Weston
The brilliant South Carolina sun shone in a clear blue sky, while a cool breeze made standing at attention bearable. Bravo Company stood on the field in block formation with the other graduating battalions and companies. Now that we’d made it to Basic Training graduation, I hardly felt the heat. Nor the itch of the thick wool and polyester of my blue dress uniform. My expression was empty. No more smirks. I’d pushed them all out and left them on this field.
We’d been trained within an inch of our lives—screamed at, berated, worked to exhaustion, yet the Army hadn’t been able to smother Connor’s smile. It lived in his eyes as he nudged my arm with the slightest nod of his head toward the stands. Ma, Paul, my sisters, the Drakes, Ruby and Autumn sat in the front row.
After the drill sergeants were honored, the Lt. Colonel gave a welcome speech. Then the band began its march that would parade us in front of the stands. An officer named off the companies and battalions, and their DIs as we filed past the crowd.
“Bravo Company, led by Drill Sergeant John Denroy.”
“That’s my boy!” Ma cried out among the applause. “Proud of you, baby!”
We were instructed to keep our eyes forward, heads straight while marching in time, but I let my periphery—guided by Ma’s voice—steal a glance at Autumn.
She was on her feet with the rest of our people. Her hair fell over her shoulders in ribbons of red streaked with gold. It was like looking at a beautiful sunrise after ten weeks of Arctic ice and gray.
Before we were released to the field, Sarge addressed us one last time, with respect in his voice this time. He offered his congratulations before informing us our time as Reservists was over before it began.
“Your country needs you,” he said. “And I’m proud to say, you’re ready.”
We were Active Duty now, likely to be deployed straight out of specialty training. In two weeks, we’d fly to Fort Benning, Georgia for that training, then to the Al-Udeid Airbase in Qatar. All further information was classified until arrival.
Which meant combat zone.
“It’s all happening so fast,” Connor said, his smile slipping as we walked to meet our friends and family.
“We’re soldiers now. Soldiers go to war,” I said.
I could’ve wondered at the speed in which our lives had changed direction, if my stomach weren’t so heavy with dread. Connor’s face was pale, too. The pride he’d built in himself during Basic looked shaken.
I nudged his arm. “One weekend a month, my ass.”
He laughed and the tight fear in his eyes loosened.
That’s better, I thought. All my life, Connor’s happiness was my constant. It gave me hope I could find something like it one day. I’d take his fear like a second rucksack on my shoulders if I had to.
Our people drew nearer to us on the field.
“Here they come,” Connor said. “Look at Autumn.”
Like I needed the direction. She wore a cream-colored dress with little blue flowers on it. My heart stuttered at her smile and her sun-burnished hair.
“What do I say?” Connor murmured. “I need something special after being separated for so long. Something to sweep her off her feet.”
“You ask how it’s possible for her to be that beautiful,” I said. “Tell her you have to be dreaming, and if you are dreaming, you hope you never wake up.”
Connor’s heavy hand on my shoulder jolted me. “Exactly what I was thinking.”
He stepped up his pace and Autumn broke into a run. She threw her arms around Connor’s neck. He put his mouth to her ear and said what I’d told him to say. She pulled back to look up at him, then kissed him passionately. Deeply. As if the field weren’t filled with hundreds of people.
“Oh my God, I missed you. And here you are, and you’re perfect,” Autumn was saying as I drew near them. Her small hands held his square jaw, eyes devouring his face. “I can’t stop looking at you.”
“I second that,” Ma said to me. “Your soldier, they said. Go meet your soldier.” She dabbed her eyes and sniffed. “I’ve never been more proud. My God, have you ever seen a more handsome pair of boys in your life? Though I’m not a fan of the haircuts, to be honest.”
Ma’s hand ran over the back of my head and I let her. It was the first soft touch I’d felt in ten weeks.
The second was Autumn’s hug.
With a little whoop, she flung her arms around my shoulders. I hugged back loosely when really I wanted to grab her hard, lift her off her feet. I took a quick inhale of the apple-cinnamon scent of her hair, when I only wanted to bury my face and hands in it.
“Congratulations,” she whispered against my neck. “I’m glad you’re back.” Her lips brushed my cheek, then she let go of me. Moved back to slip under Connor’s arm and let him claim her.
Mrs. Drake hugged Connor and kissed his cheek and Mr. Drake shook his hand, then pulled him in for a hug. Connor’s wide eyes met mine over his dad’s shoulder and shone with unshed tears. In all the years I’d known the Drakes, Connor’s father had never hugged his son. Until today.
Miracles do happen…
“Hey.”
I glanced down to see Ruby in front of me. “Hey.”
She laughed and rolled her eyes, then gave me a hug that I needed more than I thought.
“You did good,” she said and pretended to sock my chin.
“I survived,” I said, with an answering smile.
“All right, Ruby, hands off our brother…”
Felicia and Kimberly took their turns giving me a hug. Both of my sisters had Dad’s dark hair and brown eyes. Kimberly wore tight jeans, a short-waisted jacket, and bright blue eye shadow. Felicia wore no makeup and a baggy Sox sweatshirt. She was already starting to have the same rundown, old-before-her-years look Ma had.
“Damn, Wes,” Kimberly said, stepping back to give me a once-over. “You know what they say about a man in uniform.”
Felicia made a face. “Don’t be gross. He’s our brother.”
“He cleans up good, is all.”
“Agreed, but maybe don’t look at our own flesh and blood like you wanna hit that.”
“Maybe fuck yourself.”
Mebbe fuck ya-self.
Felicia rolled her eyes and smacked a smoky kiss on my cheek. “She’s a perv. You look great, Wes. But I’m with Ma about the haircut.”
“Thanks, Leesh,” I said. Carefully. Another minute in my sisters’ strongly-accented company would pull my own Southie out of my mouth.
Paul came over, hand outstretched. “Congratulations, Wes,” he said. “I hope it’s not too forward, but I’m proud of you.”
I’m proud of you, son.
I shook his hand but let go quickly. “Thanks.”
The two families joined up and for a moment, we stood in silence under the afternoon sun, exchanging glances. No one wanting to voice the inevitable question, What now?
“Any word on your deployment?” Mr. Drake asked and his wife closed her eyes slowly, then opened them. “When or where?”
“Fort Benning, in two weeks,” Connor said. “Then Qatar. From there, we don’t know yet.”
“To the front? Where the fighting is?” Kimberly asked.
“We don’t know yet,” I repeated, slowly.
“But we have you both for now,” Autumn said. “For two weeks.”
It felt like nothing.
Paul put his arm around Ma. “It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it? Let’s enjoy the picnic and having these young men home.”
The feeling of dread lodged itself deeper. Not for the combat we might face—I was trained to deal with that. But for the first time, I couldn’t see my future. No track, no writing, no job on Wall Street or even a life in the military. After this two weeks’ of leave, there was nothing but ominous blackness.
“Weston?”
I blinked. The group had begun to walk off the field, but Autumn waited for me. A few steps beyond, Connor waited as well.
“Coming, man?” Connor asked.
“Yep.”
I caught up to them and we walked together, Connor and I, with Autumn in the middle.
At the family picnic, Sergeant Denroy morphed into a different guy. He took off his Drill Instructor personality and set it aside, like a tool he was finished using until his next company of new recruits arrived. He smiled wide and easily as he congratulated Connor and me in front of our families, as if he hadn’t spent the last ten weeks screaming that we were no better than dog shit on the bottom of his shoe.
Autumn’s hand looked welded to Connor’s, and every time I snuck a glance at her—which was often—she was gazing up at him.
I managed to peel him from our group, and we watched our people eat and drink and talk.
“Listen, Autumn might mention the letters.”
“What letters?”
“The ones I wrote to her. I mean, wrote for you. To her.”
He shrugged. “Okay.”
“I’m just saying, she’s probably going to bring them up.”
He frowned. “Okay,” he said again, drawing the word out. “How many did you write?”
“A few.”
“How many is a few? Like, once a week?”
“More or less.” I coughed. “Or more.”
Connor’s eyes widened. “Every day?”
“Not every day.”
“Well shit, Wes, what did you say? How did you have so much to say?”
“Calm down,” I said. “I wrote what you told me to write. News and weather. And… sometimes I got in the groove and kept going. I needed the outlet after all that damn PT.”
Connor scratched his chin. “What else? Anything in there I’ll need for reference?”
Only that her happiness is the ultimate measure of yours. No big deal.
“You care about her, right?”
“Of course I do,” he said. “She stood up for me at Thanksgiving. I stood up for me at Thanksgiving. And now here we are, made it through fucking Army Basic Training, man. My dad hugged me. We’re going to serve our country and I have a girl like Autumn, waiting for me at home.”
He inclined his head to Autumn, who sat at one end of a picnic table, speaking animatedly to Mr. and Mrs. Drake who listened with warmer interest than at Thanksgiving.
“For the first time, my parents are taking me seriously,” Connor said. “And goddammit, I’ve earned it.”
“Yep, you have,” I said. “And I’ve been right there with you to see it, and that’s what I wrote about. It’s all there, stretched out over a few letters.”
A metric shit-ton of letters.
“You’re sort of like my interpreter.” Connor slugged my shoulder. “And you’re the fucking best, Wes. For real.”
He pulled me in tight, and I hugged him back.
“Look at the…what do they call ‘em? BFFs,” Ma called from the other side of the table. “For life.”
For life.
Connor rejoined the group, but I hung back to lean on the fence and stare out at the parade grounds.
Autumn joined me a few minutes later. Every muscle in my body tightened at her nearness, fighting the magnetic pull that wanted to touch her again. Hug her again, and kiss her, and that kiss would be my confession. Every word I’d written to her was hanging in the air between us; a fog only I could see. But if I kissed her, the truth of who authored those letters would come pouring out, and she would know it had been me then… that it had been me all along.
Right. And ruin Connor in front of everyone. No dice, Sock Boy.
“It’s strange, isn’t it?” she asked, her eyes on the grounds.
“What is?”
“This graduation ceremony. We’re celebrating that you’re back, and trained enough to go away again.” Her hazel eyes were crushed emeralds and gold over chocolate brown. “Two weeks. It’s so short.”
I opened my mouth to ask her how she was. Or how her father and the farm were doing. But that black hole in my gut sucked all my words away.
Or maybe I’d given them all to her already.
“Feels like everything is slipping away so fast,” she said. She glanced up at me. “You didn’t have to do this. You did it for him.”
“I did it for me too. To pay for college.”
Autumn shook her head. “You could’ve found another way. But you stuck by him.”
“He’s my best friend.”
I’d die for him.
She craned up on her toes and kissed my cheek. Cinnamon and the softness of her lips suffused me. “Most definitely not an asshole, Weston Turner.”
No, just a liar and a fraud who loves you.
Two days later, we were back at Amherst. I dropped my bags in our apartment, traded my uniform for running clothes and took off while Connor made a pit stop at Autumn’s place. I didn’t want to think about how they were celebrating our homecoming, but my imagination helpfully offered scenario after scenario; her dress being torn off, buttons clattering, kisses that were full of moans, and his hands on her body, touching her everywhere…
I ran up Pleasant Drive, toward the Amherst campus, pushing myself faster and faster, until—mercifully—the visions of my imagination burnt up. Thanks to Basic, I was in the best shape of my life. Olympic level-speed and fitness. I didn’t need a stopwatch to tell me I’d destroy all of my old times in every race, if I had the chance.
But that door was closed. I’d shut and locked it, and handed the key to the United States Army.
Sir Sly’s “&Run” played in my earbuds.
Heavy as the setting sun…
The sun sank in a cold, leaden sky as I ran along paths that wound through the green expanses of grass between buildings. Frost bearded the lawns, turning them silver, and my breath puffed in front of me like a locomotive. I sped past students on their way to class, hunched into their coats. I didn’t recognize any faces, since I never bothered to make friends. Except for Matt Decker. And Connor. I never needed more.
I count all the numbers between zero and one…
At the Creative Arts Building, I shut off the music and leaned against the wall to catch my breath. I was hardly winded, but my lungs ached with scratchy regret. I’d chosen this path, and now I was so far down it, I couldn’t turn back. My throat and chest burned with the realization that the path I’d been on, the one I questioned and sidestepped and denied for years, was where I belonged all along.
I didn’t expect Professor Ondiwuje to be around. Maybe he was teaching a class, or maybe he’d taken the semester off for sabbatical. I knocked on his office door anyway.
“Come in.”
I took off my knit cap and opened the door.
“Weston Turner,” he said, leaning back in his chair, a smile breaking over his face. “Or is it Private Turner, now?”
“Wes is fine,” I said. “Though I’ve been known to answer to Einstein, maggot, and shit stain.”
Professor O laughed. “Boot Camp must be exactly as I imagine it.”
“The movies make it look easy.”
“But you persevered. Please. Have a seat.”
“Thank you, sir.” I sat stiffly, my cap in my hands.
“When do you ship out?”
“Next week. To Fort Benning. Military Occupational Specialty training.”
“What division?”
“11B, Infantrymen. My drill sergeant said they’re the backbone of the Army.”
The professor nodded. “Infantry bears the heaviest burdens of war.”
I smiled faintly, imagining myself on a dust-choked road in unbearable heat, fighting a regime that gassed its own people. But I couldn’t see beyond the flight with our unit that would take us to Fort Benning, never mind Qatar.
Professor Ondiwuje folded his hands on his desk. His dreadlocks brushed the collar of his navy blue suit. Like Autumn, he was always dressed impeccably. His brown eyes met mine warmly, eyebrows raised.
“The last I heard from you was news of your enlistment and putting your education on hold,” he said.
“Had to. Got called up a little faster than anticipated.”
“I’d say so.” The professor wore a thin-lipped smile. “You never turned in your last assignment, the Object of Devotion poem. I was looking forward to reading it.”
“My circumstances changed, sir.”
“Quite drastically,” he said. “And I’m not sir. I’m not your commanding officer, only a poet. Like you.”
“I’m not a poet,” I said. “Not anymore.”
“That’s the worst tragedy I’ve heard all year. Did you never even start my assignment?”
“I started it and can’t stop. I’ve been writing it since you assigned it. Stanza after stanza, crossing them out, erasing them, starting over, again and again and again. I could write it forever.”
“Stop writing it,” Professor O said, “and give it to her.”
I glanced up sharply. “Her?”
“Or him. The person you’re in love with.” He pursed his lips and cocked his head. “You think a man can look as miserable as you right now for any other reason besides love?”
“I can’t give it to her.”
“Why not?”
“She doesn’t belong to me.”
“Ah.” Professor O leaned back, his hands resting on his chest now, fingers interlaced. “Unrequited love. The most painful kind.”
Once upon a time, I’d tell him it wasn’t any such thing. But today, now, on the brink of shipping off to a future I couldn’t see, I was honest. With my idol poet. With myself. Out loud.
“Yeah, I love her,” I said. “I don’t know how it happened, or why, but I do. Something in me connects to something in her. I’ve felt it since the day we met.”
Professor Ondiwuje smiled like a satisfied cat. “That’s beautiful.”
“Hardly,” I said dryly. “She loves my best friend. Because of me.”
The professor raised his eyebrows. “How so?”
The old me would’ve evaded the question, but I’d already admitted out loud I loved Autumn. Everything after that was easy, so I told him everything.
Professor O leaned back in his chair when I was finished. “I see. You gave your gifts to your best friend. Why?”
“Because I love him,” I said. “And I want him to be happy.”
“What of your happiness? Does it have any role in this drama? Or are you still sitting in the audience, ready to sneak out the back when it’s over?”
“It’s easier for him to be happy than me,” I said. “I didn’t want to subject Autumn to my shit. My anger. My stupid baggage that makes it so that I…”
“Live every life but the one you want.”
I scrubbed my face with my hands. “I don’t know.”
“I do. A writer who chooses an economics major. A runner who ignores his gift. A poet’s heart now encased in a warrior’s armor.”
Professor O hitched forward to lean over his desk, arms folded on the mahogany. “Wes, I’m going to ask you a personal question, okay?”
“Okay.”
“You ready?”
I snorted a small laugh. “Ready.”
“What happened that made you feel you don’t deserve anything good for yourself?”
A car screeching away, my mother’s curses turning to wailing cries. And me, running down the street. My legs pumping hard and fast, even though I knew I’d never catch him. Even though he was long gone.
“Good feels out of reach,” I murmured. “I’ve had good before and I lost it.”
“So now you only reach for that which doesn’t hurt to lose.”
This introspection was growing painful, like a knife prying into my guts and heart and mind.
The heart hides itself behind the mind.
“You have one life, Wes,” Professor O said into my silence. “What you put in it is entirely up to you. I suggest you put in what you want. Especially now.”
“It’s too late,” I said.
“Is it? You’re sitting right in front of me, flesh and bone, pumping blood and breathing life. That doesn’t look like too late to me.”
We stood together, and he offered his hand.
“Be safe. My prayers will be with you.”
“Thanks.”
“Finish the poem. For your own sake. Put your heart on the page and your signature at the bottom.”
He gripped my hand tighter, his eyes holding mine intently.
“Own this love, Wes. It’s not just hers. It’s yours too.”