Seven Letter Words #Wattys2016

Part 21

            "That's heavy," I answered. Military wives were some of the strongest women I'd ever met. I say 'some of' because there's a clear distinction between those who understand the work the men do and respect it, and those who see it as a part time marriage and step out while their spouses are gone. Juliet had been raised by one of the good ones, and if she ever chose to take up with a military man, she'd walk right in the footsteps her mother had laid out before her. That's how cut and dry that divide was.

            "My mom signed for him when he was just seventeen. I asked her once why she didn't try to stop him. She told me that she wouldn't get in the way of something that big. He would do it with or without her and those that travel that road without support fall into trouble."

            Her mom was right. When you're determined, you're determined. Those who didn't have family support got into a lot of trouble. Instead of going home over breaks, they'd get drunk or stir up shit that was better left alone. They always had an extra chip on their shoulder like they had something to prove.

            "I stayed in my room for three days and refused to talk to him. Once the papers are signed, the forward momentum of the military kicks in and I wasn't ready to face that."

            "I remember that feeling," I said. I moved my hand to capture hers over my heart. "But I can tell you that signing that contract was a giant bluff." Her eyes looked up into mine. "For me, I knew I was going to sign and so I acted like I believed everything else would fall into place. People who loved me would accept and support it and those that didn't could just fuck off."

            I looked down to where our hands were together. "It's a bluff. It mattered what the people who loved me thought. It hurt to watch them hurt and full of fear. It fucking sucked to be the person causing pain and having no control over stopping it. I couldn't promise everything would be fine.  I still can't."

            "Why did you join?" she asked, her pretty blue eyes staring up into mine. The corner of my mouth lifted in my trademark cocky smile. The answer I was about to give her sounded cheesy as fuck and a bit narcissistic, but it was the truth.

            "I'm representing what young men in this country should strive for. At seventeen, I knew that I'd been given something I didn't really earn. I have freedoms and rights just because I was born here. Those things didn't just fall into America's lap. Men and women fought for them.  They fought to make America a country that is so fucking proud of the way we do things that we want to help other people in different countries live the good life we have. We want everyone to have rights, whether they appreciate them or not.

            "A lot of guys talk shit about the military. The news has been known to make stories around how uneducated the younger members are and how they had no choice but to sign away their rights and serve. But they're the assholes. I won't take for granted what every generation of Marines has done before me. Some silly self-righteous twenty-somethings believe bravery is holding up a sign in front of a government office or tweeting about the injustice of some stupid law. Bravery is riding in an amphibious assault vehicle thousands of miles away from home knowing that the numbers were not in your favor. Being willing to climb over the dead bodies of men just like you for the chance at returning at least one fucking shot in the enemies direction.

            "It's about fighting for something that maybe you don't even know anything about, but together we are stronger and our version of evil here in the states is still many other country's idea of paradise. Bravery is running up a mountain embedded with foreign troops and never giving up. I wanted to be a part of that legacy. Your brother did too."

            Her eyes were a bit watery, but she smiled at me. She nodded her head and curled her fingers so that my hand could hold hers more securely. "I know he felt the same way. It just feels good to hear that you witnessed the worst thing possible—faced your own mortality—and would still make that same choice." Her smile fell a little and her eyes shut as she drew in a breath. "As much as I hate how my brother died, I know he would do it all over again if he had another chance."

            I felt my heart clench beneath our hands. A little seed of doubt sprouted in my head and I tried hard to hold it there, but it took root and grew right out of my mouth. "I'm not sure he would." I told her. Her eyes flew open and she seemed to grow stiff in my arms.

            "What do you mean?" she asked. It felt like her entire composure would fall apart if I said the wrong thing, but I wasn't in the practice of lying and her heart was too pure for any sort of bullshit.

            "You're hurting really bad. I can see it in your eyes," I lifted my hand from hers and brushed my fingertip softly over her brow. "I watch your smile trying so hard to be present, but it falls when you think I'm not looking. I'm always looking," I tap her nose and try to give her a reassuring smile, but there's nothing to be happy about in what I see when she's sad. "He must have loved you like crazy. How could he not? I've barely met you and those subtle things have the power to pierce my chest and rip out my heart. If he had to see you grieve even for just a day, he might choose differently. He was a strong guy, but you have the power to break us." I knew it for certain.

            "You know, tragedy is a seven letter word," she said softly, her bottom lip quivering just slightly. I ran my thumb softly across it as she watched my eyes. "But so is regrets, and I would have a million of them if he didn't follow his heart. I'd never let him make that sacrifice for me."

            I moved my hand to softly brush her cheek. "Sibling and healing are also seven letter words. In your lifetime you will have had them both."

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