Page 18 of Warrior's Walk

“Don’t reenlist,” he shrugs. “Take some time off, heal, and hit your therapy hard. Maybe go to school and put your G.I. Bill to use. Then, in a year or two, you can decide whether you want to go back. Maybe you’ll have a clearer picture of what you want to do by then. If you can pass the fitness test, the Army will take you back in a heartbeat.”

A sabbatical. School. I can’t see myself in either role. I become restless easily, and I’m not the book-smart type.

“What am I supposed to do for work? While I’m recovering and going to school?”

“I don’t know. Find a job.”

I look away, out the window. My room is on the second floor, overlooking the parking lot. All day long, I see people come and go, and wish I could be among them, and now that I’m going to have the chance, I’m scared shitless. Probably because I don’t have any direction.

“My unit comes back next month. It’ll be good to see them again. I don’t know, I guess I can apply at The Footlocker or somethin’.”

Riggs shakes his head. “I guess you could. You could spend your weekends drinking with your buddies and reliving your glory days while you serve them shots. But I can tell you, you’re just going to become bitter and resentful, and every time they tell a story you aren’t a part of, it’ll just dig into your heart that much deeper.”

“Then what the fuck am I supposed to do?” I snap. Why does he think he has all the answers when I have none? He doesn’t even know me.

Riggs’s face hardens in the wake of my anger. He reaches into his back pocket and pulls out a glossy brochure that he throws down on my tray table.

“No, thanks. I’m not in the mood to make fuckin’ origami.”

“Neither am I,” he counters.

“Then what’s that?” I ask, glaring at the brochure.

“Thatis your ticket out of here.Thatis your next step.”

Reluctantly, I pick it up. “BALLS?” I ask. “BALLS are the answer to my future?”

He chuckles, his expression losing some of its attitude. “Beyond the Army: Legion of Love Soldiers. It’s a not-for-profit organization that helps guys like you.”

“Guys like me? What, losers with no future? Former soldiers with two bum legs and no prospects?”

“Exactly,” he replies smugly.

I squint, reading the fine print beneath the logo. “Black Mountain? Isn’t that like four hours from here?”

“Three and a half.”

“What’s this ball legion gonna do for me?”

“Give you back your life. Or help you find a new one, one that you can live with, maybe even one that you can fall in love with.”

I snort. “Sure. Are they magically gonna heal my legs so I can jump again?”

“No, smart ass. I told you, your days of jumping out of planes are over. It’s time to find a new dream.”

I can feel anger bubbling inside me like a pot boiling over. He says it like it’s nothing because it costs him nothing to say. Get a new dream. Get over the fact that you spent your entire adult life training to be something you can no longer be. Get a new life, and a new best friend, and forget the old one that died. Move four hours away to Hicktown and forget about the team you’ve lived with for four years. My fist comes down hard on the plastic tray table, startling Riggs.

“Just like that, huh? Just walk away and get a new life.”

His dark eyes narrow to slits, but other than that, his face smooths out in a mask of calm serenity. “Or you can kick around Fayetteville and hope that your buddies throw you a bone now and then when you’re not too busy with work and school. And every time you pass an Army vehicle on the road or hear a plane or jet fly overhead, your heart can burn with nostalgia for the good old days.”

His words are meant to paint a grim picture of what my life will be like if I stay, and as much as I want to deny it, I know he’s right. Without the 82nd, I’d hate my life here. Like a pathetic ex-lover, hanging onto a life they’re no longer a part of.

“And how do you know this place isn’t just a bunch of propaganda bullshit?”

“Because I volunteer there.”

I laugh again. “Really? Is there anything you don’t do? You save lives in the desert and rehabilitate broken soldiers here at Womack, and now you’re gonna tell me you’re collectin’ homeless veterans like stray dogs in Black Mountain, North Carolina? Do you even have time for a personal life?”

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