Page 8 of Wrong Number, Right Soldier
I fall into the dark, where there isn’t any more sound, nothing to see, or feel, no smells. Only void.
The only sensation here is thought.
Remembering—that first morning when Saylis called out of the blue. The refreshing-ness of her. The distraction. The feeling of something to look forward to, finally. A numbness I hadn’t known was encasing me until it shredded away and light,life, emerged in its place.
Realizing—how often we talk now. How fast it’s turned into something I need, and not just need, but I need a lot of it.
I needa lotof Saylis.
Allof Saylis.
Regretting—that I’m a distraction for her, too. And not a good one.
She might have already taken and passed the exam, if it weren’t for me derailing her studies every single fuckin’ night. Next, she’ll start to look for a teaching position. She’ll get a great one. Whatever school she is going to teach at doesn’t evenknowyet how lucky they are about to get, to get her.
Saylis has so much going for her.
What am I, except eight thousand miles away, and yet still managed to be in her way?
It hits me, the God’s honest truth, square in the chest, so plainly, right here in this pitch-black, soundless nothingness where I know Saylis is not going to come, and I don’t want her to. I don’t want her to ever see mehere.
I’m being unfair to her.
I am not good enough.
I struggled all throughout school, dropped out after my dad died, eventually got my GED, barely even passed the ASVAB. She’s going to be anEnglish teacher. Saylis uses words I don’t always know the definition of, and I just nod along as if I do. Like a big fake, stupid coward.
But that’s not even the point. This thing with the Army? I’m in it forlife. This is my life.
The best thing I can do for Saylis—is let her go live hers.
Is let her go.
But that’s just me in the dark. When I come to, I know that’s not something I’ll ever be able to do.
Four
Saylis
We talked every single day…and then all of a sudden: radio silence.
The days slide under me, through me. A week after no contact, I completely refocus. I know that I’m ready to take the exam. I’ve probably been ready for a while; I know the material like the back of my hand. It’s just that once I do pass, that’s it—I will have to take the next step. Get a big-girl job. Be an adult.
Why is that scary?
My friends aren’t surprised when I get the results: Pass. They stop mentioning Trey by day ten. On day fourteen, sitting at my desk (because I’mgoingto be more mindful about my posture), scrolling through job postings, my phone vibrates next to me—even though it’s on Focus mode for another two hours, which is supposed to silence all calls and texts.Silence, silence.
Except for that one, approved contact.
My heart climbs all the way into my throat, so thick and high that I can taste acid on the back of my tongue and in every chamber of my sinuses. Why would I get a call from Kuwait after all this time? It’s either him—or it’s someone else with his phone, with awful, horrible news.
But who would callmewith bad news about Trey? I’m not next of kin. I’m not…anything. Referring to him as myboyfriendto Hannah exactly one day before he ghosted me makes me feel every level of crazy-girl crazy.
I miss the call. There simply wasn’t enough time to cycle through all of the freaking out before I could answer it.
Deep breath in.
All the way out.
