Love Survives (15 page)

It made me appreciate my life, my family, and the safe roof over my head. It also helped me to see that even though I’d never be able to bring back her parents, I’d be able to give Kat a reason to sleep at night, at least in theory. I needed her to know that they hadn’t died in vain. One way or another, I was going to bust my ass to get revenge for all the lives lost. I was determined to save as many people as I could because watching a child die was unbearable.

That night I found a quiet area in the sand and crouched down to pay my respects. I lost it, there alone, on the cold hard ground. My pain wasn’t just for the deceased women. It was for everything I’d been through up until this point. It was for a love that was so strong that it couldn’t die. No matter how bad I had it, there was still someone worse off than me. That’s when I knew I had to get my ass up and make something out of my life. I had to fight because it was all that was keeping me from letting go. I was determined to be a hero, to make up for the pain I’d caused my parents, the mistakes I’d made with Kat, and the fact that love wasn’t enough to keep us together. In that instant I was going to live like tomorrow wouldn’t come. I’d bury what was left of my heart and live solely to help others. It was the only way I could see that light at the end of the tunnel again; the only way I could breathe without wanting to break.

Chapter 17

“Are you sure
you want to do this?” The Corporal asked as he put the ink in his custom tattoo gun. He’d been lucky to have a hobby while we were overseas. Some of us were too busy moping around in misery. As far as his question went, I’d never been more sure about anything before. This was a symbol of something I knew would never die. Every day I could wake up and have a reminder of her; a memory of what could have been.

The makeshift room was only secured by thick plastic walls. Instead of having a custom table, he’d constructed one out of scraps around the base. His light was also something he’d scavenged. It was an extension cord with a light bulb attached with electrical tape. I was certain at any moment it would catch and burn the place to ash.

A couple other soldiers were standing around, waiting for their turn. Apparently this guy had a lucrative business. I heard them talking about getting matching tats for their unit. Maybe if I was close to the people in mine, I would have been included if they decided to get one. Instead I ignored their playful bantering. I knew they did it to pass the time and disguise their fears. I just chose to live within my own bubble.

“Yeah, I’m sure.”

“Where do you want it?”

I placed my hand on my heart, but then moved it just underneath where my ribs sat. “Here. Where my lungs are.”

I wasn’t going to explain why I was putting it there. No man wants to tell another that he can’t breathe fully without the woman he loves even if they’ve experienced that kind of pain before. It’s just a code that men stick to. We aren’t open books, waiting to be read. For me, I wanted my business to stay buried.

While the gun dug into my skin, dragging over each bone, I thought about Kat. I imagine her hands tracing the letter, and how she’d feel about me marking my skin with her initial. In that moment I wanted to cry, but not because of the constant stinging I was adhering to. My pain was so intense. Losing my grip on life was even harder. I sat there imagining my dead body being returned to the states, and somehow her discovering my tattoo. I pictured the pain she’d been in, and a part of me felt good about it. I wanted her to know that I’d spent my whole life loving her, only to lose in the end. I needed Kat to remember the times we’d shared, good and bad. She deserved to know how she’d broken me to pieces, and why I’d never forget it. It was obvious we’d never be together again. We were through. Forever and always we’d be separated by life’s path. Nothing could bring us together again, not even prayers.

Day after day I watched soldiers come and go, some in body bags. I wondered when my time would come, and who would be there when it did happen. I started running in my spare time, using it as therapy. I’d run until my legs got weak, or I couldn’t breathe.

Nothing helped alleviate the pain.

Easter morning I awoke to the sound of a siren. Like everyone in my bunk, I jumped out of bed and began putting on my fatigues. This could have been a drill, but I wasn’t taking any chances. By the time we were all dressed our orders were delivered. Another street had been ambushed by terrorists. It was an hour helicopter ride to the location, which was enough time to get my adrenaline pumping. Who knew if this would be the last moments of my life? This could have been the plan all along. They’d attack another area and then shoot the helicopter down with all of us in it. I held my gun tightly against my body, closing my eyes and leaning back against the hard metal shell of the transporter.

Silently I prayed for a safe return, hoping that this wasn’t a suicide mission. I refused to look around at the other soldiers because I knew that it would force me to think about their lives. Were they all running from something, or did they have something to live for? Were the women mothers? Were the men husbands, father’s even? Could their families survive without them?

We landed safely about a mile outside of the target location. We all took a second to fill up with water since we didn’t know when we’d be able to stop again. One by one we got into position and began our blind venture into danger.

It was obvious when we reached the city limits that there wouldn’t be much to salvage. The buildings that weren’t still burning were nothing but rubble, but that wasn’t the worst part. Randomly, positioned to where they couldn’t be missed, were posts with beheaded victims placed at the tops. Pools of blood covered the ground beneath them. I watched a female ranger get out of line and begin puking. It wasn’t the visual of it that disturbed me. It was the silence. Something was wrong. I could feel it in every bone of my body. All of a sudden before I was able to speak my concerns I felt the ground shaking.

I woke up in a haze of sand. The familiar smell of fire filled my lungs. People were yelling, but the sounds were muffled. As I opened my eyes I saw someone standing over me. It was obvious they were yelling though it appeared like they were calling me through a long tunnel. My ears rang as I sat up and looked around me. We’d obviously either hit a landmine, or been fired at. The explosion had put everyone on the ground, and some of us weren’t getting back up.

Without being able to hear properly, I started checking the soldiers around me. The third person I came to had half of his face blown off. He was gasping for air while blood trickled out of the corners of his mouth. I lifted his head, watching as his eyes rolled in the back of his head. “Hang in there, ranger. Help is on the way.” It was the reassuring thing to say. “You’ll be okay.” After checking for a pulse I knew there was nothing we could do. His internal organs had shut down, probably because he’d had severe trauma. I sat his head back down and headed over to the next body as if he’d been just a shell of a man. I had to treat these people like objects because the moment I thought of them as my equals I knew I’d care too much.

That day we lost two people from our unit. The ride back to base was even quieter because it included the dead. This time I kept my eyes open, watching as the people around me cried to themselves, as if their pain would bring the soldiers back to life. Crying didn’t solve anything, and it certainly didn’t contain magical healing powers. It was a human reaction; one I’d taught myself to avoid.

Our mission had been a failure. We hadn’t been able to finish what we’d set out to do. The same helicopter had turned back around to retrieve us, or what was left of our group.

I helped others carry one of the bodies out of the helicopter. The ranger’s name had been Carter. He’d always been cordial to me when necessary, so I owed him this type of respect. I could only hope that when my time came my peers would do the same for me. Then I began to think about my family, and who would carry my casket to my burial spot. Would my brother be there? Would he even care if I was gone?

Then there was Kat. I wondered if she’d be there, sitting in the front row with my parents. Would she stick around after everyone was gone, and talk to what was left of me? Would she have put something inside of my casket to be buried with me? The idea of her hurting crushed me. I wanted there to be another way out of this hell, but knew there wasn’t. This was what my life was worth. I was a soldier, with nothing to look forward to. If I died, I’d become a memory. It was as simple as that. I’d trained for this, taken the oath, and known what it meant.

A statement was required for each case. We took turns explaining the entire situation from start to finish. I noticed a few people wiping their faces; the ones that had personal connections to the deceased. I wanted to reach out to them to tell them that it was easier to get through if they stayed to themselves. They were just bodies to me. I didn’t know the people. Sure, we slept in the same room. We showered in the same open area, ate our meals, and risked our lives together, but I didn’t know any of them, and I had no intentions of changing that. I was safer this way.

Later that night we stood out by a fire and paid our respects. Nothing would bring those people back, and I was thankful I hadn’t gotten to know them. It was less I had to feel. While I watched everyone else reminiscing I sat down and stayed to myself, thinking about loss in general. Everywhere I turned was tragedy. I was beginning to wonder if I was the problem. Maybe I was doomed from the start. Maybe nothing good was ever meant to happen to me.

Chapter 18

I’d been in
Afghanistan for nearly five months. Just when I thought I’d seen it all, I would witness something horrendous, leaving me wondering if a God existed, because if there was one, how could such devastation keep taking place? How could innocent families, little children, continue losing their lives?

One night, while I was staring up at the ceiling, unable to sleep, I began thinking about my old unit and the friends that I missed. I remembered what the sarge had said when he’d given me the journal, and how everything so far had been spot on. The next day, after duty, I sat down outside with a pen and the empty journal, and started writing down some of the events that I’d experienced. Since I wasn’t reading, or responding to any mail that my family was sending, I wanted them to have something, in case I never returned.

July 1st 2011

I’ve avoided writing in this thing until now, mostly because I was afraid of what I’d reveal to myself. My demons are real, and no matter how hard I try to bury them, I know they won’t hide for long. Everything is a reminder of what I lost. Even waking up every morning makes me wish I was back home, right across the hall from the woman I loved. By now she could have reconciled with my brother. It pains me to think about it, but what other choice did she have? They’ve spent years together, planning a future around both of their dreams. With me out of the equation they have plenty of time to get past what happened in the hotel. Knowing my brother he’d take her to Vegas so they could elope without drama.

I want her to be happy. More than anything else, it’s what I need to know. I couldn’t bear to think she’s somewhere alone, wishing she could take back our last moments together. I wondered if she regretted it. Did she feel like she’d ruined her life being with me? Was I her greatest mistake?

“This is stupid.” I said as I shut the journal and prepared to throw it across a field. Something wouldn’t let me though. It was like that little notebook was my only friend. Sure, I had a unit that was with me every day, but I didn’t have the energy to get close to them, not when I knew that we could perish at any moment. This book was my last link to humanity. My
sarg
e had been right all along. I’d need this bit of normalcy if I wanted to survive mentally. It wasn’t like I could get a shrink on the line and have an hour long session. This was as good as it would get because if I walked into the medical center and requested a shrink there’s no telling how they would diagnose me. I already knew I was borderline losing it. Not being afraid of dying was a good sign of that. I certainly wasn’t at peace. In fact, I couldn’t come to grips with one reason that they would find me fit to do my daily routines. I’d withdrawn from socialization, and even from finding the ability to open my correspondence from home. There’s no telling what my parents had written in their letters, so I just assume not read them. I didn’t want to hear about Branch or Kat. I honestly didn’t want to hear about any of them. Anything in those sealed envelopes could trigger more pain for me, and at this point even death wasn’t something I wanted to know about.