Starts with a Match

Tethered

"Does everyone get checked when they go through the gate? I got checked this morning at the CVS near my house in Spokane, before I came to get you."

Truck pauses, pass of IDs. Quick salute with me in the passenger seat. Move on.

"Oh, never mind, looks like it's optional. Cool. Man I hate that test. So unpleasant." Short sniff. "They try to make it 'citrus flavored' but really it just tastes like sour oranges and stale lemonade. Drinking that stuff...blegh." Silly shiver.

Teeth grit, small nod from me.

"But I mean I get why it's necessary." Throat clearing from Toby. Truck parks and we get out. I lead the way.

"Is it—are we going to—oh, okay, your unit's gonna be in the red unit, duh, pfft..." little hop-hop to catch up to my stride. Shouldn't move so fast. It hurts. Still tense from the commute here from the airport. Stomach coiled too tight from the Arby's I ate too fast.

Crunching steps, swinging hands. Little sigh, soft stretch of arms overhead.

"Never been on this post. It's nice. Been to the uh—shit...the one in Montana—think that one might be air force or. Or marines. I have no idea." Quiet laugh. Every time I almost tune them out, they speak back up again.

I hate it. It sets me on edge.

It's the only thing keeping me from floating into space, too. Reminding me that there's someone next to me that might have a little bit of a clue of what I went through.

Every tall, dark haired soldier in uniform makes me pause. Every one with a smirk and a high laugh and long limbs. Every pair of greenish blue eyes that dart my way as others stop and salute me makes me shudder. I salute back every time, just to see, in that quick half second, if it's him. Stone. Or Elijah. It's not. Obviously.

A lady leaving the building we're heading to has short, blonde hair. She looks up at me with brown eyes. She smiles at me with Margie's smile. But I get closer, and closer, and she grows shorter and shorter.

She salutes me, too. Asks who Toby is. I say my fiance. The lady calls Toby 'ma'am' as she walks off. Toby sends me a blank smile.

I don't know what it means, so I don't return it. We walk on.

Inside the building, I'm going to be on floor three.

Toby's still been saying little things here and there. Nice place, glad they have the a/c on since it's warmer today, they had to leave their jean jacket in the car. They don't ask any questions, but they wonder things out loud, maybe in hopes that I'll answer. Wondering where they'll have to go to get their own military spouse ID. What they'll need, a driver's license, maybe a birth certificate. Who will do the officiating. I already know it'll be Darcy Medrano, Hannah's dad, I asked her to ask him for me this morning on the flight over.

I don't answer any of Toby's out loud thoughts. I could. But I'm worried the first thing out of my mouth if I open it is going to be, "Take me away from here and let's never come back."

Being in the states is one thing. Around Mt. Rainier, seeing it looming in the horizon, the wall that blocks off west and northwest Olympia from unmanned territory in southern Canada, civilians walking around willy-nilly without any protective gear or guns or masks or anything.

It's whatever. Most of these people, on post especially, get tested regularly. Soldiers are required to get tested once a month.

We've been in a stagnant stage four, so masks are optional; hardly even 'encouraged' anymore. People smile with their teeth fucking everywhere.

Whatever, it's whatever. I expected it.

But I'm surrounded by uniforms. Heavy voices bellowing roll calls, soldiers in PT gear going out for a late afternoon run, ready to sweat well into the evening with rucks full of useless shit.

You never need any of that shit in the field.

You need an extra pair of boots, and a book, and three dozen rounds for your handgun.

And a shirt from someone from home.

And a fucking hug. Can't pack that in a damn ruck.

This is all so familiar, but in a weird way. Like, I was here, I was those grunts outside, that kid who's getting screamed at by the drill sergeant, reminded to keep his feet up. I was him at nineteen.

And now I'm looking at everyone all nice and shiny and untouched and I'm. Soiled. Ruined.

"Kevin I uh, I think that may be it?" Toby whispers.

I blink, and blink again, and frown. I've been staring into the face of Lou Stone.

Face solid steel, hair trimmed short, eyes sharp in his portrait.

There's a black ribbon cut diagonal across his photograph. There's one on Patrick Rozman's next to him, and Porter Jenkins, and Sergeant Daryl Mellow, and Timothy Gryphon and Kevin M. Cooper and Margaret Fleeson and Elijah Jordan Vishou. And a dozen other soldiers from green unit Hannah had to kill along with all those that died in the explosion.

I look away and find Toby standing at my side, real close, staring at a room with the door opened. Hannah peeks her head out, sees me and waves. Jim leans his head toward her, sees me, waves too, though he notices Toby and his eyes go wide, and he points and smiles. I don't move.

"Not sure how long it'll take. I can wait here, or in the truck, whatever you're more comfortable with," Toby says, staring back at me. I tear my eyes from my friends to glance at the portraits again, all but the ones I really want to look at, and I look to Toby. They're staring over my right shoulder, where I know Elijah and Margie are on the board. They smile.

"Don't leave." Words are thorns digging up my throat, but I manage another one. "Please."

Toby meets my stare and blinks so slow, if I took a picture, they'd have their eyes closed. I need a nap. "Not going anywhere, Koop," they say to me. "I'll be right here when you're done."

I believe them. I know they'll be waiting. The thought is what gets me to leave them and walk toward the room, sitting next to my friends. I know they saw the portraits, too. Cause there's no teasing or goofiness or questions about Toby. They just bring their seats real close to mine, until we're thigh to thigh to thigh and their arms are linked behind the back of my chair.