Marysville hasn’t changed very much. It’s a place stuck in time. The people have changed. I see a lot of men sporting man buns and unruly beards, a lot of shops replaced by Starbucks, and some parking spots for electric cars.
Having been overseas for the better part of my adult life, coming back to the modern United States has me feeling like a time traveler. Sure, we had phones and laptops, but there’s so much that is new to me. Politics, movies, pop culture in general. Even something as unimportant as fashion.
Back in high school, I thought only the more effeminate guys wore tight pants, but now everyone seems to be wearing them. There are billboards advertising products I’ve never even heard of, or sequels to movies that came out when I was a kid. Christian Bale isn’t Batman anymore, but Robert Downey Jr. is still making movies as Iron Man. There’s so much I need to catch up on.
Before I can continue thinking about how life in Marysville and the rest of the world has changed since my military absence, I feel someone tap me on the shoulder.
“Rhett. Holy moly, me oh my, is that you?”
I spin around to see that behind me stands an old friend of mine from high school. I could recognize her by her accent alone, but having to look about a foot down from my eyeline confirms her identity.
Amanda Seflinger. She’s still as tiny as she was back when she used to let me copy her homework. The years have been kind to her. She’s dropped her comically large glasses for some reserved and stylish half-moon lens glasses.
Her confidence has definitely improved, as she’s replaced oversized hoodies and baggy jeans with some more complementary sundress covered by a form-fitting cardigan. Her face hasn’t changed a bit though.
“It’s me,” I confirm, with some unenthusiastic jazz hands.
She jumps up to give me a hug.
“You war dog, look at you. If it weren’t for those sparkling brown eyes of yours that I’d recognize anywhere, I’d have just taken you as some stranger visiting our humble little town. Look at you, you’re a whole ‘nother person. You look good, though. And wow. You’re back home! My goodness, I have so many questions!”
“Ask away.”
“How many of them terrorists d’ya kill? Did you get shot at a lot? Did—”
I cut her short. “I thought you were gonna ask about me and—”
“These questions are about you. You were the one over there keeping us safe.”
“Right,” I say, defeated. I want to tell her that the last thing I want to talk about is the place I just left. Instead, I hug her and thank her for the warm welcome.
I’m not prepared to answer her barrage of questions. The welcome wagon doesn’t end with Amanda, though. Old neighbors and classmates stop me to ask me tasteless questions about my time away. If I got to shoot my gun often, or ride a tank, or put down any “high level terrorists.” If I ever saw anybody die…
Nothing I want to answer.
I appreciate the thought behind their excitement, but they don’t seem to get that war isn’t something I did for trophies to brag about. It has its dark scary parts that I would only want to share intimately with people close to me— not talk about in the town square to people who are now practically strangers to me.
Still, in order to not ruffle any feathers, I answer whatever questions I can bring myself to answer, and thank everyone who salutes me as they pass me by. I know there’s a question they’re all dying to ask me. Thankfully, I’m able to get through the town without some inconsiderate fool bringing up the topic.
Part two of my trip home ends as soon as I walk out of town lines and towards the long stretch of road to my folks’ place. Four miles on foot seems like a lot, but it’ll be good exercise. Especially after all the delicious fried chicken I had.
As I walk down the road, I think of how I’d answer the question I’ve been avoiding for months now. Can I even bring myself to talk about it? For better or worse, I’m brought face to face with this conflict as soon as it appears in my head.
A startling honk from a truck stops me in my tracks. The truck drives past me and into a truck stop I was heading towards. The driver steps out of the large machine and walks towards me.
I’ve done nothing in my knowledge to offend the guy, but I’m trained to take down an aggressor. If he’s looking to fight, I hope he’s not looking to win.
“Yo, Rhett!”
The driver’s gravelly voice is new to me. But the man waves me over with a beaming smile.
“I was just in town and heard you were back. Figured you’re going up to see your Ma and Pops. Need a ride?”
Once I approach him, I recognize the man. Another former classmate. The leader of the friend group Kyle and I were in since middle school, but… he’s definitely been affected by the years.
His voice has clearly been changed by the Marlboro cigarettes sticking out of his denim jacket front pocket. He looks about a hundred pounds thinner, and aged more than he should be. Smoking does that to a person.
“Donny. It’s been a while,” I say wearily.
“No shit, Captain America,” he screams joyously as he brings me in for a quick, harsh hug. “Ya son of a bitch, look at you. Now, you look like the boss.”
“Please, as if I could ever usurp you as leader of our group back in school,” I joke.
“Usurp?”
“Never mind. Would you mind giving me a ride up to—”
“Shit no, I already told you that’s why I stopped. Get on up there,” he shouts.
The two of us sit in silence as we drive through the long stretch of road. It’s a comfortable silence. One we often shared.
Donny was the first in our friend group to get a license, so he’d often take me, Kyle, Sharla, and Mason on midnight rides. We’d do nothing but sit in the car until we found a place far enough from town to look up at the stars through the sunroof.
“Say, how are Sharla and Mason these days?” I ask, now that they’re on my mind.
Donny chuckles knowingly. “Well, Sharla is married to one handsome dog. A truck driver known for his charm and eel-oquence,” he says.
“You and Sharla?” I gasp. “Seriously?”
“Yessir. And we got a bun in the oven,” he snickers.
“Congratulations, Donny! To you, at least. My condolences to Sharla, though.”
The two of us laugh riotously, just as we did when we were kids. Donny seems smitten with Sharla, grinning ear to ear whenever he says her name, and laughing uncontrollably when he mentions his unborn child.
“What about Mason?” I ask.
“Mason’s around. Believe it or not, he’s a teacher now. Stick-n-poke tats and all.”
Another cackle escapes from me. “Mason?! A teacher?! Holy shit, am I in The Twilight Zone? That is insane.”
Donny shrugs. “He’s still Mason. Anti-authority, anti-religion, anti-haircuts, anti-everything. But he needs a job to support his anti-lifestyle.”
“I guess so,” I laugh. “Man, we should all get together sometime.”
“Hell yeah, boy!”
A silence falls over us. Not a comfortable one this time.
“Won’t be the same though,” Donny finally says.
I shake my head slowly. “It won’t.”
We continue to exist in more silence before it’s broken by Donny again. “Were you there when Kyle—”
“Yeah. I was.”
He nods. “Good. At least he wasn’t alone when—”
“Yeah.”
“...Yeah. You know, his sister works in town. Still lives in the same place, too, if you want to see her before I drop you off at your folks’ place.”
“No,” I exclaim. “I’ll… I’ll see her sometime this week. I just want to go home and get some rest. Fourteen hour flight’ll kill you,” I say, trying to muster a smile.
Donny nods his head and continues driving. We partake in some small talk before he stops the truck at the foot of my parent’s property. I thank him for the ride and am sure this’ll be the last I see of him after making things so uncomfortable by avoiding talking about Kyle.
“Hey,” Donny shouts from the truck, “I don’t know about you, but I was serious about getting together sometime. You, Me, Sharla, and Mason.”
“Right on,” I shout back. “Let’s make it happen. You know where I live.”
Despite his crass demeanor, Donny is still Donny. Everyone is still their old selves, it seems. I hope the same can be said for Sommer. But that’s something I’ll have to investigate later this week. Right now, there’s an old canine slowly making his way over to me.
Amazing that at thirteen years old and after all this time, Plato can still smell me coming from half a mile away. He’s going as quickly as his old bones can carry him, but in order to keep him from straining himself, I fasten my duffle bag onto my back and run as quickly as possible to my old pup.
When I’m just a few feet away, Plato jumps on his hind legs and lets out a booming bark. He sniffs me incessantly and licks me as he does so. He recognized me the second I set foot on the property, but now that he’s able to sniff me and lick me, he wags his tail crazily, and lies down on his back to get properly rubbed.
“How are ya, boy? Been a good boy?”
Plato barks happily.
“Thanks for sticking around, Plato. I told you I’d be back.”
I fight the tears coming up on me, which is nearly fucking impossible when Plato starts licking my face and howling. He wags his tails so hard that his entire body shakes from left to right. His age means nothing to him right now. As soon as I started rubbing his stomach, he reverted back to the three year old pup I knew.
“Come on, boy. Let’s go surprise the folks, yeah?”
Two more barks from Plato confirm our plan. I pick up Plato with both arms and hold him like the baby he thinks he is while I walk us to the house. The entire way, he licks the tears pouring from my face.
Plato barks again when I step on the porch to alert my folks someone has arrived.
“Alright, boy, I’m comin’,” I hear a worn voice say. “Rhett. My God.”
Not a second passes before tears are streaming down my dad’s face. He runs over and knocks down the duffle bag off me to give me a full and proper hug.
“Susan, get down here!” he bellows. “Rhett’s home!”
I hear the footsteps that are much too quick for a woman her age to be making. “Rhett? Rhett!”
My mom runs down the stairs and screams as loud as she can before joining in on the hug. Even Plato runs back for some more affection, jumping up and down on the three of us while barking as loud as he can.
“What in the world are you doing here, Rhett?” my mother asks.
“I’m home. I was honorably discharged and… I’m here,” I tell them.
My dad slaps his meaty hand on my arm. “Well, why didn’t you tell us? We haven’t heard from you since you got out of the hospital over there.”
“I thought you two would like the surprise. And honestly, they kind of had us in the dark on when we’d be getting on the plane back to the US until the day of, and by then I figured it might be best to give you two a little shock.”
Ma pinches my arm in the same spot my dad had just smacked me.
“You jerk. God, I’m so happy to have you here. Jesus, Rhett. You’re home.”
“Is my room still up there?” I ask.
“Of course. We haven’t touched a thing,” my dad tells me.
I go upstairs to my room, tailed by Plato, and find that Pops wasn’t exaggerating. Not a single thing seems to have been moved since I left. It’s been cleaned but everything is just as I last saw it.
None of these clothes would fit me anymore. My computer is outdated as hell. Maybe I should have let my parents know it was okay to get rid of some of this old stuff. Not that I don’t appreciate their nostalgia, or their respect for my privacy.
From my bed, I look around and many memories I have formed in here flash through my min.: Watching scary movies with Kyle and his sister. Stuffing clothes under my blanket and sneaking out to go on those night time drives with Donny and the crew.
“It certainly has been a while, huh, Plato?” He stares at me blankly and then curls up at my feet. “I wonder how often I’ll be saying that from now on.”
I unpack my duffle bag and am slowly reminded of the years I spent at war. I’ve earned medals, but they feel empty when I think of some of the things I’ve lost. All the memories I made are tainted by the death of my best friend. This duffle bag contains just my uniform, underwear, and bad memories.
That’s all I have to show for the past ten years.
I sit back down on my bed and hear something crinkle. It’s the note in my back pocket.
Veronica Berhow
410-555-0893
Don’t forget, we pinky promised!
She’s right. We did promise. But I can’t just go down and face Sommer. Coming back home has been hard enough as it is, but now I have to fulfill my best friend’s dying wishes. It’s something I have to do, but it’s not something I can just fucking do right now.
“Knock, knock,” my mom says, peering over my bedroom door. “We thought you might like some lunch.”
My dad walks over with a TV tray carrying a plate of mashed potatoes and an enormous steak.
“Lunch?” I ask, confused.
After such a long flight, my sense of time is all mixed up. I suppose I had fried chicken for breakfast. But I’ll eat whatever is put in front of me, as I’m starving again, and it’s mom’s home cooking.
I enthusiastically carve the steak and scoop up some mashed potatoes with it before shoving it in my mouth. Ma looks overjoyed to see me eating.
I’m far from malnourished, but mothers just love watching their kids eat. And I love eating my parents’ homemade food. I’d often have nightmares about chasing their food and never reaching it, but here I am now. Indulging in the biggest and best T-bone I’ve had, possibly, in my entire life.
“So, Rhett, what’s the game plan?”
“Game plan?” I repeat inquisitively. “What do you mean?”
“What’s next?” Pops explains. “Are you staying here in Marysville? Got a job somewhere as a military contractor, or…?”
He trails off, obviously hoping I’d finish his sentence, but I don’t have an answer for him. Not a real one. A popular path for returning veterans has been to work for the Federal Government as a civilian or for a private military contractor, but I need a long break from all of that. I want to take it easy and just relax, maybe see the country a bit more, now that I have the opportunity.
I don’t have a lot of money to go on a road trip. And even if I did, I wouldn’t want to go alone. Something tells me that Donny, Sharla, and Mason might be too busy to join me on a cross country journey.
Going on a cross country trip has been my only plan for the past decade, and only in a wistful, dreamy sort of way— it’s nothing I actually planned out, because my mind has been too stressed with issues of war to be able to be structured like that. And after everything happened with Kyle, it just wouldn’t be the same, anyway.
Now that I’m back, I have to think about the reality of my post-service situation. I have no prospects. I have nothing lined up for me.
“I think I’m going to stay here for… a bit. I just want to decompress and catch up on the years’ worth of things I’ve missed.”
“That… That’s definitely a plan,” Pops says, with a half-smile.
I can tell he’s trying not to sound too disappointed. He has always been very proud of me, but has also always pushed me to be my very best. He probably had high hopes for me to have secured some kind of leadership position in the Pentagon, by now.
Ma sits down next to me and gives me a hug. “You’re welcome here for as long as you need, honey. Don’t you worry about a thing.”
She says that, but all I can do is worry. I feel as though the only sense of relaxation I’ll have the opportunity to enjoy passed me by on that bus that Veronica and Jenny continued on. Now, I’m home and I feel as though staying with my parents would make me come off as a mooch.
I have to find a way to make some steady money. I have to spend the next few weeks tolerating people's’ congratulations and endless barrage of questions about my experience in The Middle East. And I have to face Sommer.
Don’t forget, we pinky promised! I hear Veronica’s voice ringing in my ears.
“Hey, guys, thanks for the food,” I tell my parents. “It was truly amazing.”
“I figured. You practically swallowed that steak, boy,” Pops says.
I chuckle. “It was a good steak. But uh… I’m going to head out. Got some business in town. Do you guys know where Sommer hangs out or works, by any chance?”
Dad chimes in this time. “She opened up this frou-frou salon place for dogs. It’s in town.”
“Oh yeah, it’s great. Plato gets to see her every month,” my mom says. “She gives us a discount.”
She looks at me a bit hopefully, expectantly. I’m touched that they’ve been keeping up with Sommer and also keeping up with Plato’s grooming in my absence. But I don’t know how to say it without sounding too fucking cheesy, so I stay quiet.
When I don’t say anything, Ma adds, “Well. You can take my car if you want to head down there. I hardly ever use it, but it still works.”
“Thanks, Ma.”
“Will you be back for dinner?”
“Absolutely. I’m not going to miss another home cooked meal, you can count on that.”