August 7
Ryan
"It's the seventh?"
I look up to see Ana staring at me with wide eyes. I'm listening to the weather radio broadcast and the monotone robotic voice just announced the current date and time.
"Yes?" I say, wondering why that's so hard to believe.
Any semblance of light, joy, or happiness drains from Ana's face. Her expression reminds me of her demeanor when I first met her - a darkness inside her soul that threatened to drag her down into despair at any moment.
"What is it?" I ask.
Ana hugs her arms against herself. "It's Julie's birthday." Her expression becomes tight with anger.
"Oh," I say, not knowing how else to respond. "I'm sorry. I didn't know."
Ana doesn't say anything else. Wordlessly, she stalks over to the gun cabinet, pulls out her rifle, handgun, and ammo for both. Without looking at me, she heads outside.
After a few minutes I hear gunshots. The rate of firing is so rapid, it sounds more like Ana's engaged in a firefight than actually trying to hit a target. The rapidity of the shots reminds me of conflicts in Afghanistan and a flashback threatens to draw me in, tugging at my mind like a puppet on a string.
A niggling sense of terror and dread takes root in my mind. What if she's not just unloading to blow off some steam. What if there's someone out there in the woods? What if she's actually trying to defend herself and is about to be murdered?
I know just how unlikely that situation is, but my anxiety won't let me calm down. I grab my Beretta and the Mosin and head outside after her, leaving Casper in the cabin alone. He jumps up at the windowsill to watch me, whining.
Once outside, the shots are louder, but the sound is ringing out all across the clearing and echoing off the trees. I can't tell where they're coming from. But I do recognize that the shots are all coming from only one gun. It sounds just like her Glock. That fact eases some of my distress. The firing stops, presumably so she can reload.
I spot her standing by the side of the dirt road out of the clearing, right at the edge of the trees. She's almost out of sight of the cabin. I think that's the furthest she's ever been from the cabin on her own.
She must have finished reloading, because a series of loud bangs breaks the weighted silence. She empties the clip in less than 15 seconds. At this rate, she's going to burn through all the ammo I have left.
I start down the porch steps as Ana picks up the rifle and begins to shoot with it too. I approach her cautiously as she empties her rifle's magazine, then begins to reload both. I come to a stop a few yards behind her and wait, counting every shot. After she hits twenty-four, the gun clicks. Empty.
"Ana," I say, trying to make my voice soothing and gentle. My damaged vocal chords aren't very compliant.
Ana whirls around, raising the gun up and pointing it at my head. Her eyes are blank and without recognition.
Even though I know the gun is empty, my training kicks in. In a flash, I step up to her and with a carefully executed maneuver, swiftly relieve her of the pistol. She blinks and looks at her empty hand in surprise.
"I think you need to take a break," I tell her.
Her eyes flick up to mine and she looks angry. I recognize what she's feeling. There were days when the memories of what had been taken from me sparked a rage so hot, it felt like my chest might explode. Ana's hands ball into fists as the anger in her expression becomes more intense. I can see that same fury building inside her. She turns, covers her eyes with her hands and screams, a cry filled with frustration, sorrow, and rage. I half-expect her to dissolve into tears, so I place a hand on her shoulder gently.
She turns back to me abruptly and shoves my arm away.
"Why?" she yells at me. "Why did this have to happen to me? To Julie? To my family? Why did my family have to die? And why did I have to live?"
I don't know the answers to those questions. I've asked those same questions about myself and my unit numerous times. I don't think there is an answer.
"What did Julie do to deserve this? Or Mamá, or Dad? What did any of them do to deserve this? And what did I do to deserve having to live?"
There are tears in her eyes now. My chest aches, hearing her anguish and understanding it so completely.
"Why couldn't I have just died with them?"
Her face crumples in a sob. I step forward and pull her into my chest. She cries against me as I hold her close. My own eyes sting and a tear escapes one. I understand her pain so well. I never knew I'd find someone who understood mine too.
I don't know how long we stand there. But when I finally let go of her, my shirt is damp from her tears and there are a few wet spots on her shoulder too.
"I almost shot you," she says.
"With an empty gun."
She looks up at me, her face tear-stained, her eyes still a little red, and her skin blotchy from crying.
"I still almost shot you. What if the gun hadn't been-"
"You didn't. I'm fine, Ana."
Her eyes unfocus and she looks like she's about to cry again.
"Oh my God, Ryan, what if I'd shot you?"
I step forward and gently take her face in my hands. She lifts her face up toward me and her lips part. She looks up at me with round eyes.
"Ana, I'm OK. You didn't hurt me."
She doesn't protest this time, but just stares up at me, her expression softening. I want to kiss her.
I drop my hands from her face and turn away. I pick up her rifle, her handgun secured in my pocket.
"Let's go inside," I say, trying to keep my voice steady despite my racing pulse. I glance at her out of the corner of my eye. She's still standing exactly where I left her, watching me with an expression I don't recognize.
She blinks and takes a deep breath. We walk back to the cabin in silence. Once inside, I put away all the weapons and lock the gun cabinet. Ana goes into the bedroom, followed by a happy Casper. The dog seems oblivious to his mistress's dark mood. The bedroom door closes.
I want to be of some comfort to Ana, but I don't know what to do. She seems to want to be alone, so I oblige her. She doesn't come out of the bedroom for lunch. A little while later, the door opens and I look up expectantly, but only Casper emerges. The door closes again. Casper tries to play with me, so I take him outside to let him run around. I leave the door to the cabin open as I wait on the porch for the dog to fetch a stick I've thrown. I watch for her, but Ana doesn't come out.
When it seems Ana doesn't intend to come out for dinner either, I prepare a meal in the hopes that her stomach will urge her out at the smell of food. No luck.
Finally, I can't stand it anymore. After knocking, I walk slowly into the bedroom to find Ana huddled under the covers.
"Are you asleep?" I ask quietly.
"No," she says in a small voice.
"You're not sick, are you?"
"No," she says.
"Don't you want dinner?"
Ana's head shakes against the pillow. "Not hungry."
She's facing away from me and hasn't bothered to look my way. I sit on the chair in the corner of the room. I've spent my fair share of time mourning the way she is today. In retrospect, though, lying in bed all day and not eating really only made me feel worse.
"How old would she be today?" I ask.
"Seventeen," Ana answers immediately. "She was supposed to start her senior year of high school this month."
Silence falls between us for a long moment until Ana suddenly asks, "Do you think she knows?"
"What?" I ask.
"Do you think she knows what happened the night she died? Does she know that Mom and Dad died too? Does she know I was there? Does she know that I saw her die?"
Ana turns to me and props herself up on one elbow. "Does Jeremy know that you're still alive? Does he know what happened to you?"
"I don't know," I say. "You believe in an afterlife?"
Ana looks at the floor. "Doesn't everyone, at least a little bit? Don't you hope that Jeremy isn't really just gone for the rest of eternity?"
I wait a long moment before saying, "But he is gone. For the rest of my life, I will never see him again."
Ana looks at me again. "And doesn't that just seem wrong? Like fundamentally, there's just something wrong with the idea that someone can blink out of existence. That their soul, their spirit, their essence, could just turn off like a lightbulb. Go out like a candle flame."
I look down at my hands, one healthy and whole, one damaged and hidden. She's right, now that I think about it. That's how I feel about all of the guys in my unit. It doesn't seem possible that they've completely ceased to exist.
"They live on in our memories," I say. "Death can never take that piece of them away from us."
"I suppose," Ana says. "But I still feel like they're out there, somewhere. We won't see them again in this life, but maybe after."
We are both silent for a moment. Before Afghanistan, I never would have cared about this kind of debate. I probably would have laughed if someone had asked me about this. But now it seems like the most important question in the world. Ana sighs.
"I want to believe I'll see her again, but I'm afraid. What if she knows I was there when she died, and she knows that I didn't try to save her?"
"What happened that day?" I ask.
Ana stares at me. I immediately start to backpedal.
"Nevermind. I shouldn't have asked. You don't have to tell me. I don't need - "
"It was supposed to be a surprise for Julie," she says. She sits up, resting her back against the headboard. Her eyes don't meet mine. "I wasn't actually supposed to be there. We didn't have the money to fly me home from college very often. But Mamá had a flight voucher she gave me so I could come home for Thanksgiving. My first Thanksgiving at home since high school."
She looks up at me. "Have you seen those videos where a father comes back from overseas and surprises his family?"
I nod. Those clips had a special meaning to all of us serving overseas. They had a special meaning to me, back when I was waiting to go back home to Saph. Back when I thought Saph was waiting for me.
"We were gonna do something like that," she says, looking away again. "Julie didn't know I was coming home, so I hid in a cabinet. That's the reason I'm not dead, because I was hiding in the cabinet."