For the first time, I’m realizing that all those happy reunions I’d see when my battalion gets home come with a price that I never really considered. A price paid by the ones we leave behind.
A price my parents certainly didn’t pay because they never gave a damn about me.
I chuckle suddenly, a once-painful memory seeming humorous to me today somehow. “My parents practically shit their pants when I made it into West Point.”
She grins up at me. “They must have been so proud.”
“No! No way. They were pissed.”
“Pissed?”
“Pissed beyond measure. They wanted me to get some local job at the gas station or something so I could basically pay their bills. West Point totally messed with their plans for me. Every summer or holiday, I’d have to rack out on the couch of some classmate’s family because my parents would have nothing to do with me. Then I graduated and all that changed. Suddenly, I couldn’t stop them from calling me all the time.”
“Why the change?”
“My paycheck. They wanted a piece of it. All I’d hear was, ‘Oh, we love you, Son. We could really turn things around for ourselves with a little help from you.’ It wasn’t until they got evicted that I figured out that the money I was sending was just going to booze or pot or whatever else they were into. I was a fool, really. But you can’t help it when it’s your parents. There was always this little part of me that kept thinking that if I could lift some of the stress out of their lives, then they wouldn’t drink.”
“Like when you were a kid.‘If I could just…’”
“Exactly. They had a talent for knowing just what to say to me. You know...‘We love you. We’re going to do better. Give us another chance.’That L word was the ace up their sleeve.”
“Was?” She notices my word choice.
“Yeah. Was. Then they got busted for selling drugs to high school kids. Freakingkids. I mean, I want to have a family one day. Would I ever let people likethatbe a part of my kids’ lives? Hell no. I haven’t talked to them since.”
“I’m sorry,” she says again.
I shrug. “I’m not. I want the kind of family I see other people having. The kind you have. And I couldn’t have that with them in my life. They’re addicts who refuse to help themselves. There’s nothing I can do to change that.”
“Your parents are like the ocean.” She says it quietly, like it’s a realization.
“What?”
“Your philosophy about the ocean—how we can’t control it. Your parents are like the ocean.”
I feel gratified somehow. I love how she seems to value my brand of wisdom. I’ve never gotten much of that.
“Yeah. Exactly. Though they look too nice in that metaphor. They’re more like a massive cesspool.” I force a laugh. “But enough about them. I’m shooting for a romantic setting here, and it’s killing the vibe. Me rowing you around. Like in one of those cheesy English romances.”
“Jane Austen.”
“Yeah. Ugh. That’s the one. So shouldn’t we be talking about something else?”
“How are you familiar with Jane Austen films?”
“I dated a girl who made me watch a couple once. Took me at least six months to recover.”
“You actuallywouldmake a great Mr. Darcy.”
“That’sMajorDarcy to you,” I say, even though I have no clue what character she’s talking about. I usually fell asleep during those movies. It’s a survival technique.
I row her to an area where the waves are nearly nonexistent and she decides to take another stab at standing, this time more successfully.
Helping her balance, I put my hands at her hips and feel somehow possessive of her as I do. As many times as I remind myself that she only wants this to last the summer, I can’t help picturing doing this with her again next summer, and the summer after that.
I can’t help thinking of other things I’d love to share with her, too. Surfing maybe. Kayaking definitely. And I’d love to travel with her to the Caribbean island I once went with some of my Ranger buds just to show her how clear the water is down there.
I think too much about the future when I’m with her. A future we won’t have.