Republican), I was out stumping for
Hillary Clinton. I figured it was past
time for a woman to run the show, and
hopefully extricate us from the quagmire.
Two-thirds of the country wanted us
out of Iraq by then. And sixty percent
of military families agreed that we should
not have gone in there to begin with.
None of that helped grunt morale,
which plunged, at least for many.
IN COLE’S CASE
I didn’t pick up on the exact level
of his frustration until after he came
back from that first tour. While he was
over there, he did what was asked
of him without complaining within
earshot of the POGS who ran the show.
In his mind, he was defending
his country, his buddies, his mom,
and me. In that order, something
I didn’t figure out right away.
Looking back, I realize how little
we really knew about each other.
For instance, he had no clue
that my birthday was the last day
of November, or that it made me
a Sagittarius, which surprised
me when I did a rudimentary
astrology study because I felt
much more like a Capricorn.
Later I found out Cole called
those daily columns “horrorscopes.”
I spent that birthday alone,
even though it was a Friday
and my girlfriends were going
dancing. It just didn’t seem
right to celebrate another year
of living when the guy I loved
might very well be dying.
I hadn’t heard a word from him
since Thanksgiving Day, when
he actually got to call long
enough to let me know chow
was a real turkey-and-trimmings
feast. Eight days with zero
communication were a stark
reminder that, as Cole’s girlfriend,
if something bad happened,
it might take a while for me to find
out. I was only “somebody” to him.
I went to my classes. Taught
first graders. Checked my e-mail
a lot. Came away disappointed.
Nervous. Scared. The weird
thing was, taut with anxiety,
every day with no word only
made me love him more.
When I finally heard from him,
I had no room for anger. Only relief.
WHEN I FINALLY HEARD
Relief was enough. That time.
He did not tell me everything.
SORRY FOR MY SILENCE. HOPE YOU
DIDN’T WORRY. I WAS ON PATROL
OUTSIDE THE WIRE. SAW A LITTLE
ACTION, NONE OF IT OURS. AT LEAST
NONE I CAN CONFESS. ROOTED OUT
SOME BAD GUYS. BOUGHT OFF A LOT
MORE. THIS IS GETTING OLD. WITH LUCK,
I’LL BE BACK IN FEBRUARY. THAT MEANS
CHRISTMAS AT CAMP FALLUJAH. THINK
SANTA CAN FIND US HERE? IF YOU SEE
HIM, WOULD YOU ASK HIM TO SEND
SOMETHING TO READ? GODDAMN
BOREDOM IS KILLING MY GOOD MOOD.
AND I’M NOT THE ONLY ONE. LOVE YOU.
I sent four holidays boxes, stuffed
with books and board games, trail
mix, jerky, sardines, cigarettes, dried
fruit, and Fruit of the Looms. I figured
every soldier needs clean underwear.
I also put in a picture of me at the beach,
wearing a three-slivers-of-crochet bikini.
Thought about his buddies seeing it.
Took it back out again. Remembered
how he cherished my body those sweet,
long nights together. Tucked a different
photo of me in short shorts and a low-
cut tank top into a Christmas card with
Santa’s sleigh swooping down over
the Tetons on front. For my Wyoming
boy’s eyes only, I wrote inside. This
California girl is lost without you here.
Christmas lacks luster this year. That’s
as close to poetry as I can get until
you come back to me. Close your eyes
at 12:01 a.m. your time Christmas
morning. I’ll be kissing you. Kiss me back.
It took some research, but just past
midnight, Fallujah time, I was in Lodi,
California, kissing Cole Gleason. I’m
sure it was just a delusion, but I swear
Cole Gleason was kissing me back.
It was the saddest Christmas ever.
DELUSIONS
Maintain sanity
in those times when a man
is called to war. The mirage
of invincibility, when
every
iota of logic embraces
the contrary, accommodates
minutiae, the day-to-day.
The wise ask no questions,
understand that a
soldier
battles fear with violence,
masks the omnipresent scent
of death with reminders
of living—cold tavern beer,
a hot pussy chaser. He
harbors
no illusion of love
for the whore. She is expendable,
unlike the woman who waits
at home, pretending
not to worry about such
secrets.
Cole Gleason
Present
SECRETS SUCK
Worse than surprises. I hate
knowing them. Despise keeping
them, when every shred of me
believes the longer I stay silent,
the harder it’s all coming down.
That’s always been my experience.
Lucky me. I seem to be the secret
sniffer. It’s like they appear to me,
materialize, in the flesh, from
the ether. I was the first one
to discover Dad’s dalliances.
Both of them. The first time,
I happened to pick up the phone
and overhear him setting a time
to meet up with a coworker.
I was twelve, but mature enough
to understand that those murmurs
of affection meant a whole lot
more than wanting to get together
for a pleasant lunch. I never said
a word. What if I was wrong?
What if I wasn’t? Did I want to
be responsible for the fight
that was sure to follow? What if
my mother and father broke up?
No sixth grader wanted that!
But that’s almost what happened
a year later, when Mom found
out on her own. Meanwhile,
Dad had his cake and ate it, too.
Gross, if apropos. Me? I was anxious.
Angry. Confused. This wasn’t the kind
of love they showed on the sitcoms
I watched, where married couples
worried about bills and jobs and where
to stow their kids for a few hours—
long enough to enjoy a little nookie
without getting busted. As far as I knew,
my parents never did that, so to learn
that one of them did, just not with
the other one, was eye-opening.
The second time was worse.
Mom was visiting a friend in the Bay
Area. I was supposed to stay at Darian’s,
but she got sick in PE so I went home
after school. Th
at time, I caught Dad
just-post-coitus, naked in the hall.
Two drinks in hand, he was on his way
back to the bedroom, where the other
not-Mom person waited for seconds.
He had his back to me, didn’t know
I was there, when I heard her call,
Hurry. I’ve just about got myself ready.
I was sixteen. Driving. A woman
of the world, but I didn’t know what
she meant. Dad yelled, Hey, wait
for me! But before he could make
his way back to help her out, I slammed
the door. Pretty sure he thought I was
Mom because he spun around,
giving me a more, um, expressive
view of my father than I ever, ever
wanted to see. I put my hand over
my eyes. “Jesus, Dad. What the hell?”
I had never sworn at a parent before.
Seemed like the right time to do it.
He didn’t care at all about the swearing.
Ashley, baby, I . . . have no words.
I’m so sorry. Can you possibly keep
this to yourself? If you can, I swear . . .
I waited for the bribe. New car? Cash?
Not even. I’ll never do it again.
SILLY ME
I kept quiet. Never said a word.
I figured it would all work itself out
sooner or later, and it did. The woman—
a girl, really, only a few years older
than I—decided she was in love with Dad
and confronted Mom at the grocery store.
Not a pretty scene. I know, because
I was there. The one that came after,
at home, was significantly worse.
In the meantime, I was a wreck. Felt
disloyal, which I was, and all my silence
did was buy Dad a few more weeks and
a couple more rolls in the hay. He was not
in love with her. Not about to walk away
from his family, and Mom wasn’t about
to make him go. What for? All men
are morally bankrupt. The next one
wouldn’t be any better. At least this
one is keeping us well. Anyway, “for
better or worse.” The priest didn’t give
me a rating system. She might have felt
differently had she known Dad brought
his girlfriend into our home. Their bed.
But I never told. Mom never found out.
NOW, THIS NEW SECRET
This Darian subterfuge I find myself
mired in. She asked me not to say
anything to Cole, who still keeps
in touch with Spencer. Why am I
always appointed secret-keeper?
She was tricky about it, too. Called
and said she had something for me
to take to Hawaii, and would I meet
her for dinner tonight. Curiosity
nailed me. So here I am, in a really
nice Thai place, sitting across the table
from Darian and Kenny. And, damn
it all to hell, I like him a lot, as much
as I’m trying not to. He isn’t quite
old enough to be her father, and for
a guy his age, he’s not only great looking,
he’s well preserved. The only external
signs of his four-plus decades are a few
silver streaks weaving his thick, blond
hair and a faint network of lines etching
the corners of his eyes. But only when
he smiles. Which is most of the time,
and mostly at Darian, whom he clearly
cares about. In fact, I’d say he’s gaga.
He sits very close to her, some small
part of him always touching her,
laughs at every semiwitty thing
she says, but not in a gratuitous way.
Her assessment of him was spot-on,
too. He wears an air of quiet intelligence,
no hint of superciliousness or egotism.
More Cole than Spence, except nothing
military about him at all, despite
his close ties to the Air Force.
Beyond his (ex?)wife, the Intel officer,
Kenny is an aerospace engineer.
He’s taking my lukewarm grilling
in stride. “Tell me about your daughter.
How does she feel about the two
of you?” Does she even know?
Sabrina is fifteen. Everything’s
drama, he says. But it would be,
even if everything were perfect,
and to tell you the truth, it never
has been. Not since she was born.
Tara never really wanted a baby,
to have her feet so firmly planted
in regular civilian life. I thought
things would be different when Sabrina
came along. But changing diapers
and mixing formula only made Tara
more determined to go back out
into the field. That’s where her heart
is. Sabrina only knows her mother
in an extremely peripheral way.
And she’s a little overprotective of me.
I NUDGE HARDER
“So, are you saying she resents
having Darian in her—your life?”
I’m not sure “resents” is the right
word. She’s not used to having
my attention turned elsewhere.
I think she likes Darian just fine.
At least she knows about her. “But
she’s not happy about the relationship.”
Not especially. But she’ll get used
to the idea. He pauses long enough
to give Dar a soft kiss on the cheek.
If I have my way, they’ll see each
other every day before too long.
They are the two most important
people in my life. I love them both
very much. He is so matter-of-fact,
I believe he believes every word.
“So, you and your wife are definitely
getting divorced? And Sabrina is okay
with that?” Okay, that was blunt.
So is his answer. Tara is in the field.
We haven’t had the chance to discuss
the details, but we will as soon
as she comes back. Until then, I can’t
really talk about it with Sabrina.
But she’ll be fine. She . . .
You know what Sabrina told me?
interrupts Dar, who up until now
has remained completely mum.
She said her mother has never been
there for her, that her father raised
her. And that she wouldn’t care one
way or another if her mother died
because who mourns for a stranger?
Fifteen, going on fifty. How sad,
if she actually feels that way. My mom
was not a shining example of motherhood,
but she was always there for me. And if
Kenny means everything he’s said,
divorce is preferable to treading time
in a marriage that has bled out
of love. I think that, feeling sorry as hell
that Darian’s marriage also seems to be
mortally wounded. Bleeding out.
I DON’T BLAME
Kenny for the wounding. Pretty sure
that happened before he came along.
And if Darian had to choose someone
to stitch her up, I guess I’m glad this
is the guy. Not sure she needs a teenage
“daughter” who’s needy and likely to
interfere, but it’s not my call. Think
I’ll c
hange the subject. “So, did you
ever work on the space shuttles?”
He shakes his head. But the Spaceport,
yes. And some advanced extraterrestrial
weaponry systems . . . . He goes on to talk
about this truly fascinating stuff, obviously
proud of his contributions. A lot of it
is mind-boggling, so I don’t try to
absorb the details. The overall picture
is crazy enough, and this is all unclassified.
Hate to think about what they’re hiding.
The food is excellent, the company
pretty good, too. I have to admit
Kenny brings out the best in my best
friend. That, I like. When he excuses
himself to use the restroom, I know
she’ll ask, so I straight out admit, “Okay.
I like him. Just, please be careful. I don’t
want to see you get hurt. Promise you’ll be
very sure before making any huge moves.”
She smiles, but not in the “I told
you so” way I expected. I promise.
But I want you to promise me
you won’t say anything to Cole.
How can I not tell Cole? We don’t
keep things from each other. “Why
not? I mean, if you’ve already made
your decision to break up with Spence.
You have made that decision, right?”
She glances toward the bathroom.
Gives a weak nod. But I’m not sure
how to tell Spence. He’s supposed
to come home pretty soon, and . . .
Her eyes tell me Kenny is headed
in this direction. “And what, Dar?”
Her voice falls to a whisper.
And I’m scared. Really scared.
Kenny drops into the seat next
to Darian. I’m not interrupting
some covert conversation, am I?
It’s a joke of sorts, and we all laugh.
But at the moment, nothing is funny.
WHAT COALESCES
Rising from the residual smoke
of the evening is a maelstrom
of emotions. I feel better, meeting
Kenny, witnessing his dedication to Dar.
I feel worse, intuiting major
problems to come, on all sides.
I feel happy, viewing a small
glimpse of the best friend I cherish,
the one who has felt lost to me
for much too long. I feel anxious,
knowing she is in turmoil
and only time will tell us how
things will all shake out.
This is a heavyweight decision,
the pressure to make it great.
Dissolving a relationship that once