“Sort of. He was just such a jerk today to one of his students. I wanted to punch him in the throat. I’ve never seen him behave that way. He’s buckling for sure.” I lick the salt from around my glass.
Liz rests her hand on my barstool. “What’d he do?”
I sigh. “I was at his office for the first time in forever to actually apologize—imagine that—for pissing him off this morning. This girl walks in, pale and crying, and he barely acknowledges her.” In the middle of my story another one of Tosha’s friends joins our group. “So the girl says her Marine boyfriend is leaving today and—”
“You’re fucking kidding me, right?” Tosha sets her beer down.
I shake my head. “And Eric tells her that while he’s proud of her boyfriend, she still has responsibilities.” Tosha rolls her eyes while Liz scrunches up her face. “Anyway, I told him he was being an ass, walked her to her car, and told her to kiss the living piss out of him before he leaves. Then,” I finish my second margarita a little too quickly, “I broke a wine glass, took a bath, and came here.”
Tosha doesn’t break her gaze from me, but snaps her fingers over her head and points to me. A few seconds later, I’m holding another margarita.
“Jo, you remember Natalie, right?” Tosha looks over her shoulder to her colleague that entered in the middle of my story. She teaches sociology classes at both Smith and Mount Holyoke. Her pixie cut is dyed bleach blonde and spiked. Deep blue eyes soften her features.
“Of course, mile-long sinister black hair and even darker eyes? Who’d forget a face like that?” Jo winks and kisses my cheek.
“Sinister? I like it.”
Tosha butts in, “Geez, Nat, with the last few days you’ve had, I’d say all we’d need is for Ryker to walk in here any minute and that will make this week’s trip off the deep end complete.”
My teeth are numb. Her eyes are glassy. This is the land where it’s okay to talk about Ryker.
“Ryker?” Jo asks, “Who’s Ryker?”
*
After a fancy, post-graduation lunch filled with awkward Ryker-induced silence at the Lord Jeffery Inn, I kissed my parents goodbye. Eric and I wandered to my new apartment on Kellogg Ave. He’d helped me move my things throughout the week.
“Your parents seem nice,” Eric said as he stretched his arm around me on the couch.
“Yeah, they seem nice.” I rested my head on his shoulder and took a deep breath.
He laughed. “What, they’re not?”
“No, they are. My dad more so. Despite the tweed.” That elicited another laugh from Eric. “My mom, though, she’s more . . . difficult. I mean, my little brother is fourteen, but they didn’t let him come to my graduation because he’d miss a day of school. Seriously.” Liam wasn’t even in high school yet and they were already cranking up the pressure.
Eric didn’t seem to know what to say, so he didn’t. We sat in silence for a few minutes, listening to the breeze flow in from the windows. It was a rare quiet moment in Amherst, the evening after graduation, and most of the summer folk hadn’t moved into my building yet. We’d only been together for a few weeks, but everything felt so right and so comfortable with him. He was sure, focused, and stable. He knew what he wanted and I respected that.
“So,” Eric paused for a moment, “who’s that Ryker guy that had your family in a WASP-y tizzy?”
I laughed out loud at his glorious description of their reaction to my near “episode” after the ceremony. Then, it hit. I needed to tell Eric something about Ryker. Given the short time we’d known each other, though, I couldn’t tell him the nitty-gritty. Not yet.
“I figure he’s probably an ex-boyfriend that they didn’t approve of?” Eric started.
“My mom, definitely not. My dad . . . my dad secretly supported us. See, Ryker was a student at Amherst and was in the National Guard.” I leaned forward, so did Eric.
Deep breaths. It happened. It’s fine. You can talk about it without reliving it.
“So,” I continued, “we started dating in May-ish of 2001. Then . . . September 11th happened.” Eric shot me a sideways glance. “He was deployed to Afghanistan around Christmas of that year.”
“How long was he gone?”
I act like I have to think about it for a minute. “Five months.”
. . . Three days, nine hours, and precious minutes.
“That’s not that long, right?”
I took a deep breath and shook my head. “I guess not. They were supposed to be gone for a year. He was shot.”
Eric sat back and ran a hand through his hair. “Jesus. Is he—was he . . .”
“He was fine, all things considered. He was shot in what turned out to be an okay spot, if one has to get shot in the back.” I let out a nervous chuckle and decided not to mention Lucas. I’d tell him later.
Eric went to say something, but I held up my hand. He rubbed my knee instead.
“Anyway, he was home the summer before our junior year, but he didn’t re-enroll in classes right away. It was a hard adjustment for both of us . . .”
PTSD, shit hit the fan, the end.