"They've got a really solid pediatric unit here," Eli says.
"You're pretty tied into the local community, huh?" I need a distraction. Something, anything to keep the memories that started circling around that little boy's screams.
He shrugs. "No more so than any other local businessman."
"They don't do write-ups on other local bar owners in the New York Times." It was how I found his bar. There was an article about an Iraq war vet who opened his bar in the old tobacco district and had created a space for student veterans to find each other.
It worked. It's how I met him and the rest of the guys. Unfortunately, it's how I met Caleb, too, but hey, no one's perfect.
"Just doing my part, you know?"
"Yeah." I cover my mouth with my hands. "You know what I regret the most about the war?"
"What's that?"
"That it's over." I can feel the silence settle over him like a blanket. He says nothing for a long moment. "Things were simple. Life. Death. Eat. Sleep. Nothing any more complicated than that."
And it was the simple things that are laden with the most regret. At least in my life they are.
"We came home, brother. We can't go back. We–you, me–we've got people here counting on us." He jerks his chin toward the door separating us from whatever they're doing to save Caleb’s ass back there.
I want to argue with him. To tell him that maybe his tour downrange was some Hollywood tour where no one had to make a bad call.
“I’ve been thinking…about your problem,” Eli says after a few minutes.
“Oh lovely.” I lean my head back on the chair and close my eyes. “I’m not really in the right frame of mind for this conversation.”
“Tough shit. We’re here tonight because Caleb couldn’t have that conversation so you’re going to f*ck
ing listen to me.” I open my eyes to see him scrubbing his hands over his face. “You know fantasies aren’t reality, right?”
“Oh god can we please not do this right now?” I swallow. “Isn’t this a fun topic?”
“I’m f*ck
ing serious.”
“I know that.” I sigh heavily. “I know they’re not reality.”
“Then why the f*ck
did you freak out?”
“It’s not exactly a time for rational action when you start to get a hard-on in the middle of a fight with your girlfriend.” I sit up and adopt a terrible British accent. “Hmm, let me pause for a moment and consider my response. I don’t really want to hurt her, therefore, the blood rushing to my penis must be caused by something else not tied to a sadistic fantasy.”
He grins. “That’s not funny.”
“Tell me about it. You’re not the one getting a murder boner around your girlfriend.”
He glances over at me. “Look, all I’m saying is that maybe you should talk to a doc about this.”
I make a rude noise. “Sure. And everything will magically be solved with some antidepressants. That or they’ll take all my information and lock me away in a psych ward so I don’t become the next Hannibal Lecter.”
“This is quite possibly the most f*ck
ed-up conversation I’ve ever had.”
I grin because he’s right. It is f*ck
ed up. But then again, everything is. I’m in the waiting room at the hospital for a guy I don’t particularly like; I’m getting f*ck
ing hard-ons thinking about hurting a woman I care about. “The only way this whole night gets more f*ck
ed up is if you tell me you committed war crimes or something,” I mumble.
Eli goes silent and still. Only a moment and then it’s gone beneath a flash of a quick grin. “Nah. My trauma is much more mundane.”
But I can’t deny what I just saw.
And suddenly, my inappropriate hard-on feels a lot more insignificant.
But a doc comes out who agrees to talk to us.
And it’s time once more to set aside my own problems and focus on someone else.
Abby
I'm standing in the emergency waiting room. I wish Graham hadn’t told me where I could find Josh. I should probably ask him how he knew in the first place. But that can wait.
I wish I was smart enough to leave him alone.
But…I know how this ends. And when your friend is in the hospital, you go. No matter how mad or how much it hurts.
“You okay?” Graham asks.
“Not really.” I let the hate flow through me. Hate for the war. Hate for the Army. Hate for the systems that fail our soldiers year after year after they come home from war.
The coming home videos are a lie. A carefully manufactured moment for everyone to feel good about. No one sees the drinking. The long nights alone. The anger. The distance.
I wish they were true. Oh god, how I wish Josh could get his happily ever after.
And as much as he ripped my heart out, he's the only one who made me feel beautiful and loved for who I was, not who he wished I could be.
My heart hurts.
"You ready for this?" Graham whispers. I love him for being moral support.