Two Months Later
It’s been uneventful out here, which I guess is a good thing, but it sure makes time feel like it’s passing extra slowly. To make matters worse, a month ago we were informed that our deployment was extended for another two months, because the local Afghan Army needs more training before we can leave.
Everyone’s morale has been low due to this announcement. Harlow always walks around looking like his puppy just died, bemoaning the fact that he can’t be with Whitney and that they haven’t set a wedding date because for all he knows, our deployment could be extended yet again. The rest of the guys don’t look much better.
I try to console them by saying that we only have one more month left. I do my best to take care of others, including my fellow SEALs and our joint task mission team members, like I always do. But I guess the unexpected extension of time and long, boring days we hadn’t anticipated are taking their toll on me as well.
I’ve been having more night terrors. It’s gotten to the point where they’re becoming noticeable. I had one last night in which I thought that our tent was on fire, and I jumped on top of Harlow and then started trying to drag him to safety.
“Ramsey!” He’d hissed through his teeth, as he fought me off. “Stop it! Knock it off!”
He’d shaken me and poured some of his canteen water in my face. I came to, in a huff of breathless fear, and started to say, “What happened?”
But he’d put his hand over my mouth and said, “Shhhh. Just act normal.”
By the time anyone else had woken up and asked us what happened, Harlow told them we’d gotten into a scuffle over whose turn it was to listen to the iPod.
“Well keep it down, fuckers,” someone had said, in the darkness. “We’re trying to sleep.”
“Thanks,” I’d whispered to him.
Harlow knew I had night terrors, and knew they couldn’t be a good sign, but he didn’t really ask me much about them, and I was grateful for that. I was extra grateful that he was protecting me from others finding out.
The good thing was that I’d jumped on Harlow and not someone else. I’m pretty sure they’d kick me out for that, or at least launch an investigation. It was obviously not normal.
I can’t help but feel afraid for my status as a SEAL. Not to mention, I fear for my mental health.
The only thing that seems to help decrease the night terrors is listening to that damn soundtrack from Monica. I have not been able to bring myself to delete it from my phone, and I guess there’s a good reason for it.
I’ve been trying not to listen to it but since it could be the one thing that separates me from a return trip home— earlier than expected— I guess I better start getting into the habit again.
I know I should call Monica, too, but at this point I’m afraid it’s been way too long, and that she won’t forgive me. If she even cares enough to be offended in the first place.
I’ve been playing the tough guy game long enough, though, and I make a note to contact her soon, just to let her know I’m okay and that I’m thinking about her. My head always spins around in a million places when it comes to her, but my heart always feels pulled in only one direction: hers. That has to tell me something.
Today we’re running a training session, with some Afghan troops, and it feels like child’s play compared to what we’re used to. Still, I’m tired due to my night terror, which zaps me of energy the next day, and I’m not in the best mood.
We’ve parachuted out of our planes, and now we’re headed down a mountain, only to scale back up again. It seems like a useless training drill, and everyone’s bored.
“Come on, Pipsqueak,” says Jerry, taunting Jim Baker, the runt of our unit, who always lags behind the rest of us.
A favorite pastime for most of the guys in my unit seems to be picking on “Pipsqueak.” I get annoyed by it, but usually I understand where the other guys are coming from. Pipsqueak doesn’t really have the skills or abilities the rest of us have, and I’m not sure how he slipped through training.
“Didn’t your dad teach you how to run?” Brian says, as he slows down to match Pipsqueak’s pace.
“If not, we’re not here to be your fathers,” says Jerry. “You should just go turn in your resignation papers now. Before you get discharged for being such a slowpoke.”
He also slows down, so that he and Jerry are jogging along each side of Pipsqueak. They start taking turns elbowing him, jostling him back and forth between the two of them.
Today, I’m annoyed by their antics. I guess it’s just my general mood. And the fact that they talk about fathers so flippantly. Maybe Pipsqueak doesn’t have a dad. Maybe he died. Or maybe he never did have a dad.
I feel adrenaline pumping through my body, a symptom I know is dangerous but that I haven’t had to deal with in a while. I can almost feel the hair on my body standing on edge, my skin crawling out of my body.
This is where I should back off, shut up. I don’t have my guitar, my MMA instructor. I don’t have Monica, and probably never will. I just have myself, and my own weaknesses.
“Hey, back off,” I tell Jerry and Brian, slowing my pace to get closer to them. “Leave him alone.”
“What’s it to you?” asks Jerry.
“Yeah, why should we?” Brian joins in. “Everyone knows he shouldn’t be here. We’d be better off with that crazy female fighter pilot on our team, than we are with Pipsqueak.”
That does it. I start to see red. I can almost feel most of the logic drop out of my brain, until only blind emotion is left. But I manage to summon a small amount of reason, despite my rage.
She’s not worth it, I tell myself. You’re not even together. She doesn’t want to be with you.
“Whatever.” I shrug, proud of myself for starting to calm down.
“You hear that?” Jerry tells Pipsqueak. “We can do whatever we want to you. No one cares. Not even Responsible Ramsey, who cares about everyone, all the time.”
Brian sticks his foot out and trips Pipsqueak. To my surprise— he’s not the most buff guy, but, I have to hand it to him, he’s pretty light on his feet— Pipsqueak stops himself from falling.
He’s knocked pretty much off balance, though, and in a huff, he says, “Hey! Stop it!”
But Jerry shoves Pipsqueak, up against a boulder. Since Pipsqueak’s already off-center, he falls down, hard, his body landing with a thud on the ground.
All the rage I’d managed to fight off comes storming back— and then some. I don’t even think anymore. I just shove Jerry harder than he shoved Pipsqueak, and soon he’s on the ground next to him.
“What the fuck?” yells Brian, as our entire squad— and some Afghan guys we’re training with— turn around to see what’s going on. “You asked for it, Bradford.”
He runs right into my chest, pounding and flailing, but my rage— and my MMA training— has taken over. I punch him, pummel him, until he’s on the ground, but by that time Jerry has gotten back up and is fighting me next, like the idiot that he can be.
All the bad memories I’ve been storing up inside me come pouring out. It’s like a night terror, but during the day. I must think I’m at war or something, or I’m somehow trying to save my dad. I punch Brian— a bigger guy and better fighter than Jerry— and ward off his punches until I’ve gotten him in a wrestling hold and I’m nearly choking him out.
Harlow and some other guys have to come and pull me off him. Even as I’m being forced to move away from Brian, I manage to land a final, solid punch, and he hits the ground cold, right next to Jerry.
And then I black out. Not from being hit— Brian barely got in a few swings, and I didn’t even feel them— and not from passing out. But my consciousness just shuts down, and I realize I have no idea what I’ve been doing.
When I come to, I’m at the bottom of the mountain and Harlow is asking me, “Are you alright? Ramsey. Are you alright?”
He’s put some water from his canteen onto a towel and he’s rubbing it all over my face and forehead. The sensation of embarrassment and dread feels very much like how I feel after a night terror. Except this is the day time. Training time. War time.
I want to tell him, no, I’m not alright. But no words come out. I don’t know what just happened, and I can barely remember how to talk.
All I know is that I just beat up my team members, who I’ve sworn to protect and support no matter what. What the hell has gotten into me? Who the hell have I become? And what in the hell is going to happen to me now?