Magnolia #4
“When the Humvee that was carrying Collins exploded, it was thrust into the air. Brutus, the guy that was driving ours, tried to veer off the road, but we were stuck, wedged against large boulders on one side when their vehicle came crashing down, hitting us on the other side.”
I bring my hands up, lacing my fingers around his neck, needing to steady him as much as I need to ground myself.
“I was thrown to the side, and then another explosion hit. It was so close the sound wave was deafening. It blew out my eardrums. I had a nasty concussion from the impact, and I could see our Humvee was on fire. Thick smoke was filling the cab. Even now, back home, I’ll wake up at night, and I swear, I can still smell it.
It stings my nose even on those cool nights when the air is still.
” He clears his throat roughly, pausing for a beat.
“I couldn’t hear shit, but I could see my Staff Sergeant was bleeding.
Brutus was doing his best to put pressure on the wound, and I could see his lips moving, like he was yelling, but it was all eerily calm.
“I should have been scared, shouldn’t I?” he croaks. “Isn’t that the moment where my heart would race, anxiety kick in, followed by all the training that we had? I should have been scrambling to get out, to kick out a side window if needed, but I just sat there. And you know why?”
I freeze, not sure I’m ready to know why. I purse my lips together to fight off the wobble, but a tear escapes anyway, dripping down my cheek. Lukas pulls back, his hands leaving my hips to catch the tear before it falls from my chin.
“I had this vision,” he says softly. “Maybe vision isn’t the right word, but it felt so real. It was like a wave of calm washed over me, and I wasn’t thinking about the moment I was in. I wasn’t thinking about those that had just died.”
“What were you thinking about?”
His eyes soften, and his lip twitches in a sad smile. “You.”
His eyes start to water again, and his hands move to smooth back my hair. He starts at my temple, running a palm over the back of my head and smoothing his hand down, curving over my shoulder until he reaches the end. He lets my hair flow through his fingers before he starts again.
“We were a little younger, and it was summer. We were lying in my bed at my parents’ house back home.
You were sleeping, and I had you wrapped in my arms. It was so real, Mags.
I was trapped in a burning vehicle, yet somehow still felt the summer breeze against my face.
I could smell fresh cut hay. How could that be possible? ”
I shake my head the best I can.
“For that brief moment, I was happy. Genuinely, almost euphorically happy. All the anger I had been feeling since baseball ended, joining the Marines. The stress of being apart from you. The physical pain, the emotions from seeing my friends die—it was all gone, and I was at peace. I thought that was it,” he rasps, his face crumbling.
He drops his forehead to my shoulder for a brief moment before picking it back up, letting the tears streak down his cheeks.
“I thought that I had died, Mags. Shot or something. But it was okay. I could almost say I was so goddamn happy because I thought I had died, and the hard part was over. I was sure that I was in heaven, taking a lazy afternoon nap with you, hearing my family, knowing that they were close by even if I couldn’t see them.
Some people are scared to die, even if they believe in heaven and an afterlife.
I used to be one of them, but not anymore, because if that was a glimpse at heaven’s waiting room, then I’ll be okay. ”
My racked sob interrupts his words. I try to speak, to console him somehow, but my words are slurred, and I blubber, letting my face fall to rest on his shoulders.
I wrap my arms around his neck, pulling him to me as tightly as possible, needing to feel every inch of him, of his living breathing body near mine.
His arms encircle my waist, and we hold one another, sobbing in the cab of his truck in the middle of the airport parking lot.
We cry out all the tears that we held in along the way, and with that, so much of the anger and confusion I’ve felt in the last few years leaves my body with it.
I don’t pull away from him until my tears have dried, until we can both take a deep, calming breath, and when I pull back, I notice the sunshine is starting to fade beyond the horizon.
“Shoot,” I mutter, rubbing my eyes as I reach for my phone to check the time. “Shoot, Lukas, what time is it? I-I, shoot, I need to go.”
I don’t make an effort to move from his lap, however.
My mind tells me I need to go, and I know if I miss this flight, I won’t make it back for rehearsal.
But my heart is forcing me to stay still, because my heart, along with nearly every other part of me, isn’t ready to leave Lukas.
After everything that’s happened today, everything I’ve learned and seen, now that I know what it’s like to be wrapped in his arms again, how am I supposed to just walk away?
But Lukas, always the strong one, forces a smile, his hands coming up to brush against my arms and shoulders. “Come on, pretty girl, you have a plane to catch.”