While He Was Away by Karen Schreck Read Free Book Online Page A

latrines anyway. If something goes weird with my tat, I can always hold a toilet brush—or whatever—with my left hand.”
    You can’t hold a gun with only your left hand, I realize now, way too late. We should never have gotten them.
    David is staring out the truck window, as distracted by his thoughts as I am.
    “Are you sure we can’t drive you all the way to Iraq?” Beau asks this for about the millionth time—a feeble joke. Beau would stay in a motel in Iraq for the duration of David’s deployment too if he could. If they even have motels in Iraq anymore. If they’re not all blown to bits.
    “ Dad ,” David says.
    For a few minutes, we ride in silence.
    Then, because Bonnie is crying softly now and I can’t stand to hear her cry, I ask David again how long before we’ll be able to email or talk.
    Again, he says, “They said a few hours after we land. Remember? I won’t be able to get my own cell and SIM card until I get to Iraq. But of course they’ll have phone providers in Kuwait. You know me. I’ll get through to you.” He leans his head against his window. He looks tired all of a sudden. “At training, one guy told me that in Iraq we’ll have to earn privileges to talk on the phone, though other guys said he was just pulling my leg. Or maybe he had a really tough unit. But they all agreed that reception can still be bad over there, even around big cities. Even Baghdad. Phone lines and the Internet can still go down. Depending.”
    Depending on what?
    I don’t want to ask. Not with Bonnie crying like that.
    Carefully, I take hold of David’s tattooed hand. The gauze looks whiter and cleaner against his dark skin than it does mine. In the tattoo parlor I couldn’t help but think war wound , looking at the bandage on his chest. Survivor , I make myself think now. I make myself believe. As we pull into the airport’s entrance, I trace a heart in the air just over the barbwire on David’s chest. I am careful not even to skim his jacket, for fear of hurting the tender part beneath.
    We park in the parking garage. Bonnie, sobbing now, doesn’t want to leave the truck. Or rather, she doesn’t want to leave the truck because David doesn’t want her to leave the truck. He warned us a week earlier, when he first came back from training, that he didn’t want any of us to go into the airport with him.
    “I can’t deal with it.” That’s how he explained it. “I can deal with the TSA hassles, but I can’t deal with saying good-bye in front of everyone. I’m sorry. I know it’s not fair. It’s not right. But please. You’ve been asking what you can do? Say good-bye to me in private.”
    David leans over Bonnie now and hugs her for a long time in the pseudo-privacy of the parking garage. He flinches in pain as her head rests on his chest, right where the tattoo is, but he doesn’t pull away. He whispers something into Bonnie’s ear. I love you, he’s probably saying. Don’t worry. I’ll be home on leave before you know it. Finally he looks up and checks the clock on the dashboard. I see the realization flash across his time. He has to say good-bye.
    Beau and I walk with him to the elevator that will carry him up into the airport, where he will meet his brigade and fly away. I thought it was bad when he left for OSUT. It was nothing compared to this.
    We stand in our small huddle of three. Fluorescent tubes of light hum and buzz above us—a lethal sound. Cars sail past, probably filled with happy families and couples going on fun vacations. Or coming home.
    I draw David’s arm around my shoulder. I try to melt into him. Blend, merge, meld, blur. Stay or take me with you, I want to say.
    “You okay?” My voice breaks.
    David smiles reassuringly. “Be cool. Atta girl.”
    I pull a new book of manga from my bag. I give it to David. “For the flight. For inspiration too. You’ve got to work on your portfolio over there, okay? We’ve got to get into art school.”
    David looks skeptical.