Collateral (41 page)

decided to have the wedding in Wyoming.

We didn't even pick the date. Not together.”

Possibly think it was okay to choose

both date and location for our wedding?

Oh, and then not even bother to let

me know. That is seriously messed up.

I'm sorry, Ashley. I had no idea

Cole had made this decision on

his own. You discuss it with him,

then let me know what you want to do.

“Oh, I'll discuss it with him, okay.”

I try not to sound as angry as I feel.

Not sure it's working, though.

This is unbelievable. I hang up

with Rochelle, shoot Cole an e-mail.

It definitely reflects how pissed I am

right now.
YOUR MOM TELLS ME YOU'VE

MADE ALL THE PLANS FOR OUR WEDDING.

LAST TIME I LOOKED, THAT WAS UP TO

THE BRIDE. THAT WOULD BE ME, IN CASE

YOU DIDN'T REALIZE THAT. OR HAVE YOU

DECIDED ON A DIFFERENT BRIDE, TOO?

I have no idea where he is or what

he's up to. Can't guess when he might

get back to me. One thing I know

is I can't sit here and wait. Neither

do I want to spend this Sunday alone.

It's late morning. I call Darian, but

there's no answer. Probably still asleep.

Who sleeps in until eleven? Not Jonah,

I bet. Of course, what makes me

think he's alone, or that he'd

want to do something with me,

even if he is? Conceited, much?

Whatever. Nothing ventured, nothing

gained. I really like being with him.

I feel weird calling, so I text him

instead. That way, if he wants, he can

just ignore it and pretend he didn't

see it.
SORRY TO BUG YOU ON SUNDAY
.

DO YOU ROLLERBLADE? I'M THINKING

ABOUT GOING TO MISSION BEACH
.

There's a great, touristy boardwalk

and plenty of paved skating. It's kind

of cool in early February, but it's clear

today, and sunny. That, in itself, should

cheer me up. I go get dressed and by

the time I'm ready, there is a return

text.
MEET YOU THERE OR PICK YOU UP?

YOU CAN ALWAYS CALL IF IT'S EASIER
.

I call and he comes to get me,

in the Beamer, which is plenty

big enough for a couple of pairs

of Rollerblades. Cole would never

blade with me, or surf, either. And

I bet Jonah would never go around

his fiancé, to his mother, to plan

his wedding, either. Wait. Rocky ground.

To think about the wedding.

Refuse to talk about Cole.

But I should talk about something

or it will be a very quiet ride to

Mission Beach. Maybe a joke.

“So, were you just sitting by your

phone, waiting for me to text you?”

In fact . . . Okay, no, not exactly.

Actually, I was going through

some of the early submissions

to our Poetry International Prize.

“Sounds like a semi-serious way

to spend your Sunday. Sunshine

and exercise sounds better to me.”

To me, too, obviously. Thanks

for the invitation. Sometimes I

totally forget about having fun.

In fact, seems like all the fun I've

had in a very long time is with you.

I have to admit that's mostly true

for me, too. Don't dare say it, though.

“Can I ask you something personal?

Why don't you have a girlfriend?”

Gun shy, I guess. I've dated

a few women since my wife left.

They wanted to get serious right

away and I wasn't ready for that.

“So, I'm a safe date?” It's meant

to be funny, and he does laugh.

But then he says,
I suppose you

could look at it that way. But

I also really enjoy your company.

There's so much to like about you.

I'm glad his eyes are on the road.

My face must be a fabulous shade

of raspberry. “Thank you, Jonah.”

Time for a change of subject, I think.

“Tell me about the poetry prize.”

You've never entered? You should.

There's a thousand-dollar prize.

Have you ever submitted to our lit

mag?
He goes on to list submission

requirements, deadlines, and details.

By the time he's done, we're there.

We lace up our blades, head down

the bike path and, unlike surfing,

I can most definitely hold my own

with Jonah on Rollerblades. It's a great

workout and I'm so glad I came, and

doubly glad I asked Jonah to come along.

Before I hear from Cole. His e-mail is a gentle rebuke:

SORRY I COULDN'T GET BACK TO YOU

SOONER. IT'S BEEN CRAZY HERE
,

WITH ALL THE PROTESTERS. ARE

YOU SEEING IT IN THE NEWS THERE?

KORAN BURNING ISN'T A BRILLIANT

IDEA. EVERYTHING WE'VE BUSTED

OUR BALLS TO BUILD IS CRUMBLING
.

IT'S SCARY AS HELL AND I'M BETTING

A WEEK AFTER WE PULL OUT OF HERE

THE TALIBAN WILL OWN THE PLACE
.

AS FOR THE WEDDING, GUESS I SHOULD

HAVE CLEARED IT WITH YOU FIRST
.

BUT I FIGURED YOU'D BE OKAY WITH IT
.

MOM STICKS CLOSE TO HOME. WE CAN

TAKE THE WEDDING TO HER, RIGHT?

MAKES THE MOST SENSE TO ME. OKAY,

NOW THAT'S SETTLED, IF YOU'RE GOING

TO SEND A CARE PACKAGE, DO IT SOON.

OH, AND WHAT'S UP WITH SPENCE?

He thinks things are settled? My reply is terse:

SPENCE IS BETTER. I HOPE IT'S OKAY

THAT I ASKED HIM TO BE AN USHER
.

HE CAN'T TRAVEL TO WYOMING WHICH

SHOULDN'T BE A PROBLEM, SINCE I'M

PLANNING A CALIFORNIA WEDDING
.

AT A WINERY. WITH FLOWERS AND

CAKE AND A WHOLE LOT OF GUESTS
.

HOPE YOU CAN MAKE IT. I PUT YOUR

NAME ON THE INVITATIONS
.

I haven't actually ordered

the invitations. And now

I'm not sure if I should, or

even if I want to. How can

he flat dismiss me and what

I want in such a condescending

way? He's as bad as my dad.

Maybe even worse. We'll see,

when he gets my e-mail. Am

I ridiculous, expecting a big

wedding—my first and, with

luck, only wedding, the one

I've thought about practically

forever? Am I out of line, refusing

to do it his way, and “take it

to her”? Am I psycho, wondering

who is more important to Cole,

me or his mother? Am I selfish,

wanting it to be me? I know he's

got a lot on his mind. Bigger stuff

than guest lists, DJs, and floral

arrangements. Stuff like bullets

and bombs and body armor.

Unique boutique gowns are not

high on his priority ladder.

Maybe they shouldn't be on

mine, either. I really don't know

anymore. Am I just premenstrual?

Am I just being totally petty?

Five years after Cole and I met,

we had come an incredible distance,

together and apart. We had transformed.

Morphed into different people, because

of each other and in spite of each other.

In almost every way, we had grown up.

My growth came from self-discovery.

Choosing one path, journeying awhile,

changing direction. I had learned much

along the way. The elation of first love.

The anguish of separation. The meaning

of sacrifice. Courage. Overwhelming fear.

Patience. Impatience. Wresting control.

Relinquishing control. I still wasn't always

certain when to wrest and when to relinquish,

but time is perhaps the best teacher.

I had withdrawn into self-inflicted solitary.

Clawed my way out. Retreated again.

I had pushed envelopes. Pushed buttons,

allowed mine to be pushed. Decided

I'd rather be the pusher than the pushee.

I had come to realize that life is fluid,

and while that can be a very scary thing,

riding the flow is better than trying to stop it.

Had largely been imposed on him.

Yes, he had volunteered for the ride.

But how many young people truly

comprehend the face of war until

it's staring them down? You can't patrol

unfriendly villages without embracing

paranoia. You can't watch your battle

buddies blown to bits without jonesing

for revenge. You can't take a blow to

the helmet without learning to duck.

And you can't put people in your crosshairs,

celebrate dropping them to the ground,

without catching a little bloodlust. Paranoia.

Revenge. Bloodlust. These things turn

boys into men. But what kind of men?

I had experienced much in that five

years. But it was nothing, compared

to what Cole had witnessed. Suffered. Done.

Each returning soldier is an in-the-flesh

memoir of war. Their chapters might vary,

but similar imagery fills the pages, and

the theme of every book is the same—

profound change. The big question

became, could I live with that kind of change?

The application to segue out of social

work and into creative writing, Cole

was earning the respect of his fellow

grunts, and working toward the rank

of sergeant. Getting there involved

some incidents deemed necessary

by the NATO forces, and atrocities

by many Afghani people. Nighttime

raids netted insurgents, but also flushed

harmless villagers from their homes.

Many never returned. In an effort to thwart

IED planting, some soldiers fired into

vehicles at checkpoints. As often

as not, they found no IEDs. Intelligence,

perhaps faulty, perhaps not, resulted

in indiscriminate U.S. bombs killing

innocent civilians, including women

and children. To be fair, the Taliban

felt no compunction about using kids

to carry weapons, serve as screens

and even as suicide bombers. Children

as young as six were gathered and taken

to training camps where they learned

the fine points of sacrificing themselves

to Allah. When someone comes at you

with explosives obviously strapped around

their middles, you take them out, no matter

how young they are. Even if they remind

you of a kid you know back home. Maybe

even your own kid. Soldiering was ugly.

After all that, the Taliban wanted to come

to the table and talk. ANA and ANP troops

were defecting, or just plain scared of

what might happen once the coalition

forces deserted the country. Despite years

of training and working hand in hand

to guarantee they would be in control,

that outcome was anything but assured.

U.S. troops, including Cole, began to feel

frustrated. Unappreciated. Downright angry.

Paranoia, revenge, and bloodlust

were natural consequences of survival.

About most of that. Cole bottled

his feelings, kept them inside

where every event shook them

up like carbonated water. I only

knew when they finally blew.

He wasn't supposed to rant, but

now and then it happened. Better

to fire off a barrage of words than

a spray of bullets, like soldiers who

wandered all the way off the deep

end. Some waited until they got home

and memory or boredom riled

them up. Then they'd go looking

for action. Sometimes they took

it out on strangers—crowds at

political rallies or random homeless

guys on the street. Other times,

it came down on people they knew.

Maybe even loved. One woman at

the shelter was married to an Army

vet. It took more than two years for

his PTSD to kick all the way into gear.

He never scared me,
she said.
But

one day, it was like the light went out

in his eyes. I swear I was looking

evil in the face. I thought he'd kill me.

He claimed it was the heat that set