83. Jackson
Jackson
I was pacing the living room when Ryan finally returned, pale and shaking, slamming the truck door outside.
He didn’t speak, just dropped the keys on the counter and locked himself in the bedroom.
I knew better than to ask, but my heart sank for him.
We had such good days, and then a bad moment seemed to set him back.
That evening, trying to restore some normalcy, I suggested a movie.
“Something light,” I said, putting on a superhero blockbuster that was mostly CGI noise.
Ryan was curled up on the couch, wrapped tight in a blanket, his head resting on my chest, a small, safe weight.
For a few minutes, he was just Ryan, quiet and peaceful.
Then, a scene flashed onto the screen, a close-up of a soldier in full gear, his face streaked with dirt and blood, screaming into a radio as a building exploded behind him.
Ryan’s body went instantly rigid. His breathing hitched, and he was gone.
He shot off the couch, his back immediately hitting the wall, his eyes wide and unfocused, scanning the dark corners of the room for the threat on the screen.
“Ryan, it’s a movie,” I whispered, holding my hands out, not moving.
“It’s fake, Ryan. It’s not real.” He didn’t hear me.
He was breathing in shallow, ragged gasps, his fists clenched tight.
The man who drew ducks was gone, replaced by the soldier.
“They’re still out there,” he choked out, his voice raw with panic. “I left them. I have to go back.”
I didn’t argue. I just moved slowly, carefully, pulling the blanket from the couch and laying it gently over his shoulders. I turned off the TV, plunging the room into quiet darkness. I sat down on the floor in front of him, keeping my distance, letting him see my hands were empty.
“You’re here with me,” I insisted, my voice low and steady, pulling the soldier back to my reality one word at a time. “Look at the plush dinosaur, Ryan. Look at the duck on the shelf. You’re home. Brody is resting. You are safe.”
It took twenty minutes before the tension finally drained from his shoulders, and he slid down the wall to collapse into my lap, the soldier dissolving back into the man who just needed to be held.