Chapter 17 Oak
Oak
“You didn’t have to come down today, Oak. What I wanted to discuss could’ve been handled on the phone,” Jerry tells me as we stand on the outside of what used to be Hell’s Gates. He has his crew here and so far they have teared up the inside and have already begun putting in the specs.
I glance over at Jerry, the veteran who I aspire to be, the one who seems to have his shit figured out and doesn’t let his time overseas affect every aspect of his life.
My response is nonchalant. “I wanted to see the progress.”
He stares at me with eyes that see right through mine. “Could’ve sent pictures and video.” I shrug at that. “What you running from, son?”
My defenses come up. “Who says I’m running? I just wanted to see things for myself.”
Jerry hums but his eyes face is doubtful. “How long has it been since you’ve been home?”
I grit my teeth and narrow my eyes at him. “How is this relevant?”
He chokes on a laugh and shakes his head. “Because it is. Respect an older and wiser veteran than you and answer the question.”
My finger twitches on the outside of my thigh as I stare ahead unblinking. Through terse lips I answer, “Nine years.”
From the corner of my eye I see him nod his head. “Nine years sounds like a long time but it also feels like just yesterday.”
“Yes, sir.” My voice comes out rough but I can’t hide how uncomfortable this conversation is making me feel.
“Home still isn’t home is it?” For anyone else that question would be intrusive but coming from Jerry it’s anything but. He asks because he’s felt it. He knows what it feels like to come back to a place that was once home but when you return for it to feel like foreign land.
“No, sir.” And that bomb of a truth that I have never uttered out loud detonates and with it destroys walls I’ve built.
“Bed is too soft,” he begins with a whisper of a smile on his face, “the air too crisp. Even the rich taste of food is too much to stand. Can you believe that? A medium rare prime steak tasted fucking disgusting when I first came home. Thought I’d never see the day.
” He then let’s out a small chuckle. “Point is kid, nothing was right and wasn’t for a long time.
” I then turn my head to finally look at him, and in his eyes I see the pain that I hold everyday.
The kind that can’t be healed. The kind you learn to live with because you have to accept it.
“There were days I couldn’t look at my own hands.
I couldn’t even stand to touch my wife because I knew what these hands of mine have done.
” He holds out his hands in front of him and I imagine him seeing them stained red.
God knows how many times I look down at mine and see the fucking same.
Forever stained hands and a tainted soul.
“How could hands that have taken a life cherish the body of another?” He asks rhetorically.
My lungs begin to burn with the familiar ache as my heart constricts inside my chest to the point where it hurts.
“And then there was the way of integrating myself back to civilian life. I was a sniper for more than fifteen years and there’s this saying that we learned in sniper school that became our way of life, suffer patiently, patiently suffer.
You learn to endure but I’ll tell you this and this is fact, you can’t endure the war wagering on inside your head.
That shit kills you slowly from the inside. ”
I try to breathe but it fucking burns. There’s a tightness in my chest and I fear that it might snap. I try to swallow but I can’t force my saliva down my throat. My finger twitches rapidly by my side.
I can feel myself being sucked into the void.
And it’s the most fucking terrifying feeling.
In the far away distance I can hear their screams. And I remember how fucking piercing they were. I can see each of their faces. And the images of their faces stricken with fear and blood haunt me. I can smell the gunpowder, taste the death on my tongue.
The worst part of all is I can feel the hard ground beneath me, feel the blood pooling from my wound and creating a barrier around me, and not being able to save any one of them.
I’m almost there, almost lost to the void until a firm hand lays heavy on my shoulder. I look down at Jerry with wide eyes as I take in a lungful of air.
“You have this look in your eyes, son. A look that mirrored my own when I came back. And in it I can see a man who has tried to swallow the bullet one too many fucking times.” His words, as raw and as true as they are to hear slice me open.
And they’re also fucking terrifying. I have spent all these years wearing a mask, acting like I have my shit together, and this man sees right through it.
And it makes me feel like a god damned failure.
I didn’t just fail in combat, I’m failing in life, too.
I’m one big massive fucking disappointment. Ever since I let my brothers down I can’t name of one thing that I’ve done right.
It’s like I keep digging this hole for myself and instead of trying to find a way out I keep digging further.
“You’re proud. Stubborn. It’s what made you a great Marine.
But a piece of advice, son, from someone who has been where you are and who has felt what you felt, you have to let that go to be that great person you were before.
Otherwise that hole you’ve been digging for yourself will become home.
You hear me?” There’s a sincerity in his voice and genuineness in his eyes that causes my eyes to brim with unshed tears.
“How would you know if I was a great person before?” I asked choked up.
He sympathetically smiles. “Because the battle you fought wouldn’t have affected you if you weren’t. I’ve seen many of soldiers die not in battle but because of it. Don’t go down the same path.”
Oh fuck.
I feel every atom exploding inside me as my heart beat quickens at an alarming rate. My tongue feels like lead in my mouth and I swear to fucking god breathing is becoming impossible.
His hand on my shoulder grows firm, and it’s then I realize because he’s trying to act as an anchor. Trying to make sure I don’t sail away into sea only to drown in its dark depths.
I blink pass the tears that have overstayed their welcome and flow like a riverbank down my cheeks.
“Deep breaths, son,” he orders and I take in a large ragged breath and let it out.
“Take another. Take all the breaths you need until you no longer feel the sand filling your lungs,” he encourages me.
And I do just that. I stare at him with wide glassy frightened eyes and keep breathing until my heart rate returns to an even pace.
Once I feel that my heart is no longer going to burst out of my chest my breaths come in steadier. The air no longer burns my lungs.
Jerry smiles at me and pats me softly on the shoulder. “You’re alright, son.”
As he takes a step to give me space out of respect I wipe away the tears with the palm of my hand.
I can’t even look him in the damn eye.
“You know the hardest part is admitting you need help. There’s no shame in that, Oak. Talking to people, letting them in, it all helps.”
“It’s a lot easier said than done,” I reply gruffly, my voice still hoarse from the tears.
He nods his head. “Nothing in life that is worth it comes easy. You fought for your country, now it’s time to fight for yourself.”
“I’m fighting everyday.” My voice sounds strangled.
“And you will keep fighting until you have the life that you think isn’t possible.
I’m not saying you are going to be completely healed, Oak, none of us are.
I’m saying if you keep fighting for yourself you’ll have that future you’re denying yourself.
And it starts by letting the right people in.
So tell me, Oak, who are you going to let in? ”