Collateral (15 page)

worth a shit, except in the stew pot.

A weird smile crept across his face.

Let's have a little fun. What do you say?

For me to answer. Before I could

even consider what might come

next, he put the truck in gear.

Punched it. By the time the rabbit

realized squashation was imminent

and reacted, it ran straight on up

the road. Big mistake. Jackrabbits

are quick. V-8s are powerful.

Faster than small mammals.

The rabbit feinted right. Cole

followed. Left-right. Veer-veer.

That would have been one dead

animal except it got lucky.

Goddamn little bastard!
Cole

yelled at the rearview mirror.

The Avalanche had good clearance

and went right over the top of

the petrified bunny. Had the tires

hit it,
Taps.
By the time Cole got

the truck turned around, Mr. Rabbit

had taken refuge in a hole somewhere.

Cole was pissed.
Hope I scared

it to death, anyway.
I didn't say

a word all the way to Palm Springs.

We got there, I had mostly convinced

myself that Cole had just been messing

around. Having, as he said, a little fun.

He didn't really want to run over a poor,

defenseless rabbit. He didn't mention

it and I never brought it up to him again.

We checked in to a nice hotel with

a jetted tub in the bathroom and two

pools outside—one hot water, one cool.

I thought it must be very expensive

but Cole said not to worry about it.

What else was he saving up his money

for? We had a fabulous dinner

at a pricey French bistro. Neither of us

ordered the lapin. Just seeing rabbit

on the menu made me cringe. Cole had

the venison medallions. I chose a nice

vegetable ragout. Chocolate soufflé

for dessert. And cognac. Lots of cognac.

By the time we stumbled back into our room,

took a hot (hot!) bath together, and fell

into bed, I did not dream at all. Especially not

about wildflowers, jackrabbits, or artillery fire.

That time wasn't too difficult.

I knew I'd see him again when

his battalion came to California

for pre-deployment training

at Twenty-Nine Palms. Plus,

he'd get leave again before

they sent him back overseas.

Best of all, we planned a summer

trip to Hawaii for me. It would be

my first time visiting the islands

and Cole would have his off-duty

hours to spend with me. With only

a couple of months until school

was out, I didn't think I'd miss

Cole nearly as much as proved

to be the case. Because that man

had insinuated himself totally

into my life, under my skin. Our

last night together before he had

to return to base was amazing.

He knew exactly what to do, how

fast—or slow—to do it for maximum

effect. He made it all about me.

Called me beautiful, and made

me believe it. Whispered,
I love

you. I need you. Always will. I want

to eat you. Drink you. Breathe you

in.
And he did. Again and again.

In the middle of the frozen

night, to inhale the warmth

of you, exhale the fear of you,

no longer in my life.

A drift

of perfume lifting

off the silk of your skin,

a waking mist

of heaven.

Drink it in. Drink it in.

I never understood

the desire for eternity before.

But then you appeared,

midst

the chaos of my youth,

taught me how to love

when I swore I never would

again, extinguished

the coals

of desperation singeing

me inside, branding me

untouchable. Unsalvageable.

I am exiled to the wilderness

of hell

no longer, because of you.

You give forever meaning.

Cole Gleason

Oahu must have been incredible.

So much raw beauty was bound

to draw humans, intent on messing

it up completely. First they came

from neighboring islands—who knows

how they managed to outrigger all

that way? Settle in, make the place

home, and the next thing you know,

a more advanced people come along,

conquer you, set up housekeeping

in the very huts you built! Turnabout

is fair play, however, because just

when Group Two thinks everything's

coming up pineapples, Captain Cook

and crew sail into view, carrying

fabulous stuff like cholera, measles,

and Jesus. And once white people

discovered this little corner of heaven,

next thing you know, relatively speaking,

it's high-rises on top of volcanoes,

strip clubs peddling a lot more

than leis, concrete, and asphalt

choking sand, and jet fuel blowing

in the breeze. Honolulu represents

the worst of all that. Yet every time

I fly in, anticipation begins to build

just about the time I think I'll go crazy,

stuffed into a narrow airliner seat

between honeymooners and retired

couples looking for Shangri-La.

I'd like to tell them to hold on tight

to that person beside them, because

that's where they'll find paradise.

It is not a beach or a palm tree grove

or the brim of a smoking black crater.

It's a plateau inside their hearts, one

that can only be reached in tandem.

And as the plane circles to land,

I draw closer to my Wyoming mesa,

not so very far from me now. Wonder

what he's doing right this minute.

Cleaning his weapon? Scrubbing latrines?

Running laps or lifting weights?

In my mind, he is a snapshot, frozen

in time. I don't picture him in motion.

Wonder if he's imagining me—our last

time together, where I am at this moment.

How I'll look when he sees me. What I'll be

wearing. If I've cut my hair or lost a few

pounds. Do men even think that way?

The jet bumps down on the tarmac.

Some people sigh relief. Others laugh.

Not a few are already on their cell phones.

Conversation picks up, speeds up.

We are safe on the ground in Honolulu.

People collect their things, prepare

to join tours or embark on self-guided

adventures. Few except me arrive solo.

No soldier, either. I won't see Cole

till tonight, after his workday ends

and he can drive the fifteen or so miles

from the base to me. Meanwhile,

I'll catch some sun. Cole doesn't care

much for the beach here. Says the sand

is filthy. Dirtied by tourists and their trash.

Maybe. But it's warm this time of year,

unlike San Diego sand. I plan on a nice,

long walk, a little warm ocean swimming

and time to sit, doing nothing but watch

the surf break. I grab a cab to the Waikiki

hotel Cole suggested we try, an affordable

high-rise two blocks from the ocean.

As affordable goes, it isn't bad. At least,

the lobby is well kept and the desk

clerk—Sherry—seems friendly. When

I give her my credit card and ask to leave

a key for Cole, she smiles.
Marine wife,

huh? We've had a few check in today.

I could correct her on my marriage

status. Instead I just smile back.

“They're deploying soon. Again.”

The tone was sadder than I expected.

“You'd think I'd be used to it by now.”

Sherry shakes her head.
I've got one,

too. But mine's coming home soon.

He's transitioning into the Reserves

then. It will be weird, having him

around on a regular basis.

I nod. “You kind of get used to being

alone. The waiting is hard sometimes,

though. I wish Cole and I could have

a little more time together before

he has to go, but he used up most

of his leave last summer. His mom

was really sick, and . . .” I realize

I'm running my mouth. Shut it

before too much personal stuff spills

out all over this total stranger. “Sorry.”

Sherry smiles understanding.
Hey,

no apologies. I've been there.

Tell you what . . .
She consults her

computer.
I'll upgrade you to a room

on the water side. Very romantic.

I thank her, carry my small bag up

to the room, and before I change, text

Cole:
IN THE HOTEL. OUR ROOM IS UP

HIGH, ON THE PACIFIC SIDE. I CAN SEE

THE WATER FROM HERE. LOVE YOU
.

Until he gets off duty. But I want him

to know he's the first thing I thought

about when I arrived. I open the sliding

glass door. Step out on the balcony. Salt

wind blows warm through my hair, weaves

it with the potpourri of plumeria, jasmine,

diesel exhaust, and streets wet with recent

downpour. One day I'll explore the other

islands, inhale the tropical air outside

of this city. Cole and I never seem to

have enough time to do that when I visit.

I add it to my bucket list, go back inside.

I slip into the purple bikini Darian

sent to Hawaii with me—her excuse

to put Kenny and me in the same place

at the same time. She got what she came

for. Manipulator. I do love the swimsuit,

though. The full-length mirror says

I've dropped some weight. Can't imagine

why. But it does look good on me.

Regardless, I cover up my midsection

with a short pink shift. Tie back my hair.

Off I go. It's really lovely outside. Not too

hot. The rain has raised a gentle steam.

It wraps around me as I walk along

the quiet sidewalk. Late October lies

between the heaviest tourist seasons.

The street vendors are voracious.

As I pass by, moving

toward me and shouting,

Discount tickets!

Sunset cruises!

Learn to surf!

Pearl Harbor bus tours!

Best luau on Oahu, guaranteed!

A massive Samoan guy

in a loud Hawaiian shirt

shoves a coupon into my hand.

That gets you in, no cover,

at the Pink Cherry Club. Single

women are always welcome.

I keep walking and a greasy-

haired haole drops in beside me,

meters his steps to match mine.

Hey there, pretty lady.

You here all by yourself?

Want some company?

I lower my head, shake

it. The negative answer

doesn't discourage him.

How about some pakalolo?

Best green bud in Waikiki.

Give you an awesome deal.

With a quiet, “No, thank you.”

But when I speed up a little,

he does, too. So I brake to a halt.

He comes around in front of me,

looks into my eyes, and I can't help

but notice his pupils are completely

dilated. When he opens his mouth,

the condition of his teeth confirms

my suspicion that he is into much

more than weed.
Don't want to go

down? I can take you up. Way up.

He reaches into his pocket, extracts

a small plastic bag.
Asian ice. Pure

as it comes. One little hit keep you

going for days.
His breath, when he

exhales, smells like rotten cabbage.

It makes me gag, and for the first time

a small rush of fear lifts the hair

on the back of my neck. I shove it

aside. We are on a public sidewalk,

within rock-tossing distance of one

of the most populous beaches in

the world. He's not going to hurt

me here. “Leave me the fuck alone.”

What? You don't like me?
He grabs

my arm, jerks it, gives a strange,

little laugh and it strikes me that this

man is totally out of his head. I try to

remember the limited self-defense

moves I know, when he suddenly

releases my arm and without

a word, slinks off, a weasel into

the shadows. I turn to see what

spooked him—a hulking cop,

double-timing toward and now

past me. Looks like he's after the ice

man, who's obviously a known

quantity. All of a sudden, walking

the beach by myself—even with plenty

of other people around—has lost

its appeal. I look up at the hotel

in front of me. The flamingo pink

Royal Hawaiian. It's a Waikiki