Chapter Three
Dear Grace,
I’m luckier than most. There are plenty of guys that are homesick and haven’t seen their kids or wives or girlfriends for months except over the Internet.
I don’t have much to miss back home but I’m here with my best bud, Bo Randolph. We’ve been friends since we tried to beat the piss out of each other in seventh grade. Served two weeks of suspension and found out we had a lot in common.
Bo’s my battle buddy. This means wherever he goes, I go, and vice versa. You never go anywhere without your battle buddy, including (or maybe especially) the bars.
Yours,
Noah
Grace
“Calm down, jitterbug,” Lana said for what seemed like the fiftieth time. She handed me another glass of Vodka and pink lemonade—the lazy college student’s version of the Cosmo.
“What’s up with you, anyway?” Amy asked. We were pregaming at our apartment, drinking just enough to feel good before we hit the frat party. Knowing when to show up was just as important as knowing which keg to drink from. The keg in the backyard would be cheap and watered down. Kegs kept in the kitchen or interior bar, surrounded by all the brothers in the house, would be more expensive, although not always better tasting.
“I’m sorry about this afternoon and the photo shoot,” I told Amy. “I’m totally on board for tomorrow.”
Amy waved her hand dismissively. “It was fine. Lana called and said you had eaten something bad at lunch. Why are you two still eating at the café?” She gave a little shudder. “Tomorrow is perfect. More of the house will be there.”
I threw Lana a grateful look, and she just patted me on the back. “You’d do it for me,” she murmured so only I could hear.
“So are you thinking junior college transfers or freshman targets tonight?” I asked her as I finished applying my makeup, pretending like I was interested in finding a hookup.
I didn’t want to answer questions about Noah. I didn’t want to think about him at all. If I pretended to be interested in other things, then perhaps I could make that happen. It was worth a try, anyway.
“Depends on what you’re looking for. One night hookup? Freshman. Some date potential? JuCo transfer,” Lana said, sorting through tubes of lip-gloss. “And can I recommend we do away with lumberjack couture for the night? Your wardrobe suggests that you’re gearing up to haul logs out of the forest. If you’re aiming for Paul Bunyan, then your collection of plaid shirts is a great start—otherwise choose something that isn’t flannel,” Lana said.
I looked down at my plaid shirt. “I thought the thrift-shop, country-girl look was in.”
“Maybe at State, where Josh goes. In fact, isn’t that Josh’s shirt?”
I looked away guiltily. It was Josh’s shirt. I’d stolen a few things from him this summer. He either didn’t notice or didn’t care, because he never said a word. But Lana had already seen my expression and started to wrestle the shirt off my shoulders. Lana is thin but strong. It must be all the yoga she does. I stood there in my thin, ribbed tank top, and Lana looked at my reflection in the mirror, quirking one eyebrow at me.
“Let’s just say the guy-who-shall-not-be-named is there. Do you want to look hot? Or like you just got back from a gold dig in Alaska?”
“Hot,” I mumbled.
“Super.” She proceeded to drag me into her room and throw a silky blue shirt at me. “Put this on with your denim skirt and take off your sneakers.”
I looked at the shirt. I wasn’t even sure how to put it on. There were long straps and a sheet of fabric on one side. “Are you missing a piece, like a camisole that goes underneath?”
“No,” Lana snorted and pulled my tank up over my arms. Surprised, I let her manipulate me like a doll. The blue satin turned out to be a halter top with a low scoop back and ties around the neck. It had an elasticized waist that helped keep it in place. I grudgingly admitted to myself that this was actually a good style for me.
The shirt had a low back, so I couldn’t wear a bra. Unlike Lana, I had a generous C cup. Not wearing a bra made me feel like I was completely naked. Plus, everyone would be able to tell if the temperature dropped just by looking at my chest.
“Lana, I can’t wear this. I feel like a small breeze will reveal all my worldly goods.”
“You’ll wear it and stop complaining about it,” Lana instructed, handing me some silicone rubbery things that connected in the middle.
“Is this supposed to be a bra? It looks like two uninflated balloons connected by plastic.”
She reached out to grab it back from me. “Works for me. I’ll be sure to stare at your tits to see if I need to bring a sweater.”
I hugged the balloons to my chest. “No, I’m all for hiding defective birthday favors under my shirt.”
“Well?” she asked after I had attached the sticky silicone to my skin.
“It fits.”
“I’m mentally translating that into ‘my God, Lana, your taste is exquisite.’”
“My God, Lana, your taste is exquisite,” I repeated dutifully.
Lana quickly tied the knot around my neck and spun me around. “I bought the shirt for you last weekend.”
I could feel the ends of my hair tickle against my bare back. “I still don’t feel comfortable about the back.”
“We can tape it just in case,” Lana brought out some double-stick tape and adhered the folded seam of the blouse to my back. Double-stick tape was Lana’s answer to every fashion emergency. She carried strips of it in her purse and her messenger bag. If I was ever looking for reasons to join a sorority, learning how to avoid visible panty lines, exposed bra straps, and wardrobe malfunctions would be as good as any.
“There,” she said slapping my back lightly. “Ready to go.”
I went to slip on my tennis shoes, but stopped when Lana gave me the stink eye and held up a pair of low-heeled strappy sandals in the same sky blue as my blouse. “No way,” I said.
“They match,” Lana replied.
“ I won’t wear heels, but I’ll wear my ballet flats.” I would be the only one. Lana’s feet were shod with pencil-slim stilettos, and Amy had on cork wedges. Thankfully, I was slightly taller than average and didn’t feel like I was standing amongst a tribe of Amazonians.
Without allowing Lana more time to launch a shoe offensive, I scurried to my bedroom and pulled out a pair of silver flats. The parts of my body that I had always liked, no matter how much I weighed, were my calves, ankles, and feet. They were so nice that even strangers noticed, and I tried to focus on them now, when so much of me was feeling exposed.
One time Lana and I drove down into Chicago to shop, we stopped at a shoe store a classmate had raved about. A shoe clerk had stroked my instep and stuck his phone number in the shoebox. I was creeped out and never returned to that store, but I always remembered that event with confused pride. Hey, some stranger thought my feet were a turn on. Yay! Quickly followed by, Eww.
I saw my reflection in the full-length mirror that hung over the back of my door. Lana was right. The color of the blue top looked perfect with my late-summer tan and brown hair. It brought out the green in my hazel eyes. The blousiness at the bottom of the shirt meant I could stand without worrying that my pooch of a belly would be hanging out.
And my skirt was long enough that it hid the worst part of my legs—my thunderous thighs—while showing off the best part. If Noah was there, I definitely wasn’t going to be embarrassed by what I was wearing. All my fantasies and the letters I had sent, yes. My clothing, no.
“You look great,” Lana’s voice shook me out of my reverie. I saw her leaning against the doorjamb.
“Thanks for buying this for me.”
She shrugged. “I can’t keep buying clothes for myself. Don’t have enough room.”
I wanted to ask her if I could borrow some of her confidence along with the shirt. Maybe they sold that at the Gap next to the jeans and T-shirts. Instead, I returned her compliment. “You look awesome too.”
She did. Her hair was extra shiny tonight, like a Pantene commercial. She wore Capri leggings and a sheer peasant blouse than hung below her waist. It was a look only a thin girl could carry off. At one time, Lana’s thinness was a cause of great concern and worry, but she was healthy now.
“Too much cleavage?” I asked, noticing that the front of the blouse hung rather low.
“No, in fact, you should wear a necklace to draw attention to your girls,” Lana pointed to my bare neck. I was already as far out of my comfort zone as possible. The girls would have to go unadorned.
“Are you coming home or staying with Peter tonight?”
Lana made a face. “The frat house? No thanks. Plus I’m kind of mad at Peter.”
“Why?” I tried to inject some disappointment in my voice, knowing I was probably failing miserably.
“Oh stop. I know you don’t like him.” She pursed her lips to one side. “This will only make you big-headed, but I heard over at the house today that Peter has been bragging about hooking up with a girl in London this summer.”
“Oh my God, why didn’t you say anything?” I turned to her in distress. “It’s not all about me, you know.”
“You had the Noah thing, and it’s all rumors right now. I don’t want to get worked up over nothing.”
“Are you going to ask him about it?” I asked. “I’ve been waiting for an excuse to kick his ass.”
“I know you have.” She dabbed her lips with some lip-gloss, whatever feelings she had about the rumors not showing on her face. Lana and I were true opposites.
“I don’t think he treats you right. He’s always making plans and then breaking them at the last minute, and his fraternity seems more important than you,” I pointed out.
“Eh. I can’t always expect him to be at my beck and call.”
If I had unrealistically high expectations of guys, Lana’s expectations were way too low. She basically required them to breathe and know her name. But maybe when you didn’t expect much out of them, you didn’t get disappointed.
“The cure for one man is another,” I reminded her.
She pinned on a big smile, which might have been fake or real, and said, “Yup. Let’s go find our cures, then.”
***
By the time we got to the fraternity house, the party was in full swing. You could hear the music from the end of the street, and it only got louder as we approached. Other houses appeared to be hosting smaller parties, but the crowd around the Delta Tau Delta House was already straining the structure.
The guys at the door seemed to know Lana and nodded as we passed through, not even glancing at the list attached to a clipboard. I think one of them trailed a finger down my spine, but I wasn’t sure. I didn’t dare look back to verify.
There were tons of people inside the house and dozens more in the backyard. Two kegs were set up on a back patio and some guys were doing keg stands. Being held upside down by your legs while someone pours beer right into your mouth seemed like a quick way to be sent to the vomitorium. I stood and watched for a minute; it was such a spectacle.
Someone else was doing beer bongs from a second-story window. When one girl tried it, the beer came out her nose and mouth. Everyone jeered, but she seemed unfazed. Her pregame drinking must have been hardcore.
Lana grabbed my hand and I grabbed Amy’s. The three of us linked together and threaded our way to the dimly lit kitchen in the back. A makeshift bar had been created by placing a plywood board on cinder blocks, and we were offered keg beer, the good kind. Lana refused and instead waved a guy over to her.
She whispered something in his ear and he returned with three bottles that he opened right in front of her. Smart rules for drinking at a house party included always being present when your glass was filled or your bottle opened.
Lana passed around bottles. As we turned to leave, the guy grabbed Lana’s arm and leaned down, saying something to her that I couldn’t hear over the din of the music, laughter, and general talking.
I watched as his hand that held the bottle opener curled around her side. Lana didn’t move away, and I wondered if maybe this guy was her cure for the night.
I didn’t recognize him, but his ease in the kitchen spoke of familiarity in the fraternity. He must have lived in the house because, before I knew it, we proceeded in a line upstairs and into a bedroom at the end of the hall.
The doors were almost all closed except another one at the end of the hall that looked to be a bathroom. At the sound of our steps, the door slammed closed from the inside. Occupied, apparently.
Lana introduced our beer supplier as Jack and closed the door behind us once we had all trooped inside. “Jack the president?” I mouthed to Lana as Jack’s back was turned. She grinned and waved her hand in front of her face. This time I understood that she meant hot. He was nice looking. He had that easy movement I associated with athletes, but his body wasn’t overly developed.
Jack gestured for us to sit. I looked around. The room had two beds on either side of a large coffee table but no chairs, except two that were stationed in front of identical desks at the far end of the room.
Jack and Lana sat down on one bed and Amy and I sat on the other. Jack proceeded to pull out a bottle from under his bed and then revealed lime wedges and a saltshaker in his hands.
Oh no, tequila shots? I didn’t think I was ready for this. Lana rubbed her hands together, and Amy bounced on the bed with little squeak of excitement. I looked at the bottle with dread. I was already in a sucktastic mood and doing tequila shots wasn’t going to lift my spirits. Chances were, with my luck, I’d probably start sobbing in this strange boy’s lap.
“I’m going to sit this out, Lana,” I told her. “I’m afraid I’ll get sick and then I’ll be the worst party pooper ever. Not to mention the fact that I’ll probably ruin my new blouse.”
“Are you sure, Grace? I’ll come downstairs with you,” Lana offered immediately.
“Go downstairs and sit in the second windowsill on the right side,” Jack instructed. It was clear he didn’t want Lana going anywhere. “It’s got a deep sill and you can enjoy the party without being crushed. If someone is there, go to the kitchen and grab a pledge. They’ll have a green wristband. Tell him Jack said that seat is reserved for you.”
“Thanks.” I closed the door behind me, grateful to get out of that room.
I went downstairs and sought out the second window well. It was occupied by two guys with green wristbands. I repeated what Jack had said, and the two jumped up like he was there giving the order personally. It was good to be president, I guess. One even offered to get me another beer, but I turned him down.
The window maybe wasn’t the best place for me to sit given my backless top. Lana was right about the shirt attracting a lot of attention. After sitting there for just a few minutes, more than one cold beer bottle had been dragged down my exposed spine. My shivers were definitely the result of the chill and not excitement.
If I was interested in a hookup, this would be the place to find one. There were people of both sexes scoping each other out, flirting, and engaging in pre-mating behavior on the dance floor. It made for excellent people-watching, if nothing else.
“Mind if I sit here?” a voice asked. I looked up and saw a curly-haired guy with broad shoulders smiling down at me.
“Not at all,” I scooted over. He sat down in the sill, sideways, one leg drawn up and the other stabilizing him on the floor.
“Kyle Briggs,” He offered his hand.
“Grace Sullivan,” I clasped his hand and shook it once but he didn’t let it go.
“Haven’t I seen you in my Poli Sci class?” Kyle asked, still holding my hand in his. I wriggled my fingers a little and he released me.
“Don’t think so,” I shook my head. I didn’t remember him from class. Granted we had only had six of them so far. I knotted my fingers together on my lap so he wouldn’t find an excuse to hold them, but that was a mistake, because he just placed his large hand over both of mine. Either he was coming on to me or he was super touchy. Both made me feel uncomfortable. He leaned closer and I could smell the yeast from the beer on his breath. I was trying not to feel overwhelmed, but it was difficult.
“I’ve seen you somewhere, though, and it bugs me that I can’t remember where because I almost always remember the good-looking ones.”
“Do you always use bad pick-up lines or just when you’re drunk?”
“You’re going to make me work for it,” Kyle nodded to himself. “I like that in a girl.”
I tried to move backward but was blocked by the window frame. Unfortunately, I couldn’t stand up with this Kyle guy pressing his considerable weight onto my hands. He took my reply as a challenge; I could see it in his eyes. He thought I was flirting with him and was probably too intoxicated at this point to see a difference between the girl wanting to get away and the girl trying to get in his pants.
I pushed my hands upward, not wanting to leave his big sweaty palm lying across my skirt, close to the juncture of my thighs. “Listen, Griggs, I don’t think my boyfriend would want me sitting so close to you.” Josh had taught me to never insult a drunken guy, because you didn’t know if he was a mean drunk or a happy one. Just try to compliment your way out of a negative situation. Saying I had a boyfriend was an inoffensive way of making sure that Kyle would not be offended by my lack of interest.
Unfortunately, Kyle was denser or drunker than I thought because he only grabbed my hands in his and drew me closer. His other arm came to rest around my back. “Oh ho ho,” he cried when his hand met my bare back. I froze and arched away from his hand, but this only pressed me closer to his chest wall. This was going to get ugly if I had to struggle to get away.
The window, which seemed like a promising escape from the crowd, now turned into a prison, and I was boxed in. I looked around frantically for Amy or Lana, but could see almost no one’s face. It was just a mass of legs.
“Let go. I’m not interested.” The time for soft, deterring compliments was past now. I tugged on my hands and tried to slide sideways, but he threw out a leg to forestall that movement. His face came close to mine.
“You don’t need to play hard to get,” he said. “I’m yours for the taking.”
“I’m not interested,” I repeated firmly. “Let me go, or I’ll make a scene.”
“I’ll make one for you.” I heard another, familiar voice above me. I looked up at Noah’s face and nearly cried with relief.
Kyle wasn’t quick enough to realize he was in jeopardy and instead said, “Shove off, man, I’ve tagged this one.”
Noah reached down and in one motion pulled Kyle’s hand off mine and me to his side. “She’s not a deer.” His voice was flat, but I could feel the rigidity in his body. While I wasn’t a psych major like Lana, even I could read anger in Noah’s stance.
Kyle stood and held up his hands. “Hey man, she was coming on to me.”
Noah speared him with a glance, and it must have penetrated because Kyle turned on his heel and left.
The little scene went by almost unnoticed. The crowd kept on dancing and drinking. I felt unbalanced, though, and sat clumsily back down on the windowsill.
Noah remained standing, towering over me. He had definitely kept up with an exercise routine since he got out. Even through the cotton of his dark T-shirt and the dim light in the room, I could make out the definition of his chest muscles. The skin was taut across his high cheekbones, and his eyes were dark and piercing. I felt more exposed under his stare than when I had first donned this backless top.
Anger and resentment began to well up in me, and I wanted to throw a beer bottle straight at his face and mar the perfect handsomeness. Although, as I stared at him more closely, I realized he had a bruise forming under his right eye. I wonder if he had fought tonight and with whom. I wanted to know everything, a whole two years of everything. I bit my tongue to keep the questions inside.
Maybe he was white-knighting himself at all of the campus parties, choosing which damsel he would take home. But it wouldn’t be me. I couldn’t place my heart in jeopardy again. An entire year had been lost while I tried to deal with conflicting feelings of sorrow at the loss of him in my life, humiliation at believing he could love me, and anger that he had strung me along. I didn’t know why he was here. While not knowing was terrifying, I didn’t want to suffer more rejection at the hands of Noah Jackson.
I rose. The party was losing its appeal. I should run up to the fourth floor and take a quick picture with my phone and then go home and block out placement for the Alphi Phi photo. But mostly, I felt like going home. I tried brushing by Noah but he caught me by the arm.
“I’ve been waiting for you to call me.” Impatience was etched on his face.
“You’ll wait a long time, then, because I threw your number away.”
“Will you give me a chance to explain?” He rubbed a hand through his hair and settled it at the back of his neck. He leaned forward. “Can we get out of here?”
“You had a chance. You had two years of chances. I don’t know why you’re here, but it has nothing to do with me.” I tried to leave again, but the hand on my arm was immovable. He wasn’t hurting me, but he wouldn’t let me go either. I was never sitting in a window again.
“It has everything to do with you,” he said, his face intense, leaning down to make sure I heard him. An involuntary warmth began to spread through my body, and I tried to beat it back.
“Really? I don’t believe you.” I knew I sounded petulant, but I didn’t care. I just wanted out of there before I let him convince me otherwise. I suspected that if I gave him enough time, Noah could get me to believe pretty much anything.
“I know,” he replied. He sounded frustrated, and I could feel myself weakening again.
We stood there, staring at each other. The crowd of people streamed past us, now just streaks of color caught on low-speed film.
While the crowd had felt oppressive before, it now seemed a safe harbor. Within the mass of people, perhaps I could lose Noah or, even more importantly, myself. I just wasn’t equipped right now to deal with him. Since my previous attempts at disengagement had been unsuccessful, I tried a different tactic.
“I can’t deal with this now.”
“When, then?”
I felt like I was being interrogated, and the sense of injustice threatened to choke me. I wasn’t the one in the wrong. I should be asking the questions, setting the limits, defining our boundaries.
“I don’t know. Two years from now,” I said. Snideness creeping into my tone. Probably a guy who looked like him and kept a girl on the line for four years expected her to lie down and beg to be walked over. I looked down pointedly at his hand still encircling my arm. “You can let go anytime now.”
He released me immediately, and I headed for the stairs to collect Lana or maybe drink myself into oblivion with tequila shots.
I felt Noah’s body heat behind mine. He wasn’t going anywhere. But I could ignore him.
But a clearly tipsy Lana and an every drunker Amy were coming down the stairs as I reached the first landing. Jack was nowhere to be seen. New plan.
“You two ready to go?” I asked. Lana was wide-eyed and mouthed, “he’s right behind you” to me. Correction—Lana wasn’t tipsy. She was drunk.
“I know,” I said, “and you aren’t invisible to him. I’m sure he can see you.”
“Yup,” Noah affirmed.
“Oh no!” Lana said. “What about your cure?”
“Are you sick?” Noah asked, coming up to the landing, and looking at me intently.
“Not that kind of cure, silly,” Lana said before I could open my mouth. She was feeling no pain. She stumbled down the stairs dragging Amy behind her. “Cure for heartache.” Thanks Lana, I thought, as if I hadn’t been humiliated enough before.
“I’ll drive y’all home,” Noah said. “My truck is out front.”
“You can’t park on the street,” Lana said, poking one long fingernail into his chest. When her poke found no purchase, she began patting. “Wow, this is like marble. Amy,” Lana turned and held up their joined hands, “feel this.” At which point both girls proceeded to pat Noah’s apparently very hard chest.
He, at least, had the grace to look embarrassed by this. I had to hustle Lana out before her drunken state revealed something even more humiliating, although at this point, I wasn’t sure what that could be.
I pulled their hands down. “Come on, let’s go.”
Lana tugged back. “No, there’s another house party over on Forest. Let’s go there.”
This night was fast becoming a farce. I couldn’t shake Noah. I couldn’t get Lana to come home with me. Part of me wanted to just sit down on the floor and cry like a toddler, but I had already done that earlier today.
I let out a frustrated breath. “Where’s Jack?”
Lana and Amy turned in unison to look up the stairs. We all waited for a heartbeat but the upstairs hall remained empty. No help from that quarter.
“My big sister is at the party on Forest,” Amy offered. To the Forest party it was, then. Amy’s big sister in the sorority could watch over them.
I turned to Noah. “Guess we’re taking you up on the ride offer.”
He nodded and didn’t smile like he had won, which made the situation only slightly more acceptable. As we walked behind him, I noticed how the crowd just seemed to melt away from us, like he was Moses parting the Red Sea.
Outside, Noah stopped briefly beside the blond guy I’d seen with him in the library, who was now talking to three girls. This must be the infamous Bo Randolph. Noah didn’t introduce us, though, and instead shepherded us toward his truck sitting in the driveway of the fraternity.
I’m not sure how long the vehicle had been there, and its presence surprised me. “Are you a Delt?” Only members of the fraternity got to park in the driveway.
“No,” Noah shook his head. “Just know someone.”
He opened the passenger side doors and helped all of us into his dual cab pickup.
“There’s a lot of space in here.” I had never ridden in a pickup before and was surprised at how roomy it was. The vehicle smelled new.
“You just get this?” I asked him as he climbed into the driver’s seat.
“Smell give it away?” He honked twice to get a couple of people to move out of the driveway and then backed up.
“Hard to hide that new car smell.”
“I got it this summer. Bo told me he was done ferrying my ass around,” Noah said. I remembered Noah telling me once that they were always being counseled to not spend their entire earnings on a new car or a motorcycle or a boat when they were back on leave or just returned from deployment. Noah must have listened to them.
“So you didn’t spend all your money on new wheels the moment you separated?”
“Nope, had other plans.”
I refrained from taking the bait to ask more information, even though I was dying for it. After a few beats of silence, Noah said, “Not going to ask me about my other plans?”
“Not interested,” I lied, looking out the window. He made a couple of turns and then headed down Forest. Noah navigated the campus streets like an upperclassman and not some new transfer who had been in town only two weeks since classes started.
“You seem to know this area pretty well.”
When his answer wasn’t immediate, I knew he was going to tell me something that would make me angry again. By his sheepish tone, he knew it too.
“I’ve been here since June,” he admitted.
“In town?” I could hear the high-pitched screeching tone of my question and tried to swallow down my mounting emotions.
He nodded. He started to say something but then slowed the vehicle. “I don’t see any house party.” He turned slightly and called to the back, “Where to on Forest, ladies?”
Lana didn’t respond. When I turned around, I saw both of them had passed out. They must have had a lot of tequila shots.
There was nothing to do but to take them—and Noah—home.
Noah
Grace’s body was rigid in the passenger seat of my truck. She was strung tighter than a garrote wire.
The Marines had taught me a lot. I learned all the delicate pressure points on a man’s body. I learned to walk a hundred miles in full battle rattle, carrying a pack and ammunition heavier than the two girls in the back seat. I learned how to start a fire in the desert out of nothing more than a soda can, toothpaste, and the sun.
But the Marines had not taught me how to win over a girl whose heart I had broken. Most of the guys in my unit were the ones who had been cheated on. Sure, some of the guys may have forgotten their hometowns when the Air Force chicks or supply personnel arrived at a forward operating base, but most of us were lonely bastards.
I admit that the few times I imagined Grace and I getting together, there was a lot less space between our bodies. When I played this moment out in my mind, I figured I’d calmly explain what happened, and she’d listen intently. I’d apologize and then take her to a movie or two before showing her exactly why she should be with me. In bed.
Right now Grace would probably rather climb in bed with a rattler. I grabbed the back of my neck and squeezed the tight muscles there in frustration. Maybe I should’ve taken Bo up on his offer to strategize, but his relationship experience was as non-existent as mine. Getting advice from another Marine on how to handle a relationship was like asking another orphan how to handle your parents.
Ironically, the one person in my life who I felt comfortable enough confiding personal shit to and who might give me halfway decent advice was sitting in the passenger side of the truck, doing her best to ignore me.
I wrote stuff to Grace that I would never say out loud. Communicating with her had never been an issue before. But we were writing then. Letters only. Old school style, we agreed early on. I cast around for a reasonable explanation, one that didn’t make me out to look too much like a loser. My previous explanation, “I had to get my shit together,” didn’t seem like it would cut it.
I glanced at her in her shiny blue top with its bow I’d like to untie with my teeth. Her brown hair looked incredibly soft, and I wanted to dig my fingers into the thick strands. She looked expensive, like the china Bo’s mother used for company. Totally above my pay grade.
I was right to have waited and gotten everything in order before coming here. Grace had sent me The Odyssey once during deployment, writing that we could experience her English lit class together. As Odysseus fought his way back to Penelope, his faithful wife, he had to overcome obstacles from sirens to monsters.
Homer never said whether the obstacles were all in Odysseus’s mind, created from too much war, too much time at sea, too much time away from reality. But they could have been.
It’s a cliché among fighters that they are all trying to beat back their shithole childhoods. The military is full of guys whose dads were deadbeats at best and abusive monsters at worse. My own old man fell in between. He never raised a hand to me. Too lazy. His preferred method of punishment was making sure I understood that I had ruined his life.
My dad was mad at the world and had been since I killed my mom by being born. He hadn’t called me Noah since I was probably eight or nine. Shithead was his preferred name for me. Worthless was his favorite adjective. When he was drunk, which was often as his measly paycheck allowed, he liked to string them together with a few curse words. Noah, you worthless shithead, you’re not going to amount to anything more than knocking up some trailer park trash.
The Marines may have made me a man, but Grace made me human. No matter what I told her in my letters, she accepted it and wrote me back something funny or sweet. She made me realize I could have more if I wanted it. And I wanted more bad.