“Travis!”
“I’m kidding,” I say. “But you know what would have been awesome? Tuna. I’d have killed for a tuna fish sandwich.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
“I don’t know,” I say. “I guess I didn’t want to come off as ungrateful, especially since I sucked at keeping in touch.”
Her face goes serious. “I’m not going to pretend my feelings weren’t hurt, but I’d have sent you anything you wanted. You’re my son, Travis, and I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
We sit in silence for a few moments while the princess in the movie gets a haircut so no one in Rome will recognize her.
“I was a jerk about Dad and I’m sorry,” I say. “It’s not really my business. And I’ve got your back whatever you decide.”
“I filed the papers.”
“I can’t say that makes me sad,” I say. “But are you going to be okay?”
“Now?” She smiles at me. “Absolutely.”
Chapter 17
Charlie,
I know you can’t read this, but I’ve been seeing a therapist and she thought I should write about you. Instead, I thought it might be easier to write to you. Maybe we’re both wrong, and either way I feel kind of stupid writing to a dead person, but I figured I’d give it a try.
I’ve been diagnosed with post-traumatic stress disorder, but just talking to a therapist doesn’t make it magically disappear. I mean, it’s good to unload some of the stuff I’ve been carrying around in my head, but I still have nightmares. I still wake up in the middle of the night, sweaty and scared, and have to remind myself it’s not real. The thing is, she tells me that the nightmares may never go away. That it could take years to stop reacting to loud noises or scanning the ground for IEDs. And even though I haven’t seen you in a while, I’ll probably never stop mistaking strangers in crowds for you. It sucks, but I’m learning to deal.
A lot of things have changed since you’ve been gone. My parents split and my dad moved back to Green Bay. That’s what my mom tells me, anyway. I don’t talk to him, he doesn’t talk to me, and that seems to work for both of us. Mom sold the house and got a smaller place. She spends most of her time collecting supplies for Afghan kids, but she’s been up to see your mom and Jenny a couple of times.
Speaking of your mom, I went to see her like I promised. You were right about her. She’s kind of weird, but in a good way. You’d have laughed your ass off when Kevlar found out she’s a lesbian. By the way, Kevlar finally got laid, but you really don’t want to know those details.
Remember how I joked about doing the recon course? Turns out, Kevlar went instead and he’s with First Recon out of Pendleton now. Ever since Afghanistan he’s been living from adrenaline rush to adrenaline rush, so I hope this works for him. The last time we talked, which has been a while, he claimed to have a seriously hot girlfriend but won’t show me any pictures, so I call shenanigans. She’s probably a whale.
Anyway, I ended up being sent to bomb dog school. At first I was against it because it means going out on more patrols when we go back to Afghanistan, but dude… this is probably the coolest thing I’ve ever done. My dog is a black Lab named Bodhi, which your mom says is a Sanskrit word that means “awakening” and claims it’s a sign that he is the right dog for me. I’m not sure that’s true, but I like him a lot. Bodhi is finishing up some training while I’m on leave, so I won’t see him again until the airport. I’m not saying I want to go back to that shithole of a country, but I’m looking forward to working with my dog again.
Right now, I’m in Maine visiting my new girlfriend, Harper. I’m not sure how this whole long-distance thing is going to work, but she says she’ll be here when I get back. I have to believe, though, because that’s the kind of girl she is. You’d really like her and I know she’d like you, too.
Maybe you know all this stuff already. Maybe you’re hanging with the Buddha, watching us try to figure out how life is supposed to work without you. But if you don’t know, it’s not easy. Sometimes it feels like I’ve left the water running or forgot to lock the door, and then I remember and it sucks all over again. Maybe someday we’ll see each other again, Charlie. For real, I mean. Until then, save me a seat, okay?
~Solo
Acknowledgments
Thanks to…
The 3rd Battalion 6th Marines, whose experiences in Afghanistan shaped this book. And to Clint Van Winkle, whose book Soft Spots: A Marine’s Memoir of Combat and Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder was enormously inspiring.
Maximilian and Didie Uriarte for letting me ask the questions and the members of Terminal Lance (especially MoMo) for answering.
SSgt. Zachary Strelke, LCpl. Ceejay Maxwell, Cpl. Ben Harris, LCpl. Ben Lyons, Sgt. Alex Piasecki, Cpl. Cliff “Ski” Kralewski, Sgt. Jeremy Goldman, LCpl. Jared Perumal, Tony Rash, and US Army Master Sgt. Jarrod Griffith for going above and beyond. And all the thanks in the world is not enough for LCpl. David Backhaus.
Bloggers Danielle Benedetti, Carla Black, Chelsea Swiggett, Adele Walsh, and Gail Yates for being my personal cheerleading squad. You are all totally awesome.
Mahnoor Yahwar for helping me navigate Islamic customs, letting me borrow one of your kissing stories, and being a wonderful friend. (You have dibs.)
Josh Berk, Tara Kelly, Miranda Kenneally, Amy Spalding, Cheryl Macari, and the crew of Barnes & Noble 2711 in Fort Myers, Florida, for support, advice, critiques, and—the best part—the friendships.
Suzanne Young for everything. I don’t know what I’d do without you.
My agent, Kate Schafer Testerman, who believed in me—and Travis. I wouldn’t have wanted to make this journey with anyone else.
Michelle Nagler at Bloomsbury for taking a chance on an uncommon protagonist, and Victoria Wells Arms for pushing when I didn’t always want to be pushed. It was always in the right direction and ultimately led to a better book, and I’m so grateful for that.
My mom, Mary Singler, who cries when she reads this book and tells me she’s proud. Thank you for helping me become someone of whom you could be proud.
Jack and Marilyn Doller for their love and support, and to Sharon Doller, who has made this journey in my heart.
Scott and Caroline, who are the best people I know. I hope one day you find something that fulfills you the same way writing does for me, no matter what it is.
And finally, Phil. Because I love you best of all.