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ASSMUNCH
"Fuck, my ass hurts." Sleeper groaned.
"Shut up you big baby." I snorted. "You forget, I know what kind of pain that is. It's the kind that reminds you over and over how hard you shot your load while your shitter got destroyed. Every spike of pain damn near makes your dick hard all over again. And you feel proud you took it all the way." I helped him climb off the crates and handed him his flimsy bikini briefs. "If you don't feel tougher because you took that beating, you aren't thinking of it right."
Zeus and I, not having undressed, just flipped up the waistbands of our respective bottoms, my shorts and his sweatpants neither of which left our thighs.
Sleeper paused. "Yeah, it does kind of feel like that. I never thought getting fucked would make me feel like more of a man. That's fucked up though."
"It's just sex." I shrugged. "Some things make it better. Freeing your mind is the only way to really get the most out of it."
Sleeper crossed his arms. "Still not sure about the kissing. No offense, Zeus." He offered. "It's just too.... "
"Personal?" I suggested when he paused.
Sleeper gestured apologetically. "Yeah. Like I'm supposed to get all soft and mushy with a dude. But that's not how I feel."
I reached out to squeeze my best friend's shoulder. "Fair enough. But Zeus was driving that bus, the kissing was for him, not you. You did something that let him enjoy it more so it's not necessarily a bad thing."
Zeus chimed in with a determined, unapologetic blunt observation. "I wanted to kiss you." Which, Zeus being a God, put an end to that and I knew if we ever did this again Sleeper was just going to deal with Zeus's tongue down his throat. Zeus's overwhelming presence made denial a non-option, like trying to refuse a second beer, or hitting on a hot chick when her boyfriend's back was turned.
"Let's go crash. I'm worn out." I changed the subject. We didn't need to prolong this clandestine meeting. Tomorrow we had studying to do, laundry, barracks maintenance and housekeeping because we'd probably be getting an inspection at some point. That was another fact of life we had to deal with here. Being quartered as a unit meant keeping our shared space up to Army standards and regulations. Other posts didn't have to put up with that beyond Basic, the detailed micro inspection of a D.I. Yeah, it was expected that the common areas of dorm style quarters were clean and orderly, and room inspection happened IF you gave your superiors a reason, but it was nowhere near the insane expectations for a barracks.
I opened the door a crack to make sure the coast was clear. No one was in the hallway. I darted out, closing the door behind me. Just as I got to the corner, Puta walked out from the door down the other direction that led to the toilets and showers. Fuck! Anyone else I could distract back to the bunk bay, and I hoped Zeus and Sleeper were smart enough to space out our leaving the storage room. But Puta was a stubborn ass who ferreted out manipulation like a cadaver dog sniffing out a dead body.
I made sure to barely acknowledge him, putting the thought in my head that I was just finishing up the party cleanup, and kept walking around the corner. Believe the story in your head and your body wouldn't give away nervousness or deception.
"Ay, Puta, why you no done yet?" Puta said from behind me.
I gave him a half-lidded gaze, signaling I didn't want to deal with his crap. "I AM done yet, Puta." I walked a little faster, hoping it would lead him away from any position he might see Zeus or Sleeper exiting the storage room. "Getting all that shit put back to hide our stash takes as long as it takes."
As we entered the bay where we all slept, I realized the flaw in my story. Only four racks were empty. And I know Puta saw that too. Sleeper's, mine, and Zeus's racks were the only ones not slept in, appearing untouched and perfectly regulation.
"Yes, Puta. Doin' dat takes a while. Hmmmm?" The Puerto Rican sounded like he was making a threat.
Oh, I didn't like that. That was not gonna happen. "You got a problem, Puta? Something on your mind?" I looked directly in his eyes, challenging him to meet me on my level. Physically, Puta and I were sized equally, his bravery was all mental and if I had to I would put him in his place and remind him why I was Platoon Leader. He didn't scare me. That's the bonus of having closed off every emotional feeling you possessed - I just didn't give a fuck. If Puta wanted to dial things up, I could crank up my dial until he realized he wasn't going to win. The dead, unflinching look in my eyes seemed to shake him. He looked away. It was critical that he didn't say out loud what he might have been thinking, because there was no path back from that.
"I don't got no problem, Assmunch."
"Maybe I heard wrong. Sorry for jumping, brother." Always give them a face-saving out, a way to keep their pride. His use of my nickname rather than calling me Puta was his apology. Ah, the dance we had to do to maintain the fiction, let a man remain unimmasculated, and keep anything REAL from getting within arm's length. He fired his passive volley, I put it back in his face, he realized he'd put himself in a no-win situation, apologized, and I forgave him all without saying any of that explicitly. But I was still irritated that he wouldn't have dared pull that shit with Zeus or Sleeper. My intuition flared up and told me that there was a sliver of a possibility I had read it wrong, but it wasn't enough to bring me to the point of saying anything. I did make sure my gaze never left him, watching him walk to his messy bunk and climbing under the blankets, the entire time I was reading his body language for clues to what might have given him the ballsy courage to challenge me. He appeared suitably cowed, so I turned to head to my rack when Zeus entered the bay.
Keeping my voice low, but still enough for Puta to hear if he was listening which I knew he was, I said "Why are you still awake, Zeus? I thought you'd be asleep by now." God, I hoped the giant could read between the lines.
Zeus's eyes darted to Puta's bunk behind me, and I relaxed. He had to have heard us talking. "I had something to do, Assmunch." Perfect. Almost dismissive without even a hint of any other emotion. Zeus wouldn't lie, which was what I was afraid of the most - that nerve-wracking habit of blunt inappropriateness. But I should have known in such a public space with all the brothers present Zeus would revert to that calm, unruffled dangerous tight-lipped personal shield he wore like an unassailable fortification. I really needed to learn how to do that... it would have stopped Puta before he even got out of the gate with whatever he was thinking.
"Well let's get some sleep." I said, going to my rack.
It took me less than a minute to fall into an exhausted sleep.
The next couple weeks passed with me trying to keep my composure after the run-in with Puta. I had to warn Sleeper and Zeus to lay low. It wasn't so much Sleeper I was worried about in that regard, but Zeus because puppy dog Zeus had no restraint. Thankfully they both got the message. Every once in a while I'd see Puta staring at me or watching Zeus and Sleeper as if trying to puzzle out whether what he suspected really happened, and between who. Puta wasn't the sharpest crayon in the box, but it didn't take a genius to figure out three of his squad disappeared at the same time for no good reason. I think he was confused about how it could involve either of those two because neither was a guy you'd believe could do anything with another guy. We got lucky I suppose, for a number of obvious reasons. One, that it was Zeus, Sleeper and me who were under his scrutiny -the three brothers you didn't want to mess with. Two, that with three of us it made it difficult to know which two were fucking around and if he guessed wrong it wasn't going to go well for him to expose the wrong guys. I could read that much in his stares, him trying to do the math and fit the puzzle pieces together of who might do what with who. Three, that none of us acted any different than we always did. Zeus stayed quiet, kept to himself. Sleeper remained the confident arrogant prick who flaunted himself. And me spreading my attention around to everyone who needed help with our current training section, catching screw ups before they caught Sarge's attention, keeping the Squad and the Bravos on task and focused which meant I didn't need to spend more than brief moments with Sleeper or Zeus who both had an exceptional handle on their training. And four, the most important one of all - he had no proof. He hadn't seen or heard shit, not even us leaving the storage room together.
That didn't mean it wasn't weighing on me. We only had a few weeks to go, and then we'd be broken up and shipped off to our new permanent station, folded in to our new battalions where we'd become true soldiers. Of course I blamed myself a little for being so careless. I made the decision right then that there wouldn't be any more meet ups.
But when it all came crashing down, Puta wasn't the problem.
When you get booted, it happens fast. It's intended to be overwhelming so that you don't have time to think because they've already decided you're leaving. Oh, they play their games with the questions, instilling fear in you with threats of court martial if it's that serious. They ask the questions, you answer. They lay out the worst case scenario if you choose to play it out, and everything is painted in terms of damning evidence no matter how flimsy. It didn't matter anyway because no 19 year old has any idea what qualifies as admissible evidence and it's all damning. And they know that. They know you don't know any better and they use your ignorance against you. Add to that they've trained you to recognize the Army has total control over you. It's not even subconscious, it's right there in the front of your brain, every day. You don't fight Command because you lose every time.
But you're scared. So fucking scared. You can't think straight. Standing in front of your First Sergeant you have no power, no control and you feel your life slipping away. You want to throw up and feel like you're going to lose control of your bladder and bowels. You're told you could spend years in military prison. Almost none of what they hit you with is true or at least so unquestionable it can't be argued. It's pure Interrogation Manual tactics. But more experienced minds would instantly recognize if they lobbed a slow pitch like a less than honorable it meant they were hoping to get you to take yourself out because putting you through the grinder of a tribunal or trial had little chance of success. And the sickest, most twisted part of it is that you end up feeling just a little grateful that they're being kind enough to give you a way out that doesn't mean being dragged in front of a tribunal, your shame publicized, and you get to stay out of prison. All you have to do is admit you broke the military code of conduct or the UCMJ.
When you have time in the long regret of life beyond your destroyed dreams you might think through it all with a clear head and realize the game they played. Maybe it would occur to you that they didn't want the mess and negative publicity that formal discharge fight would entail. And you might follow the logic to the conclusion that if these old guard career military had anything near a slam dunk case you'd never get an offer of bowing out gracefully. The Army loved to make public examples of bad conduct. So, your older clearer mind would ponder, why would they work so hard to avoid making an example of you? Discharges happened for all sorts of reasons and routine ones happened weekly because the Army doesn't tolerate fuck-ups.
All that was going through my head when Sarge called me off the rifle range and told me to report to Top. We were in the middle of rifle qualification, and a summons by the First Sergeant was nothing less than dead serious, especially if it interrupts training.
It was either because of the meet ups with Sleeper, or the stunt I pulled out in the field. If that fucker Puta ran his mouth I was going to make him eat through a straw for the next six months. Sarge was blank faced, I couldn't read any clue from him and when I asked his reply was short.
"First Sergeant's orders. Don't make him wait, Private."
So there I sat outside Top's office trying not to lose my mind. I was going through explanations for my actions in an attempt to be prepared, but I had trouble focusing. Every worst case scenario kept interfering. Was this another tactic - interrupt my qualifications course, have me rush here, then make me stew until I was ready to break? Fuck! Fuck! Fuck!
"The First Sergeant is ready for you, Private. Go in." His clerk jolted me back to reality.
I knocked on the door and heard `Enter.' from inside. I really tried to walk through the door with confidence but part of me knew I was anything but that.
"Close the door Private." I immediately did, then assumed attention.
"First Sergeant." I addressed him.
"At ease, Harris." The First Sergeant looked tired. He was maybe in his early 40's, somewhere around my dad's age. Still in pretty good shape, but I guess they don't pick the fat ones to run the show, that might look bad. "Son, there's no good or easy way to say this. Your father has died. Your mother is expecting your call. Use my phone. Nolan will put you through, just tell him the number." He got up from his chair and motioned me to sit down.
I didn't move. What? That can't be right. I just talked to him three days ago, Sunday. We talked about the playoffs and the upcoming college bowl games. He twisted his back playing golf, but was fine. He was going to take mom to some fancy restaurant and a play for her birthday next month. Just normal dad stuff.
"Top, that's not funny. Why am I here? Am I in trouble?" That made more sense. If this was another sick and stupid tactic to throw me off, they were about to meet one super pissed off Private. They could fuck ALL the way off with that bullshit.
"Son, just-"
"DON'T CALL ME... " I shut it down. Control. Stay in control, I told myself. "What is this about, First Sergeant? The truth.... please."
Top looked even more tired. "Call your mother. I'll make it an order if I have to."
I moved around him to his chair and picked up the phone. I watched Top leave, closing the door behind him.
I told SSgt. Nolan my home phone number, and heard my mom pick up. It was mid morning back home in Texas and I was glad that I wouldn't be waking her up.
"Mom? What's going on?" I tried to sound calm, but my voice was shaking.
"Tom, sweetheart your father died last night. I'm so sorry I have to tell you like this." She sounded strangely composed.
"How?" was all I could manage to get out.
"He woke up about three, went to the bathroom, then came back asking where the heartburn medicine was. Then he couldn't get back to sleep, so I made him a grilled cheese. You know he loves those. Then he sat in his chair and told me he married a good woman. He fell asleep in his chair, and when I went to put a blanket on him, he wasn't breathing. The ambulance people said it might have been a heart attack from the sound of the symptoms."
I sat there stunned. How could he die like that, so fast? He wasn't old. He was the strongest man I knew, he could handle anything. He couldn't be gone. I imagined him sitting in his chair the last time I was home, we were watching ESPN talking about pre-season baseball and the Pittsburg Pirates. I imagined the smell of mom's grilled cheese, also one of my favorites. I thought about the beer dad let me drink that trip, because he said I was a man now after graduating Basic. Even though he knew I'd had beer before, but this was my first beer with my dad, and yeah, that made me feel like a man for the first time too.
"Tom? Are you okay?" Mom pulled me back from my thoughts. "Sweetheart, talk to me."
I reasserted control, clamped down on my crumbling heart and the tears I felt filling my eyes. This was not the time for that. My mom had to be hurting and I could push my own emotional storm down to do whatever I could to help her through this. I put the raging debris of my own feelings in a box and shoved it behind a door in my mind. This pain would not master me.
"I'm okay, mom. Are you doing okay?" I answered her with a confidence that was entirely faked. The last thing she needed was to worry about me.
She didn't answer right away. Knowing her, she was probably trying to decide whether to believe me. Apparently she chose to let me lie to her. "I'm fine." I heard her sigh. "There's a lot to do, but I have time. I'm supposed to meet with your father's commander today. He said they'll do whatever they can to deal with the arrangements and paperwork. I don't know what he'll be able to do, but he's going to talk with your commander and get you home for the funeral."
"When? Mom, I don't know what happens if I don't complete training. I'm too close to finishing." God, if I had to choose, the Army was going to kiss my ass. Would they do that to me? Probably, the Army didn't give a crap about our personal feelings. I slammed the panicked thought into the steel wall of my determination. Let them try. I welcomed the opportunity to prove they couldn't force me to make an impossible choice.
"I don't know either, sweetheart. Talk to your First Sergeant. Call me this weekend, when you have time. We'll both know more. Timmy wants to talk to you. I love you sweetheart."
My younger brother's voice came over the phone. "Tom?" He sounded sad.
"Yeah, little bro? You doing okay, bud?" Fuck, this was hard being half a world away. I should be there, hugging them both. My brother was only 16, he shouldn't have to handle this shit without his big brother. This was a triple kick in the gut and the tears threatened to unman me again. There was an empty space left behind by my dad and I was SUPPOSED to fill it for my family, but I wasn't there when they needed me. The unfairness and powerlessness made me angry. I couldn't let it leak out where Tim could hear so I did what I had become far too comfortable with, I locked the anger away. I wasn't important. My feelings didn't matter. Tim needed me to be strong and I would help him be strong because we were TNT, TomAndTim... the dynamite Harris Bros.
"Dad died, Tom. I don't know how I am." The lost sound in his words broke my fucking heart. "They took him away in the ambulance and he's not here anymore and he should be here."
`I'm sorry I'm not there either, Tim' I thought to myself. "Yeah, bud, I know. It sucks so bad. But you know mom needs you. I'm coming home, but I don't know when they'll get me there. So you gotta be the man, okay? Can you do that for me bud?"
I heard him sniff and knew he was crying. That made me want to cry too.
"I guess I can." Tim said. "Mom said I don't have to go to school, but I don't want to be here. I don't know if I want to go to school either. I don't know, Tom. I don't know where to go! What am I supposed to do?"
The threat of losing control stampeded inside my chest at hearing my sweet brother falling apart and having no idea how to handle something no kid should have to endure. But I could help him at least this much.
"You stick with mom today, buddy. She's got a lot of calls to make, she's going to the base, and probably more errands. Just hang out with her, and listen, to everything. I need you to tell me what you see and hear, and if mom loses it you call me here, I'll make sure you have a number where you can get a message to me. We have to make sure mom's okay. That's all you have to do today, and tomorrow. Got it bro?"
"Okay, Tom. Can you come home soon?" He said in a quiet voice.
"As soon as the Army will let me. I love you, buddy. Can't wait to see you and give you a huge hug."
"I love you too. Bye."
I stayed on the phone, wondering if mom was going to come back on, but it just clicked to silence. I hung up and went to the door. Outside, Top was standing next to SSGT Nolan at his desk, talking with him. They both looked over when they heard the sound of the door opening.
"Everything okay, Private?" Top asked.
"Yes. Everything's fine." I know it came out cold and emotionless, but I had no room in me for entertaining empty sympathies. "Could you make sure my family has a way to get a message to me any time they need to, even after duty hours?"
"Already done, Private. SSGT Nolan is going to make the arrangements for you to get home for the funeral. Let's talk in my office."
I got six days leave, two of which were for travel. They were flying me civilian there, through Frankfurt, then Atlanta, then Austin. They didn't have a date for the funeral yet, so couldn't get me on a hop to the States. But I would be on a military hop on the way back out of Ft. Hood because there would be plenty of lead time and there were already scheduled flights on the books for equipment and personnel transfer.
Dad's Commander said dad was eligible to be buried at Arlington. He was a Vietnam Vet, and died as an active duty soldier. But mom didn't want him to be buried that far away from home. It was an immense honor that didn't feel right for dad, or our family. There was a VA Cemetery in Killeen, Texas and the VA helped mom with all the arrangements, which was a godsend both financially and personally. Dad would like that.
Sarge said all our training modules would be 98% complete by the time of my leave, and I could take my last test early or when I got back. The relief that brought freed me to focus on my training and thoughts of my family.
I decided not to wait to try for Ranger School and told Sleeper, who then convinced Zeus to make his request with us. We filled out our paperwork in the Lieutenant's office. Now it was up to the Army to decide if we had what they wanted for the Rangers after completing AIT. It seemed more important now that I didn't take my time moving forward with my career in the Army. Yeah, dad had cautioned me to wait, to get more experience serving before making that choice, but I couldn't shake the need to determine the important course of my career NOW. Why should I wait? Delaying held an emptiness, a void that demanded to be filled as if having too many possibilities diluted all potential. Dad had died, which painted everything in colors of finality - my completion of AIT, the probable separation of my Platoon as we got PCS'd to different duty stations in new locations, turning 20 and leaving behind the title of teenager. So why shouldn't I clean the whole slate, leaving the Infantry behind? That the word Infantry spelled out `Infant try' seemed like a sign to me. I could not accept being led anymore, my path was my own to determine. I was no longer a child who could rely on my dad to guide me. Necessity demanded a choice as it always does and I felt the weight of the waiting decision smothering me with its constant presence. I could not reason it away.
Foolishly I held myself apart from my brothers who meant well but had no comparable experience with which to empathize. Their sympathies felt obligatory which on some level I knew was unfair to them. "Sorry about your dad, bro." Empty words. They could never pull me from where I tumbled in the back flow undercurrent of the seething rapids that my thoughts and feelings had become. They still traveled on the surface down the river, while I existed trapped by this vortex. I moved through the next week and a half with a machined efficiency, using tasks and classes to get me through each day. I called home collect every night before bed check just to let mom and Tim know I was there in spirit and to hear how things were going.
I had to travel by train to Frankfurt for my flight. I should have enjoyed the sights of the countryside but I let my mind get lost, retreating to that place where there was no `me'. I left my body on automatic, my brain knew what to do. I had to change trains once, but travel by train in Europe was easy I found. At the airport there was a USO volunteer waiting for me in front of the ticket counter. I didn't need a babysitter and the unjustified anger that flared up inside me brought me to my senses before I lashed out. It was unlike me to get angry. I wanted to hit something, or someone. I shoved it behind another steel door in my mind without looking at the feeling too closely.
I hadn't brought much with me because I had civilian clothes at home that would still fit so I didn't need to check a bag. I brought my Class A's for the funeral and a couple other things, which fit easily into a medium sized army issue backpack. He already had my tickets printed out and explained my layover in Atlanta and how to find my flight to Austin. I regretted the anger I'd felt. It was actually helpful that he'd done all the footwork for me. I suppose that was his job, but I still felt grateful that it would allow me to avoid reality for just a while longer.
I ignored his approving eyes as I felt him checking me out while we walked to my gate. He could tell I wasn't in a talkative mood and stayed silent, for which I was relieved. As we passed a bar, I told him I wanted a beer. In the States the drinking age was now 21, but here in Germany any 16 year old could drink beer, and liquor at 18. My gate was not far, and Phillip responded with a polite no thank you when I offered to buy him one too. He was working, which I understood. I wanted to be alone anyway. I said goodbye to Phillip, and thanked him for his help. He told me to contact the USO office here at the airport if something happened with my flight, and I had a momentary panic that there was the possibility I couldn't get home.
"Just in case, Private. Nothing will go wrong." He said when he saw my panicked face.
I didn't correct him about calling me Private when I was out of uniform. He had to know better. I think he was agreeing to the distance I demanded with my quietness.
I had three hours before my flight. I ordered a beer and sat at the bar. Before I was almost done with my first, I felt someone take the seat beside me.
"Flying home, soldier?" The rough American voice said. I turned to look. A man in his low 30's sat there, his hair cut to regulation, but even if it hadn't marked him as military his bearing would. He was ruggedly handsome, a seriousness hung in the air around him that spoke of deadly competence and unworried confidence. Before I could answer, he told the bartender to get me another, and one for him.
"Yeah. Family business." I responded. I neglected to thank him for the beer.
"Ah. A funeral then. Who?" No empty words of sympathy. No attempts to soothe my pain. I found myself grateful for the casual directness. He seemed to know that assumed familiarity would bring bitterness. Maybe he'd been in my shoes, it sure seemed like it.
"My dad."
He raised his glass to offer a toast. "To your dad. And fuck the bullshit of losing them young."
The perfection of his words brought my own glass up to join his without thought, the ease of the natural conclusion did more to calm the turbulence inside me than all the sympathy in the world could do. I really looked at him this time. He wore civvies, a long sleeved grey plaid flannel over a thermal undershirt, the sleeves rolled up over thick forearms that had a sprinkling of dark brown hair. Faded jeans which gripped his sturdy thighs above brown suede hiking boots. His brown eyes possessed a hardened severity that spoke of his own memories of death, locked immobile in an unblinking stare ahead.
He allowed a couple minutes of silence while we sipped our beers. It felt right, this shared pain.
"I'll listen if you want, but that's not what you need, is it?" It was gruff, but kind. Again he saw me exactly where I was. No, I didn't need a shoulder to cry on, least of all from a stranger.
So we talked with few words over the next two hours, and he told me he he was with the 75th, a Ranger. I told him I'd made my request and hoped to go to Ranger School. We spoke of many things, none of them about my dad. There were frequent stretches of silence, and it was comfortable. I realized he knew. He knew that it was not his place to hear those intimate details, and that sharing them would not help me. He wasn't trying to distract me. We were simply being... being there, together. At some point I realized our arms touched as we leaned them on the bar while we talked. I came to notice we sipped our beers with our other hands so that the contact would remain. I felt his strength, wanting to siphon it from him, maybe borrow it for what was ahead.
I focused my eyes on his hand, relaxed so close to mine. Rough and capable with scars that decorated his knuckles, his middle finger slightly misaligned as if from an injury that hadn't healed right. His skin was closer to a working worn than an unused softness. Busy hands familiar with facility and struggle.
Before we'd finished our third beer, he said "let's go". I brought my glass up to drink the last of mine, and he stopped me with a hand on my wrist.
"Leave it. For them." His hard stare allowed no argument. It said this was the way of men, of homage and respect and keeping their memory. Those of us left behind could not forget, the fallen deserved no less. And in that moment the loss of my father seemed graciously less than the loss he'd endured. Suddenly, the full mug that had sat untouched beside his the entire time hit me. Hard.
"There it is." He said softly. He wrapped his heavy arm around my neck and pressed his face to the short new hair growth on my head as silent tears fell from my eyes. I leaned into his soft grey flannel, his solidness an anchor. I didn't cry or sob. It wasn't self pity or useless indulgence flowing from my eyes. The sudden knowledge of irreversible change and being forced to move forward when the unfulfilled will exist beside you always and pushes at your soul. My tears were recognition of what was rather than what wasn't: the pain I had to carry with honor. It was the first thaw of a frozen river, quiet but gently inevitable as rivulets descended over my cheeks to drip from my jaw. His warm nearness coupled with the heat of his breathing against my skull melted the frigid world inside me. His lips were soft against my ear. It was intimate not invasive. I don't know how long we sat like that, it felt both too long and not long enough, but he didn't move until I returned from the emptiness.
"Thank you." I mumbled, feeling slightly ashamed, righting myself.
"No shame." Again he allowed no argument. "If you join us, you'll be my brother. We're the only ones who understand. There is no shame, not with us." He gave me a solid pat on the back. "Let's go, we're boarding."
He and three of his brothers were on my flight, and because the plane wasn't full, after takeoff they moved to sit in empty seats around me. I felt like they were protecting me. No... not that. They were letting me rest on their strength, to show me how strength was shared and your brothers carried the weight when you couldn't. They shared their laughter and some tales of their adventures, avoiding anything serious. I slept some, as did they, but it seemed like there was always at least one of them keeping an eye on me. I realized I had been wrong to keep myself apart from my brothers in the Bravos, most especially Sleeper, but also Zeus the only one who hadn't tried to fill my emptiness with platitudes.
We said goodbye after landing in Atlanta. They were headed to Washington. They each hugged me tight, said "see ya around, little bro." which felt really good.
The funeral was somber, with a dignity I think I only understood after the Rangers had taken me under their wing. There was an honor guard, and I and my brother Tim helped carry the casket, positioned in the middle. Some of Dad's friends had come. Mom was presented with the flag and she cried. I handed her one of Dad's handkerchiefs I'd taken from his drawer, instead of the Kleenex she pulled from her purse, the simple act of which made her cry more, but that was okay. I was surprisingly fine, having found my peace. It was sad, and so unnecessary, but it couldn't be undone.
The closest ones, family and lifelong friends, gathered at the house after. Most everyone arrived together, but the door was left open for people to come and go. I was talking with two of Dad's buddies from Vietnam, they'd kept in touch after they'd left the Army in `73. Our house was full, so when I caught a flash of straight blonde hair beside dark hair, I froze.
I excused myself from the men I was talking with, and wove through the people. Grandma stopped me to ask how I was doing for the tenth time since I'd been home. I assured her I was okay, asked her if she needed anything, to which she replied "that's my job young man. You don't worry about that." I gave her a kiss on the cheek.
"You're the boss." I replied with a chuckle. "I bet Grandpa loves that."
Her grin was just a bit improper. "He does, dear. Often."
I about choked. "Why Grandma, I'm shocked!"
"No you're not." She sipped her wine giving me a knowing look. "I think I saw your pretty blonde girl come in a few minutes ago, shameless boy. Maybe you should find her."
I was NOT ready for my Grandmother to know about Carol and my sexual history, but I guess mom and dad knew more than I thought they did if passing it on to my Grandparents made it family knowledge.
"I'm going to avoid the embarrassment and take your advice. I love you Grandma." I kissed her again and continued searching.
I found them talking with my mom, obviously offering proper respects. I was not prepared for the sight of them and how I reverted to high school Tom. Some of the feelings surfaced, but I refused to acknowledge them. They hadn't seen me and were faced away, which meant my mom noticed me first from between their shoulders. She stopped talking and they turned to see what had caught her attention.
God, he looked the same, except for the dark suit he wore that only made him look stronger and more powerful than I remembered. But there was something more to him, something more real. He had a presence that was undeniable with its ephemeral weight. His almost black hair was braided back cleanly in two thick braids to either side of the crown of his head, joining at the back above the loose cascade that fell to his shoulders. His straight remarkably defined jaw accented his handsome face like it always had. He gazed at me unflinchingly, direct and deep. His eyes were not soft grey flannel, they were the color of a promised storm. And I felt him pull me in. I resisted with the strength I borrowed, the pain I'd endured and the resolute steel I'd forged with the molten memories I had to burn with the pieces of my soul he'd left me. It was a bloody battle we fought there in the midst of my oblivious guests. His determination assaulted my carefully built fortress. I felt the gates begin to fail.
"Kevin, don't. Please." I begged. It was all I had left.
"No Tom." He dismissed me. "I know why you won't answer my letters. I understand why you think you needed to do everything you did. But what you're too stubborn to admit is that it wasn't necessary." It was almost angry how he said it.
Retreat is wise in the face of overwhelming odds. But I was trapped by obligation and had nowhere to go, and couldn't even disappear to the place where I didn't exist because I couldn't trust my automatic brain not to fall into his arms and surrender me to him like it had always done.
"Kevin, maybe we should do this later." Carol said softly, putting her hand on Kevin's arm.
I still couldn't break his gaze, he was a weakness for me. But his eyes became lighter, the softness returned. That only made it harder to resist him, but they released me, finally.
"Thank you both for coming." I struggled for something neutral. "But aren't you missing classes?" That sounded dumb, even to me. I didn't know how college worked.
"It's winter break. We don't start again until next week." Carol explained.
"Oh, I didn't know that." I stumbled in the words. "Can you... would you tell me what it's like? How is college life?" I was truly interested. I needed to know they were both doing well, that life was everything they wanted. I felt out of place in my own house, this civilian world while we talked about their experiences, the cities they lived in, all the normal things they did that I could never do. It was too different, and it made me miss my Platoon and the Bravo Brotherhood. The things I did and what l learned seemed far more important than football games and crazy professors. Although sad, it was clear we were growing apart, at least Carol and I. Kevin felt even better than I remembered. He had a power to him that is hard to describe, shored up by a confidence that had only grown since graduation. He still wasn't a talker, but this reluctance to speak came from a place of strength rather than from holding back.
I often moved away from them, telling them I'd be back, so I could circulate and make sure I spent time with everyone who had come to remember my dad. I listened to their favorite stories of him, learned a lot about who he was when he was younger. A memorial can be a gift. I had dreaded it before today, but was now thankful for it because it was like my dad lived again today in every story and conversation.
It was late now, almost 9:30. Everyone had left except Grandpa and Grandma, who helped us clean up. I'd said goodbye to Kevin and Carol a couple hours ago. At the end of it, it was nice to hang out with them again. And they watched over Tim, keeping him from going off to hide in his room. Tim loved them both, and they'd always made him feel special while we were together in high school.
Finally Grandma and Grandpa left for their hotel. Neither mine nor Tim's bed was big enough for them, and that's all we had.
I said good night to mom, gave her a kiss, and went to go shower and go to bed.
Not long after I fell asleep, I felt the bed move, and someone crawling into bed with me. "Tim, you okay buddy?" I asked, rolling over to hug him.
But it wasn't Tim's smooth chest I felt.
He felt too good to let go, but I managed to blurt out "This isn't a good idea, Kev." I could manage that much.
"You're the only one who thinks that, Tom. So how about you shut up?" And then he grabbed me into a spoon, wrapping his big arms around me and pulling me into his hairy chest. I didn't have the strength to fight him. I could smell his scent and with the exhaustion of today's events it put me right to sleep, his mouth breathing gently against my neck.