Brass & Unity, page 14
No matter how tired I am, I no longer sleep. If only I could tell her that, but my brain can’t find the words.
Exhaustion
Tsk, tsk, Kelsi.
Disappointing your mother.
Look at the pain in her eyes.
It’s so hard for her to pretend she loves you as she used to.
Before your “incident” in Afghanistan.
Want to hear a secret?
She’s already mourning you.
Why are you trying so hard to keep going?
At dinner, despite a nap, nothing has changed. I look around nervously and pull back whenever a waiter approaches our table.
“Aren’t you hungry?” Mom holds her knife and fork above her place setting.
A server drops a metal dish, and I jump as the clang echoes through the dining room. Sitting back farther in my chair, staring at my plate, I drag a French fry through a blob of ketchup and put in my mouth. “Not really.”
A fleeting sigh passes through Mom’s lips before she starts talking. “The fish is really good. Want to try some?”
She pulls her fork back when I shake my head, and she slowly chews. We sit in silence for a while, me shoving fries around on my plate, her slicing through her fish and potatoes. I keep watching a family sitting at a nearby table, laughing and smiling. They look so happy, and I wish I could be like that again. Will I ever?
My beer is almost empty, and I take a long drink.
“How about we head back to our room if you’re not hungry, Kels? Maybe we can watch a movie?”
“Sure, Mom. Whatever you want.” I bring the beer to my lips and pour the cold bitterness down my throat. “Just let me finish this.” One more swig, and I place the bottle next to another empty one.
As we walk to our room, I focus on the stars instead of the sand beneath my feet. The feel of each kernel between my toes or in my hair takes me right back to Afghanistan. Sadly, even the night sky will never be beautiful to me again. Everything is tainted by thoughts of Mick. Hopefully the beer buzz helps me sleep tonight.
“You’re sure you don’t want to talk about it?” Mom asks.
I shake my head and stumble. Mom reaches out to catch me. “Oops. Your alcohol tolerance must be pretty low. Be careful!”
Back in the room, Mom fixes some tea while I start unpacking my bag, folding my clothes and putting them away. She chats with me from the other room. “I’m doing a bit more trucking on my own these days, did I mention that?”
My hands move slowly, thanks to the alcohol, as I lay my socks together. I fold them in half, fold them again, and tuck the ends in. “That’s nice.” I struggle to think of something else to say. “Good for Dad to have a break now and then.”
“Now that you and Dillon don’t need me around as much, it makes sense for both of us to be working. Plenty of bills to be paid.”
I put the socks in neat rows in my top drawer and count them.
“Uh-huh.”
For a minute, Mom doesn’t say anything. She’s watching me from the doorway.
“What?” I ask sharply.
“Nothing.”
She goes into the living room, turning on the light.
“What are you doing?” I run over to the switch, yelling, “Turn it off! You can’t have lights on right now!”
“Kelsi, what are you talking about?” Her hands rise to her face. We stand in the dark.
Shit, I’ve frightened her. I’m being irrational. “Never mind, Mom,” I switch on the light then give her a hug. “Sorry. It’s just a rule we had over there. I’m sorry. I’m not myself right now.”
She clings to me until my BlackBerry buzzes and I pull away. It’s Brady:
Can’t stop thinking about you.
I write back:
Pls don’t stop.
It’s so easy to talk to him. He never asks any questions about what I’ve been doing on my tour, which makes it easy to forget. I feel like I could open up to him if I wanted to. But Mom? If she knew about the things I’ve done, she would never love me again.
The bathroom door closes, and I hear Mom crying above the sound of the exhaust fan.
Brady messages right back:
I couldn’t even if I tried. I want to see you when you get back to Canada.
i can’t wait. but i’m warning you, i’m a mess.
lol i need to get some sleep. xo
Sweet dreams, babe.
i wish.
Grabbing a beer from the mini bar, I crack it open and use it to chase down my sleeping meds before curling into a ball on the bed and crying into my pillow. When I sleep, the nightmares will come. I wish I could crawl in bed with Mom like I did when we traveled for Tae Kwon Do tournaments. She always calmed my nerves, but nothing can now. She’s such a good mom and deserves a better daughter than I now can be. At least she has Dillon, one normal child.
At breakfast, I order a second mimosa to go with my bacon and eggs.
“What should we do today, kiddo?”
“Whatever you want,” I say, my eyes glued to the TV screen showing news from Afghanistan.
Mom takes a drink of coffee. “Dillon’s excited to see you again.” A text from Brady momentarily takes my attention away from the TV:
Dreamt about you. You were naughty.
I smile and start to tap a response.
“Who’s that?” Mom asks.
“Just Brady.”
“Brady?”
“The guy I met in Montreal.”
“Oh, I didn’t think that was serious.”
“It’s not.”
“Okay.” She picks up a newspaper and pretends to read it, but I can see her watching me. I know I’m the reason her forehead is wrinkled into a frown.
At the end of three weeks, I’ve been drunk a handful of times, followed the news to see who’s been dying in Afghanistan (three from our unit), shed a million tears, fantasized about my death, and tried to smile for my mother. She’s heard me crying and doesn’t know what to do with me, but I can’t help her. It’s hard enough to keep myself standing upright, and I’m grateful she respects me enough not to push the conversation. I can’t wait to get myself on the first flight back to Dubai. Ramrod is home now.
Your Fault
You can safely assume from now on, that any time your parents are upset, it’s because of you.
You messed up the family.
Your role was supposed to be “darling daughter,”
but what’s this you’re giving them?
Know how you’ve been fantasizing about death all the time?
Do everyone a favor.
Give them a real reason to grieve.
FOURTEEN
Cracked
Holding the wall for balance, I pull my right ankle toward my tailbone for a deep quad stretch while Sergeant Leblond puts our dumbbells away.
“How are you doing, Burns?”
I release my right foot and shift my weight to stretch the other leg. “Fine. My hips seem a bit tight.”
“I don’t mean physically.”
“Well what do you mean?” I snap, dropping my foot.
“Kelsi…” He walks away from the dumbbells and sits down on the bench, waiting for me to answer.
“What? What do you want me to say?”
“You were involved in an op that killed one of your guys, and you watched it happen.” His voice is gentle. “How are you doing with that?”
“I appreciate your concern and all, Sergeant, but I saw shit and I have to deal with it. I don’t know what to tell you.”
“If you need anything, come talk to me?”
I clench my jaw. “If we’re done here, I have to go meet Gould.”
Plodding down the dusty path, I consider going back to apologize to Sergeant Leblond when Gould calls out from the top of the laundry tent. “Hey! Forgot about me?”
“Sorry, I’m in my own world these days.” I drop my bag on the floor.
“That’s understandable. You’ve been through some heavy shit. I know what it’s like out there.”
I nod without saying anything. Gould has done a few tours with McMillin. He saw his buddies die—he told me about it. Maybe I should talk to him about McMillin, but I just can’t. At least not yet. Gould’s voice breaks the awkward silence. “So what were the Brits like?”
“Solid soldiers.”
“Black Watch have the rep.”
“They’re good guys. Really respected me. Had my back.”
“And you had theirs. I know that about you.”
Not enough. We lost Mick.
Dumping my clothes into the machine, I think back to the grape hut. I can’t get it out of my mind.
“You still sexting with that guy?”
“Yeah.”
“That’s good. A distraction.”
We stand in silence for a while, listening to the swish of the machine. I pull a Coke can out of my pocket and hand it to him. A broad smile crosses his face. “Ah, you remembered! I missed you, Burns, but I also missed this.”
He pops the can open and takes a long swig. “Want to watch Dane?”
Shrugging, I hand him my laptop, and we sit down in the hot sun. He presses “play” on the Dane Cook comedy album and starts to laugh within the first minute. I try to force a smile, but I can’t and instead stare down at my feet, watch the swirling sand and think of Mick.
Laugh
Come on, Kelsi.
Laugh.
Don’t be such a downer.
Look at me, for instance.
I’ve been through shit myself, but I can still laugh at you.
You are falling apart at the seams, and it’s hilarious!
Halfway through fire watch duty, another Canadian and I look for signs of the enemy. The sun has barely risen, but the heat is already uncomfortable. My partner doesn’t talk much, which is fine by me. I just pace back and forth, gripping my rifle. As soon as it’s over I will check if Brady messaged me, pop a sleeping pill, and try to get some rest.
I hear a faint moo and look to my right as Emma waves at me. I just stare at her without lifting my arms. Something’s off. Narrowing my eyes, I can plainly see that she’s there and she’s waving, but shit—she has a weapon!
My machine gun is racked at my shoulder. I remember what they told me when I went out with the British: Don’t hesitate to fire.
I put a round in the chamber and aim my weapon at her.
“Burns!” My fire watch partner rushes to my side. “What do you see?”
“That little girl down there has a gun.”
“Where?”
“Right fucking there!”
Dust kicks up behind my boots as I race down to the coms tent. “There’s a girl with a gun right outside the FOB. She’s going to shoot us.”
The coms guy radios my partner to confirm what I’ve seen, but his voice comes on the radio. “The girl is unarmed. Burns—”
I run out of the tower to the coms tent. At this point, I was done.
Seeing Things
What just happened, Kelsi?
You could have ended that innocent child’s life.
You’re a monster.
Is this why you joined the military? What would your mother say?
What will stop you from hurting someone when—if—you make it back home?
You’re a menace to society and a danger to everyone.
“Burns, I need a Coke,” ribs Gould as he and McMillin join me for GD (general duty) on the American side of the compound.
“Drink some damn water, ya rocket!”
He smirks and takes a drink. “The Brits are rubbing off on you, I see. How are you doing?”
“Fine.”
“It would be okay if you weren’t fine. You know that, right? Seeing what you saw out there isn’t easy to bounce back from.”
We’re quiet for a while, watching the Afghan workers and quoting war movies. It’s one of the many things I’ve incorporated into my routine after my week with the Brits.
One of the Canadians walks up, and with a smirk, says in French, “Burns, I heard what happened on your fire watch shift. You’re seeing things now?”
“Fuck off.”
“Easy there, Burns. You seem crankier than usual. On your period?”
There’s nothing I’d rather do in this moment than take the butt of my rifle to his face. Instead, I let out a long sigh. “It happens when you’ve spent time outside the wire, but you wouldn’t know about that, would you?”
This shuts him up, and he walks away.
Gould smirks. “Go, girl.”
“You know the first thing he said to me when I got back was, ‘You’re all in one piece, there’s not a scratch on you. Don’t be such a pussy.’”
“Ignore them.” Gould kicks at the sand. “They’re jerks.”
“And that other guy, he actually asked me, ‘Did you have any witnesses?’” I take a long drink of water from my canteen. “Then he said, ‘That’s what happens when you send a woman to do a man’s job.’”
“Don’t even listen to them. You’re as strong as any man here. Actually, you’re stronger than a lot of them.”
“Yeah, but they laugh behind my back. I know it. And they talk about me in French, knowing I don’t always understand what they’re saying.”
“We’ll take care of them on the baseball field,” McMillin winks. For a moment, I smile and then look him straight in the eyes.
“They don’t believe anything actually happened to me.”
“Does that even matter?”
I shrug. “Everything just makes me so angry. The smallest thing.”
“That’s normal.” McMillin leans in closer to the two of us. “Gould put his fist through a wall when we lost one of our buddies.”
I look down at my feet for a while. “So did you guys ever wonder why?”
McMillin shifts his feet and takes a deep sigh. “You mean why them and not me?”
I nod.
Gould crushes the can with his fingers. “All the time. Still do.”
“It never leaves you. You just learn to live with it.” McMillin gestures to the French Canadians. “It’s something they will never understand, but you’re one of us now, Kelsi.”
Gould doesn’t skip a beat. “We’ve got your back.”
I smile and turn to face them. “They won’t understand that it’s about the men next to you, and that’s it. That’s all it is.”
Gould lifts a bottle of water. “Black Hawk Down, 2001.”
Now that I’m back with the Americans, I don’t miss the British guys quite so much. These men and I were not in a position, or in a pay grade, to understand what was fully going on in that war. But what we did understand is what we were told, and that what we were doing was right. We’ll always have that, no matter how it all turned out. No matter that it looms larger in our minds than our futures, which seem to be unspooling before us at a rate we cannot control.
Poor Kelsi
Someone getting a little paranoid now?
Perfect.
Yes.
Those French guys are just like the bullies in school, aren’t they?
The only way to get away from the bullies is to
give in to me.
Weeks before the rest of my unit, I’m sent back to KAF, while the military tries to figure out what to do with me. I’m assigned to a special sort of hell called QM—the quartermaster. The quartermaster is a military officer who is responsible for providing quarters, rations, clothing, and other supplies. My job would be organizing and counting office supplies.
On the table in front of me there are thousands of pens, which I’m sorting according to color while rage oozes through my veins. I want to stab myself in the eye with one of these pens. Two weeks of busy work, and I am done. This is not why I joined the Army.
A colonel approaches me. “Burns, where’s your magazine?” “Where’s my ammo?” I snap back.
“Yes. The magazine you’re supposed to have on you at all times at KAF.”
“Actually, I have no fucking ammo left. I used it while shooting at people because I’m a real soldier.”
The minute the words leave my mouth, I know I shouldn’t have said them, but it’s too late, and I can’t take them back.
“You’re done with QM, Burns. Get your ass to the shrink.”
Good, Kelsi
Things are going exactly as I hoped they would!
I’m seeing good things from you.
You’re making excellent progress.
You’re one step closer to being completely abandoned by the military.
Can’t you sense it?
Oh, just you wait.
It’s coming.
Discharged soldiers are my favorite.
Sergeant Leblond comes to KAF to see me. He’s so upset, he’s close to tears. “Kelsi, this is serious. They’ve started the paperwork. You verbally assaulted a CO!”
I stare at him blankly. “I know. I fucked up.”
“You could end up on trial in the military courts. It happens all the time.”
“I don’t know what you want from me. I can’t take it back.”
“You have to give me something here. They’re going to come after you, and they’d be totally within their rights to do so!”
His face is red, and the gravity of what’s happening here starts to sink in.
I don’t say anything.
“Kelsi, for Christ’s sake, help me out here.”
“What am I going to do?”
“Well, what did the doctor say?”
“That I have acute post-traumatic stress trauma.”
“Okay. That’s something. I’ll start working on getting you a medical discharge.”
“I don’t want a discharge. I don’t want to leave.”
