Page 8 of Unmade

My phone vibrated in my pocket, and I hoped it was someone getting back to me about a job—but of course it fucking wasn’t. It was Aunt Laura.

Dinner tonight, hon? I’m making tikka masala.

Blergh.

Her version of tikka masala was dumping a shitload of curry into a pot with crushed tomatoes, overcooked chicken, and broccoli. There was nothing masala about it.

I texted back as I stopped at an intersection.

I start work at 5, sorry.

Besides, I had cheap pasta, ketchup, and a packet of bacon waiting for me at home.

After crossing the street, I stayed on North Pershing and walked toward a couple pizza places I’d looked up. Both were hiring, and one of them used their own staff for delivery. I could definitely do that. I had my license, and it was the only thing on my post-graduation to-do list I’d accomplished. I’d graduated high school at seventeen with ambitions, man. I was gonna get my license, work extra to help Mom with rent plus pay for a class in economics, and then I was gonna save up to get my own food truck.

Yeah, that wasn’t happening.

Education. Money. Benefits. Adventure. Career.

I came to an abrupt stop on the sidewalk at the sight of a sign in a window, and wasn’t that just fucking perfect. Army recruiting center.

I could tell people one thing about the Army. They were not enthusiastic about giving out information about dead veterans. Thankfully, Aunt Laura had offered to help me figure out which forms I needed to fill out.

Scholarships, GI bill, annual tuition assistance…

I walked a little closer and stuck my hands down in the pockets of my jeans.

Retire in twenty years. Health care. Paid vacation.

Oof, I could hear Mom’s voice in my head. Or what I’d imagine it would sound like if she pleaded with me to not follow in my dad’s footsteps. But it was nuts. Laughable. I wasn’t soldier material.

Live in Hawaii, Alaska, Europe, Asia…

I lifted my eyebrows.

No mention of the Middle East, huh?

If I’d been taller, stronger, and…

The door opened, and an officer stepped out to light up a cigarette, and he nodded at me.

“How are you, son? You lookin’ to join?”

I chuckled and shook my head. “I trip over my own shadow.”

He flashed a grin and exhaled some smoke. “There’s training for that. How old are you?”

“Eighteen.”

He nodded once. “You ain’t even done growin’ yet. Let me guess, you don’t see how you’d fit in.”

Well…

I shrugged and eyed the cardboard cutout soldiers standing in the window, all with happy faces and gym experience.

“My dad was in the Army.” I didn’t know why I’d said that. Goddammit. “He died in Afghanistan.”

The officer turned solemn. “I’m sorry to hear that. We’ve lost many great men and women over there.”

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