14. CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 14
ETHAN
M y ears thud each time a foot hits the pavement as I run along the sidewalk in Columbus. It’s the nearest city to Fort Moore and it’s where all the Army guys—and gals—go to hang out when they have a night off. Since it’s Christmas week, I have extra time off and am staying at a friend’s apartment for most of it.
I’ve never gotten used to winter in the south. It’s in the lower fifties today, which is pretty cold for Georgia. Still, I only need my Army sweats and hoodie to keep warm.
There are things I miss about my home state, such as snow, especially at Christmastime. It’s odd to not hear the crunch of it under my shoes, or feel it on my skin, for a couple of years now. Mom misses me, and of course I miss her. But it’s not enough to bring me back to the place I grew up. However, needing to figure out what I’m going to do when discharged next year burdens me. I thought about hanging around here, getting a place in Columbus so I can still see some of the guys who have become brothers, but that seems silly since they don’t really have much time to hang out anyway.
I’ve looked into other places outside Rochester so I could move back to that region without actually being in that city, even looking up graphic design jobs online.
The light changes from the hand to the little stick figure and the crowd I’m standing in starts crossing the street. Once across, I climb the stairs to my buddy’s apartment.
After showering, I spend the afternoon lying on the couch, my head is against one armrest and my feet propped up on the other while a half-empty sleeve of cookies sits on my chest. A rerun of Swamp People plays on the TV as I scroll through social media on my phone.
A couple of guys on base teased me for not having any “socials,” as they called it, and nudged me to make a page, which I did. I rarely ever post anything on it. Really, I just use it to see what other people are up to, as well as some B-list celebs and, of course, all my favorite country singers.
Scrolling aimlessly, something catches my eye and I have to back up. It’s Fonz. Shit, I’ve missed that guy. We’re still close, we just don’t talk as much as we used to. Something about time and distance does that.
In this picture, he’s got his arm around an Asian guy, and they are both holding up beers and smiling. The caption reads “@johnny_la is my favorite Asian bro!”
I grin. It’s good to see him happy. My finger hovers over the screen for just a moment before clicking on Fonz’s name and being directed to his profile. There are a couple of photos of Fonz with his siblings. Another of him with that Johnny guy. One with a group of women all wearing sashes that say “Bridesmaid.”
And then I stop scrolling when I see one with her . Again, she looks just like I remember, but … not. More mature, and yet, still a little sad—even though she’s smiling.
And she’s beautiful. But I always knew she would grow into a beautiful young woman. God, she must be nineteen. No, twenty.
The caption reads “With @red_runner.”
Shortly after Fonz visited me and Jules three years ago and I saw that photo of Ari, I told him not to tell me anything more about her. I don’t want to hear what she’s doing. I don’t want to know where she’s living, where she works, who she’s hanging out with. It’s better to just let that all be water under the bridge.
But of course, I’ve wondered. I’ve wondered if it got worse with Axel. If he tried to kill her again. If she has anyone to protect her. If she has any friends, or a boyfriend.
I blink a few times, then click on her name and try to view her profile, but it’s set to private so I can’t. No way am I going to friend request her, so instead I keep scrolling down Fonz’s profile until there’s another photo of them, this time with a heavy-set, raven-haired girl with glasses and … No way !
I sit up, sending the half-eaten sleeve of cookies to the ground, and pull my legs around so I’m sitting on the couch, elbows on my knees, staring at my phone. I pinch the screen and pull my fingers apart to zoom in on the photo, then squint my eyes which I pray are deceiving me.
But they are most definitely not. That’s definitely Sean McAssFace from high school with his arm around Ari, and his hand is definitely resting over her boob. He’s got a cocky-as-all-shit grin on his sleezy face and he’s giving the peace sign with his other hand. What … WHAT is he doing hanging out with Ari and Fonz? And what the actual hell is he doing with his arm around her?
I check the date and see it was from about a month ago. Scrolling further down, there aren’t any more photos of Ari. At least not any that were posted recently.
I scroll back up and click on Sean’s name, @SeanJohn4Reals— God he is such an epic dick —and, since he’s about as stupid as a bag of assholes, his profile is public and I can see all of his posts.
And down the rabbit hole I go.
There are a bunch of selfies with him giving the peace sign, or some other gestures that for all I know are gang signs. There’s some with him smoking a blunt or holding up a drink in “cheers.” All of these are littered with pics of him with chicks, either under his arm, sitting on his lap, or with their faces pressed against each other. And each has a stupid caption.
“@blonde_below_the_waist is my homegirl.”
“Just smoking and chilling wit ma gurl @shelly_from_helly.”
“Aint nothin to see hurrr @vixen_in_yer_dreams.”
Jesus, I hate him so much.
And then I find another photo of Sean with Ari. It’s dated several months ago. He’s sitting on a stool and she’s standing between his spread knees, her back to his chest. Her hair is pulled over her shoulder, and she’s wearing a T-shirt that says Fitz’s Bar & Pub on it, with an apron around her waist. Sean’s arms are around her middle, caging her in, with one hand right, right under her breast and the other on her lower stomach. She looks uncomfortable. I zoom in on her face, which is strained. She’s giving a fake, closed-mouth smile, which means she’s feeling awkward.
And I want to puke. And hit something. And fly back home.
This is exactly why I didn’t want to know anything about her. It stirs up all this shit inside me, which is pointless because I can’t do anything for her. I never could.
The thought of Ari being just another one of Sean’s side pieces, one of his conquests, makes my stomach roil.
Closing out of the app and clicking my phone off, I drop it onto the coffee table and stand, pace over to the window, and look out at the city below. For a moment I allow myself to get lost in memory. Of the times she and I, and Fonz, walked barefoot through the creek looking for crayfish. When we rode our bikes for miles and miles, not talking as our legs pumped as hard and fast as they could. And when the wind blew through our hair as we held our legs out to the sides and soared downhill.
When we were kids and I would look out the window to see her red head run past, and as we got older, waiting to make sure she made it home from school or practice, or a date. The music we listened to, and danced to, and kissed to.
Damn, that kiss … I lick my lips and close my eyes to the memory.
Then I push myself away from the window and decide to head down to the gym on the lower level of the apartment building to blow off some of this energy.
The past is dead and buried. There is no use digging it up.
***
Christmas passed and now I’m back on base, just powering through the last of my classes. In the middle of a computer graphics course, the door swings open and an officer calls my name. I snap my head up and he informs me, “You have a phone call from your mom. She says it’s important.”