Page 18 of Nights Without Night
“Are you fucking serious right now?” I say, trying to split my attention between him and the slowly moving cars around me as we stop at another light.
“Open the fucking door!” he screams. I flinch at the unexpected volume. I don’t think he’s ever shouted at me like that before.
“Jesus, Isadoro!” I shout back, more out of fear than anger.
“Open the door!” he says again, grabbing at me for a moment before releasing me and then yanking at the handle madly. I open my mouth to fight back, but an odd, out-of-body experience takes over me. I take a deep breath.
“Isa, you’re scaring me. You need to calm down,” I say as levelly as possible. “You’re putting us in danger. You can be angry at home, but not in the car. Okay?” I glance at him. He’s glaring, jaw clenched, but he doesn’t say anything else. I focus ahead, leaving him to calm himself down.
The rest of the drive is silent. I’m barely thinking, rattled by the event. It’s not like he lashed out physically or even swore at me. Lots of people get road rage, I try to reason with myself, but that’s not what’s got me so shaken. He’s never screamed at me like that, and it was so easily sparked. Is that what’s inside him all the time?
When we get home, he grabs a few grocery bags and strides upstairs. I move more slowly, taking a moment inside the car to collect myself before trudging upstairs. I’m expecting a fight, or at least to talk, but when I get into the apartment the bags are in the kitchen and Isadoro is nowhere to be seen. I walk towards his room, plastic bags rustling. His door is shut. It’s silent inside. I move towards the kitchen.
Mindlessly, I put the groceries away. Soup, toilet paper, jerkins. I divide the ground meat and put it into baggies to freeze. I replace the sink sponge.
When I’m done, I just stand there in the middle of the kitchen, looking at Isadoro’s closed door. Slowly, I move toward it and knock on the wood.
“Isa?” I say softly. There’s no response. I wait, my ear tilted toward the room, but there’s just silence.
With a sigh, I turn away.
*****
My heart jumps when I hear the click of Isadoro’s door opening. I try not to react, watching the TV as I strain to hear. My stomach drops as Isadoro goes to the bathroom, but when he comes out again he moves toward the living room. I turn to look at him, lowering the volume on the TV to a murmur.
Isadoro is cast in the glow of the night lamps. It’s late, and he’s changed into softer clothes. His face is weary as he looks at me, even though his posture is rigid and proud.
“I’m sorry,” he says simply. I take a deep breath and then let it out slowly. I’ve had plenty of time to think.
“I get it, Isadoro. I get that… You don’t want to talk about it, but I understand that you’re, that you’ve been…that there are going to be some bumps in the road, but. You can’t do that. What you—the war and everything, I get it, but it doesn’t give you a free pass to do whatever. I’m not gonna lie and tell you I’m going to leave if you continue because I don’t know if that’s true. You’re my best friend and I…It’s you and me, as far as I’m concerned. But you can’t shout at me like that, especially not when I’m driving in the car. You can be angry, I get that. But that doesn’t give you an excuse to scream at me.” My words come out level and stern, but I’m tired. I’m so tired.
Isadoro stands there for a moment. It’s him and me in this apartment, in the bubble of the night, the flickering colours of the TV and the glow of the lamps. Time stills, and then cracks. His posture slumps. He walks toward me, wrapping his arms around me as soon as he sits on the couch. I go easily, filling with relief.
I hold him back. We sit there, wrapped in each other until the murmur of his voice makes me lean away.
“Sometimes…I’m scared,” his voice says. I look at his face.
“Of what?” I ask just as quietly. He shakes his head, but answers.
“That I’m gonna…do something,” he says, not looking at me. I frown.
“Isa, what are you talking about? You would never hurt me,” I say, but he shakes his head.
“I don’t mean that. It’s not about hurting or killing. It’s about just…doing. Acting, before I can fully think it through. I’m so used to just acting. Back there, everything was contained by the directives, but in the moment, you just had to act. Your head had to be in one place. If someone falls in front of you, you don’t even pause. There’s you, and there’s the mission and I just…don’t know how to turn it off,” he says. I sit quietly for a moment. This is the most he’s ever admitted to me.
“Isa, there are services out there, the V.A.-” I start, but he shuts down immediately. I backtrack. Now, during the first time he’s opened up, is not the time to press. “Or I could help. We could have a, like, system. To pull you back, or something. Like…I say one, and you have to say two and I say three and you say four until ten and then…we can go through the consequences or something. Like, one, you get out of the car…” I start and then point at him. He looks at me for a moment.
“Two, I beat the guy up for being an asshole,” he says. I fight the urge to roll my eyes.
“Three, the guy is in a moving car. So am I. You open the door, I have to break, we collide, I get hurt-”
“Okay, okay,” he says. I raise my eyebrows. “It was stupid, I get it. I just…”
“Iget it, but…let’s just try this next time, okay?”
“Okay.”
“Okay,” I repeat softly and press our foreheads together. I feel him sigh against me. I close my eyes.
