Page 2 of Sparrow

Part 1

2011

“WORST. DATE. EVER,”I say, as I collapse onto the sofa, kicking off my shoes. “And to think, I wore heels for this.”

My best friend, Nora, who I met my freshman year of college at San Diego State, giggles at my expense. “Did he at least pay for dinner?”

“I’m an independent woman, Nor. I don’t need a man to pay for me; but—the asshole didn’t even offer. He even told the server we were on separate checks.” I stand; lifting my dress a little and shimmying out of the body shaper I wore to smooth everything into place.

“You even impaired your breathing with that damn thing for him. What a waste,” she says with a grin, piling her platinum blonde hair on top of her head.

“You’re making fun of me. Bitch.” I smile.

“Yes, I am. I absolutely am. Your dating struggles are a mix of hilarious and kind of depressing. Maybe you should bat for the other team. I did for a while. It was hot.” She laughs.

“Don’t think I haven’t considered it.” I sit beside her, placing my head on her shoulder. “I’m just going to focus on school. One more year. One more and I’ll be saying goodbye to the San Diego Culinary Institute forever.”

“Remember me when you’re a famous chef, and I’m still here cleaning up blood and sticking people with needles,” she says with a groan. But I know she loves her job as a nurse.

“You’re saving lives, Nora. I say you win. Nurses are the front line. You’re a badass.”

“I should keep you around. You’re good for my self-esteem.”

***

I sink into my bathtub and let the hot water soak the ache from the day away. Between being on my feet all day in the kitchen at school, and the date from hell, my muscles are screaming for release. I close my eyes and take a deep breath, allowing the scent of the lavender bath oil to slip into my body and soothe me from the inside out.

Without even thinking, my hand slips up to the necklace I’m wearing. A necklace I have not taken off in seven years. My mind wanders to Grayson often. I wonder where he is. I wonder how he’s doing. I tried to stalk him via social media, but he seems to be rejecting that particular popular convention. Did he stay in the service? With the state of the world...is he even safe?

***

(Grayson)

It’s in these moments I am able to forget, just for a moment, that I’m thousands of miles away from home in a Middle Eastern desert, dodging fucking bullets, and ending the lives of people who may, or may not, be trying to kill me—it’s hard to tell here.

These moments, when I’m in the Humvee with my team on our way to sweep an area, with Richardson pumping a Queen classic through the speakers, which keep me sane in this fucked-up world.

“Reminds me of Wayne’s World!” Cortez, my closest friend here, says from my left side.

“Don’t make me start reenacting!” I say with a wide smile.

“Nah, nobody wants to see your pretty boy ass do that. I’m good. We’re all good on that.” He chuckles.

“Don’t think I don’t see you checking me out.” I blow him a kiss, just to be an asshole.

“In your dreams, Aldrich.”

“Carson, what’s our ETA?” I shout up to our driver, adjusting my helmet. Cammies make you look like a badass, but they are uncomfortable as fuck. They’re hot, itchy, and heavy as shit, especially when you’re four deep in a vehicle with all of your gear.

“We’re about two miles out. Start keeping your eyes peeled for anything we may need to get ahead of.”

“Sarge said this was a cut and dry search and clear. I just want this over with so we can get back to base. There’s a chili MRE waiting on me,” Cortez says, referring to the ready to-go meals that you’d think would be awful, but are actually decent.

“You’re the only motherfucker I know that wants hot ass chili in the middle of the desert,” I retort.

“Chili was the food of my people until you fucking Americans stole it from us. I’m just keeping it real.” He laughs.

This is my fifth tour. Afghanistan has become a part of me—and I hate every second of it. The only thing that makes it bearable are the men in this Humvee with me right now. We’ve all met slowly over the years: some of us in basic, some of us on our tours. They’ve been my family here. They keep me focused. Them and my memories of home.

---