I can drink to.
We call him Chip on account of his two chipped front teeth. Right now, I’m debating making it a trifecta. “Fuck you, Chip. It’s not her fault.”
“Course it is,” Captain chimes in. “She should have shown up.”
“She did.”
“Then she’s a real bitch if she couldn’t handle your injury, Cutler,” Cankles hollers.
“Don’t call her that,” I say, my voice ripe with irritation. “You’re way off base.”
“Then show us where home plate is, bro. What happened?” Cap asks.
I tell them the whole sordid story, leaving out the intimate details. I’m met with complete radio silence. Either my boys are in shock or they’re incredibly stealthy and have managed to leave without making a sound.
“Hello, you guys still here?”
Cap clears his throat. “Let me put a little perspective on this if I may.”
“You may.”
“You came up with the ridiculous five-year plan complete with a no contact clause. Then when the time comes to meet up, you’re the one who ditched her. But wait, she decides to find your dumbass on her own. She steps up to help out when your sister is away. When she lays it all on the line, you end up pushing her away…again?” Cap sums it up well. Guess that’s why he’s a good commander.
“That is the Spark notes version, I suppose.”
“Man, we were way off base. She’s not a bitch.”
“Exactly.”
“You’re the bitch.”
“What? I was trying to do the honorable thing. She needs someone who can take care of her. Someone who can support her.”
“Who says you can’t?”
“I do.” I laugh. “I work in a fishing store.” I’m not on disability anymore, but it’s not exactly a grand career in the making.
“Complete Fubar. What you did is not honorable. You’re scared, but that’s all in your own head. Don’t play it off like you did it for her. It’s not just your eyes that can’t see.” Who would have thought Cankles was a philosopher?
Whiskey. Tango. Foxtrot.
Joe breaks the uncomfortable silence. “We should have called you Confucius Junior instead of Cankles.”
A few people laugh. I don’t. I’m not upset. In fact, I’m appreciative in a way. It’s not often someone holds a mirror up for you.
I ask Dana to point out the North Star that night.
I call Kiran.
She doesn’t answer.
* * * *
Sixty-one days and counting. We’re heading to the airport to pick up Dana’s boyfriend. He’s a fellow researcher who went to the Antarctica with her. If I hadn’t fallen for Kiran as quickly as I did, I would be more skeptical. Of course, I’m still planning to size him up and give him the tenth degree.
“You’re a dick.” That’s what I keep hearing in my head, accompanied by the lyrics of “Creep” by Radiohead. Oh wait, that’s just Dana’s annoying voice and the car stereo.
“Cut it out, Dana.”
“Just saying.”
“You’ve said it many times. I got the message, loud and clear.”
“You really hurt her.”
“I did her a favor.”
She lets out an aggravated shriek, one I haven’t heard since she was a teenager. “What is wrong with you, Mason?”
“Apparently, a lot of stuff.”
She pulls the car over.
“What are you doing? We’re on the expressway. You can’t pull over here.”
“We’re fine. I need you to hear this.” She turns off the radio. “It’s going to be hard for you to comprehend cause you’re a guy, but what you consider a favor to Kiran is really just saying she’s a dumb girl.”
“What? Where the hell are you getting that from? I would never say that.”
“You don’t have to speak the words. You said it with your actions. You’re basically communicating she’s not capable of deciding who she wants to be with. It’s misogynistic, and I really can’t believe my big brother, this guy I totally admire, is a complete caveman.”
“You’re right, but it doesn’t matter.”
“Say that again.”
“It doesn’t matter. I’ve called her a few times. She’s not answering.” A few times is a mild estimate. I’ve called her over twenty times and left at least five messages and eight texts. At some point, I need to accept that she’s done with me. I can’t fault her.
“Oh,” Dana says. “I just wanted you to say the part that I was right again. Now I kind of feel like an ass for bringing it up.”
“Don’t. I deserve it.”
The blast that took my vision wasn’t the worst thing that happened to me. The worst was what occurred afterward, and it was a conscious choice on my part. I abandoned her. Then I let her go.
I left a huge chunk of my soul in that village. I let it rot away and almost die.
I survived, but surviving and living are not the same thing.