THE WRONG FIGHT
SEPTEMBER. ALL I’VE done is fight, mainly with Jessica. Just after she arrived in South Carolina, I received orders transferring me to Marine Corps Headquarters in Quantico, Virginia. What began as a fresh start for both of us quickly turned toxic.
Since leaving Ohio, my troughs of humanity have grown shorter and shorter at night as my craving for Clonopin increases. Everything that’s happened drives me to seek solace in its emotion-deadening power.
Besides, I’m at my worst now when I’m in the trough—angry, spiteful, and mean. Cruel, really.
Tonight’s battle began with what? A fight over how clean our place is? Who would really care about that? Truth is, I came home looking for a fight, and found it in the nitpicking I know drives Jess so crazy.
The Corps has turned me into an office clerk. That is not me, and I hate my job. I boil and fume all day, counting the minutes to come home. When I do, there’s no peace, only a bitter campaign between Jess and me.
I miss Doctor Radford. I always felt better after talking to her. Here, I’m seen twice a month by docs who don’t seem to give a shit. There’s a whole lot of us in the same boat, and going over to the clinic makes me feel like I’m on a conveyer belt. We’re mass-produced PTSD cases, and the docs here simply ask us if we’re thinking about hurting ourselves or others. If we say yes to either question, they up our dosages and send us on our way. “See you in two weeks.”
This isn’t care; it’s a stay of execution. They’re keeping us doped up—zombified—so we don’t become headlines. IRAQ VET KILLS FAMILY, SELF.
Sooner or later, it’s all going to boil over.
I’ve been a bastard. No way to deny that. Every chance I get, I find myself lashing out at Jess. Her pain gives me a bitter sense of pleasure, like I’ve dished out a little of what she did to me in Iraq. Now that she’s pregnant and even more vulnerable, well, I’ve taken advantage of that. Part of me wants to destroy her, just as she did with me.
So much for her all-American family.
“What’s left to say here?” I ask from the bedroom doorway. The lights are off, and I can see only Jessica’s silhouette by the window. She’s sitting in a chair, staring off into space.
“I don’t know. Haven’t you done enough damage tonight?” Her voice is bitter-laced and weary. Her makeup kit lies overturned and spilled across the bedroom floor. I threw it there about an hour ago.
I push off the doorway and walk into the bathroom. I need my Clonopin. As I fumble around looking for the pill vial, I hear her say, “Jeremiah, you’re a fucking addict.”
“Shut the fuck up!” I shout.
“Father of my unborn child’s a druggie. That’s right, get your hit.”
My fist slams the bathroom wall so hard the house shudders.
“I can’t live like this. You’re such a psycho, Jeremiah.”
“You have no idea, bitch!”
I hold the tablet in my hand. I want so eagerly to pop it in my mouth, swallow it, and make all this go away. I’ll be out in no time, feeling none of this rage and pain.
I hear her crying now. “You said you’d change! You swore you’d try!”
“And you swore you’d wait for me. Not even a fucking letter, Jess! You wouldn’t even take my calls!”
“How many times can I tell you I’m sorry?” I step into the bedroom, pill clenched in my fist. She’s got her face in her hands. Her hair’s a mess.
“There aren’t enough times. Believe me. Words don’t mean anything anyway. Especially not from a lying slut like you.”
Jeremiah, you just called the mother of your child a slut. Have some restraint here.
Fuck that. I want to destroy her. Living together again was a terrible mistake. It just evoked all the old pain, resentment, and anger. Once betrayed, there’s no going back.
“Oh, do you really wanna go there? Who’s the liar here, Jeremiah? I know her name for God’s sake. I went to her house!”
“You had no right to do that!” I had no idea she knew I was unfaithful.
“You see her again, I’ll leave you. I swear to God, I will.”
“You don’t have the guts.”
She gasps and starts to sob.
“Why do you resent me? Why do you hate me?”
“Because I can’t leave you!” I roar and kick the wall. “I’m trapped, don’t you get it? First you destroyed me, then you trapped me. I’m like a fly hanging in your web. You’ve sucked me dry, Jess.”
She falls silent.
“I can’t believe you just compared me to a spider.”
“I can’t help but hate you.”
“I thought you loved me! You tell me that every day.”
“That’s the trap. I do. God help me, I do,” I say as I slump down the wall.
“Then why do we keep thrashing each other?”
“Love is pain.”
“You are really twisted if you believe that.”
“It isn’t me. It’s life.”
“No, no it isn’t. Not for normal people.”
“Well, Jess, you just said I’m a fucking addict psycho. Where’s the normal in that?”
“Goddamn you. Goddamn you.” She pulls at her hair with both fists.
“You know, you’ve never asked about what happened.”
“I don’t want to know,” she says through a half-choked sob.
“Why not? I don’t get that.”
“For God’s sake, how can you not get that?” Anger flares in her voice now.
She turns to look at me.
“You don’t give a shit, do you?” I accuse.
“I can’t survive the guilt,” she wails.
Careful. You’ve got to back off. Don’t say anything more.
“You deserve it.” My own voice sounds viperous.
“We just go round and round, don’t we? This will never end.”
My body starts trembling. The stirrings of a headache form in the back of my head. I need the Clonopin. When Jess turns away to stare out the window again, I thumb the pill in my fist, playing with it. I want to pop it into my mouth. I need to do that. But I have too much pride to do it in front of her.
Pride? Pride you arrogant ass? Look at what you’re doing to her!
There’s a sheet of armor down inside me so thick I can’t begin to care. Maybe after this is all over, I’ll feel something. Right now, I’ll admit nothing, give her nothing.
Bullshit, Jeremiah. You’re slitting your own wrists every time you tear her apart.
Like I care.
“Jeremiah?”
“What?”
“Part of me wants to run to your arms and beg for forgiveness.” Her voice is high and broken, her words suffused with despair. “But part of me wants to run out the door and never come back.”
Don’t do it. Don’t do it, Jeremiah. For God’s sake, this is your chance to end this. Fix it.
“Go.”
Her sobs form her reply.
For a long minute, neither of us say a word. Jess stares out the window into the night. It’s drizzling outside, and the pane is speckled with raindrops.
I lean against the wall and focus on the floor in front of me. We don’t look at each other—can’t look at each other.
At last, she stands, a silhouette against the window. For the first time, I notice that she’s starting to show.
“I wish I’d never had that dream,” she says softly, almost to herself.
Dream, or prophecy? It led us here.
The moment the front door slams shut, the armor inside me shatters completely.
Run after her! Go! Now.
My legs won’t move. The words I’ve said tonight can’t be taken back. The damage can never be fixed, can it? I slashed and burned and destroyed the only woman I’ve ever loved. And now, I’m left with nothing.
What am I doing? I’ve betrayed my pregnant wife. There is nothing more vile than that. Still, I’m defiant. Part of me screams that she brought this on herself. She started this war of emotional destruction with eight simple words spoken across three continents.
The affairs are so easy. No emotion. Just the chase. No pain. No history. Just anonymity and a quick thrill.
Hollow thrill, and at great cost, to be paid in full on nights like this one.
Is this the sort of man I want to be? Is this the father my kid will have?
My stepfather. Just the mention of his name injects a pure serum of hate in my soul. Abusive. Always screaming, calling my mother unfathomable names. I once saw her on the living room floor, him atop her beating her senseless. I was in fourth grade. What could I do? I threw something at him to distract him. He came after me, shouting and screaming and filling me with terror. I fled upstairs and grabbed a curtain rod. As he came after me, I surprised him in the hallway and struck him with all my preteen strength. The blow stunned him long enough for me to flee the house.
There was no safe haven for me.
There’s no safe haven for Jess.
I am destroying her. And part of me loves that.
You scream and yell and control her through fear.
She earned this fate.
Don’t lie to yourself. Every time you do this, you burn away another part of whatever good is left inside you.
“I don’t care!” I shout to the empty house.
Then there will be nothing worth saving in you. You’ll be beyond redemption; you won’t deserve it.
Hell? Is that what you’re talking about here? ’Cause if you are, I can’t imagine it is any worse than my life right now.
You know what I’m talking about.
Fucking conscience. If I had an M16, I’d drill you right here.
I’m your last hope. Ignore me and you’ll be lost.
Screw you. I’m a lost cause, and I don’t have it in me to care anymore.
A sudden vision strikes me. I see my stepfather in our backyard, my dog at his feet. He’s holding a .22 and I’m pleading with him not to do it. He cocks the weapon. The barrel falls slowly until it rest on the back of his furry head. My dog’s oblivious; he stares happily at me.
My stepfather turns to look at me, a wicked smile on his face.
With cold terror, I see it’s my own face. It is my finger on the trigger, and now I’m looking at my only son.
Dead inside. I don’t care, just like tonight. Whatever I feel after this is over, I’ll drown it in liquor and drugs. I pull the trigger and watch with fierce satisfaction as my son’s face collapses with grief and trauma.
I fly to my feet, screaming at the top of my lungs.
That is your fate if you keep this up. This is the man you are becoming.
Panic-stricken, I run for the front door.
All you have to do is open it. Go after her. Make this right.
My headache grows. My fingers quake on the knob. I’ve got to take the Clonopin. It will erase everything, make this nightmare go away. I sag chest-first into the door.
I look down at an open palm. One little pill awaits. I toss this on my tongue, and all of this goes away.
No it doesn’t. It’s just a dodge and you know it.
Jessica’s right, I am an addict.
Go through the door!
I bring my palm up to my chin. With jackal eyes, I regard the Clonopin.
Take it. Everything will be better. Everything will be fine.
You keep taking this shit, and you’ll never move forward. Never.
Total peace. Nothingness awaits. I ache for it.
Forget Jess. Forget your son. And the Corps? You’ll be the most decorated clerk in the Marines. No more schools. No more achievements. You’ll just mark time and punch a clock.
My left hand comes up of its own volition. I don’t control it and watch with fearful fascination. Its fingers scrabble along my right hand’s upturned palm. I feel the pill between my thumb and index finger. The sensation is irresistible. One little jerk and the pill will be in the back of my throat.
I want this more than anything I’ve ever wanted in my life. I need it, like air. Like food. More than anything.
More than your son? “SHUT UP! SHUT UP!”
There’s only one hope for you now.
“Oh yeah? What’s that?”
Forgiveness.
The corrupted, putrid side of me that relishes all this hate and cruelty bucks in revolt. It feels like physical blows.
“No. Not anymore. This ends now.”
The pill falls to the carpeted floor. Door open now, I rush into the rainy night. Maybe, just maybe, I’m not too late.