“I don’t have any answers,” I said, “I just wanted to say that I get that. I guess it’s kind of normal for what you’ve been through.”
“Thank you,” Layla said. “That is one of the most important things about this group. We don’t have any easy answers, but we can witness for each other, and see that we’re not alone. That’s powerful on its own.”
“Thanks,” Ben said. “What was your name? I don’t remember.”
“Tyler,” I said.
The boy nodded, and I went back to listening while his mom talked about being afraid to lose him. A couple new people talked and then it was my turn.
“Tyler, you just sat in last week, but when you spoke up for Ben earlier, I thought that was a very positive contribution. What would you feel comfortable telling us about today?” Layla asked, not even looking up from her clipboard.
She clicked her ink pen six times in the silence before I answered her.
“I went into the Marines right out of high school. I thought I was a badass, and I needed the structure, the discipline. I thought being a Marine got you respect, and maybe it does.” I stopped and looked at my hands for a moment.
“Did you like being in the Corps?” she asked.
“Yeah, I did. In a lot of ways it was easy. I was good at the things they needed me to do. Then they put me in charge of a patrol squad in Afghanistan. We did a whole lot of nothing for about eight months, keeping the peace, checking out a lot of fake bomb threats, crap like that,” I said. I looked up at the ceiling for a second, and I felt it. Her eyes were on me, teasing out a confession like a snake charmer or something.
“What changed?” her voice was so soft. You could hear a pin drop in that room.
“We got sent to a government building on a tip. Something about it seemed different to me. My guys, they had every reason not to take it seriously after eight months of false alarms, and they told me I was nuts when I said to clear the area. By the time I knew it was in the post box, it was too late. I was too late. Four civilians plus all three men in my squad died that day, ripped apart by an IED. I lost my men, lost most of the hearing on my right side, plus some broken ribs, ruptured spleen, and a shitload of guilt. Sorry, kid,” I said as an afterthought.
“Don’t be,” Layla said quickly, “We don’t censor ourselves in here. I’m very sorry for your loss and that you experienced that. Can you tell me how the PTSD manifests? Insomnia, irritability, nightmares, isolation?”
“I have trouble sleeping. Mainly though, one of the things I lost was the ability to experience any type of pleasure. My old doctor at the VA said that was the trauma response and survivor’s guilt. That all I had left was a half-life.”
“So, by pleasure you mean…”
“Nothing tastes good. Nothing feels good.”
“I understand,” she said and abruptly moved on.
I felt raw and a little twitchy. I wanted to talk more about it. For the first time in a long time it felt good to unstopper that memory and let some out. She needed to know, and I needed to tell her.
The cop was talking, and I made myself pay attention. At the end when she asked if anyone had anything else they needed to say, Cassie asked if she could make an appointment for one-on-one counseling with Layla.
“That’s certainly an option if you feel you need more focused attention than you can get in the group or if there’s something you’re uncomfortable sharing in company. There are a number of counselors on staff here. I can’t guarantee it would be me,” she said, her eyes flicking in my direction. As if she knew I wanted a private session myself and she was telling me hell no.
Still, I waited till most of the group was gone and asked if I could speak to her. She seemed to be avoiding me, shuffling her notes, checking her phone. She looked up, seemed to square her shoulders.
“Yes. What can I do for you?” her voice was prim, reserved.
“I was hoping to answer your question in more detail. I didn’t want to elaborate in front of the kid.”
“Ben is almost sixteen, and he’s been through enough I doubt you’re going to shock him unless you describe a lot of carnage.”
“It isn’t that. Will you have a seat?” I said.
She pulled one of the folding chairs over for herself to face the one I sat in.
“What didn’t you want to say?”
“Well, for over a year it’s like half the time I’m in my mind sitting in the corner of this dark, concrete room with shadows all around, not knowing what’s coming for me. That’s not conducive to enjoying anything. And it’s only in the last week that I’ve been able to feel and act on sexual interest at all.” I met her eyes wickedly and saw that she felt my full meaning.