Flowers from Afghanistan Read online

  “I’m only doing one tour. I need to get back and spend time with Sophie.”

  Travis sauntered along, his forehead a mass of worry lines.

  “My department, as soon as you’re out of sight, you’re out of mind.”

  “Hate to hear that.”

  We charged into the line, grabbed our trays, and loaded them up.

  I sat my tray down, pulled up a chair, and soon Glenn joined us.

  Thorstad showed up a few minutes later. It was awhile since we’d all been at the same table together.

  “I have news from home,” Thorstad said.

  “What’s up?”

  “My little girl just graduated kindergarten.” Thorstad was the Pied Piper of Camp Paradise, and he never mentioned his own child?

  “Congratulations.” Travis nodded. Did everyone at this table know but me?

  “I didn’t know you had a daughter.” As soon as the words were out of my mouth, I regretted them.

  Everyone stared.

  Thorstad became interested in stirring the rice on his plate. He made a mound of rice and mashed it with his fork. “I don’t talk about her much. I’m not allowed to see her.” Thorstad’s voice was flat.

  I waited for further explanation, but none came.

  Glenn started up a conversation about how the Gamecocks blasted the Tennessee Volunteers, and Thorstad relaxed as if he were grateful.

  I made a mental note to never ask him about her again.

  After dinner, I followed Travis out back, and we dumped our drink bottles into the recycle bin. We trudged back to the tent. I couldn’t get the picture out of my mind of Thorstad, the gentle giant, not being able to see his child. So when we got back to the tent, I quizzed Travis on it.

  He followed me into my room and took a seat at my computer chair.

  I paced back and forth in the small space. “Why can’t Thorstad see his little girl?”

  Travis sighed. “I knew you’d ask.”

  “Well, don’t you think it’s kinda sad?”

  “Of course.”

  “His ex-wife moved out of state, took his little girl with her. The new state has different visitation laws. Maybe that was why she moved there. Because Thorstad had been in-country only a certain number of days, his custody and visitation rights were revoked.”

  “Are you kidding me?”

  “I wish I were. They said he voluntarily and willingly joined the military, and his deployment to Afghanistan constituted intentional abandonment.”

  “Of all the men I know in this camp, and, don’t be offended, Thorstad is the most qualified to be a dad. Why is it that people who genuinely want children are deprived of them, and the ones who abuse kids seem to have no problem getting them?” This time it wasn’t Little Mac’s face that floated in front of my eyes. I saw a brown-skinned Bashir, his green eyes alive with mischief. In my mind, I saw men crouching in the shadows. Despite Gul’s protective measures, those men would do their best to exploit Bashir’s innocence.

  Travis stared at me, his brow wrinkled. “Is this about you and Sophie? Are you two trying to have a kid?”

  “No, we already.” I stopped myself. Travis and I were friends at camp, but still, I couldn’t bring myself to talk about my son. “I mean, we can’t have children right now.”

  Travis’s face smoothed out in compassion. He stumbled over his words. “I’m sorry to hear that, man. Trish and I, well, Trish, decided that we don’t want children yet. They require so much, and I just don’t have it in me to try and parent a child right now. I have to focus on my job here, and Trish has her classes to keep up with.”

  “That’s why Thorstad hands out candy and is so good with the kids,” I interrupted.

  Travis never missed a beat. He nodded. “Of course it is. He misses his little girl. Handing out goodies to the local kids is his way of taking care of the need he has to be a dad.”

  I sat down on my cot. “None of this makes sense. Glenn, who is a great guy, is a bachelor because he can’t meet anyone here. Now Thorstad. It almost seems that if he tried to be some kind of reprobate father he would not have been punished any worse than he has been.”

  “It doesn’t make any sense to me either,” Travis said. “I’m just thankful Trish and I have a good marriage.”

  “You work harder on your relationship than anyone at camp. Every time I turn around, you’re pushing another self-help book into my hands.”

  “Which reminds me, I just got a new one at the last mail call. Give me a minute, and I’ll find it for you.” He rose from my wobbly excuse of a chair.

  I waved him off. “No, thank you. I was just going to check and see if Sophie is on the computer tonight. No more relationship books for me right now.”

  “All right, but it’s supposed to be a good one.” He said over his shoulder as he closed the door to my room.

  I slid into my chair and pulled up the live video to Sophie on the computer. At first, the picture went through, sharp and clear, almost like being back in our kitchen. Just as I was about to say hello the image froze. Sophie’s face was contorted into a gruesome mask of digitized images. The feed shut down, made an echoing plunk, like when a rock dropped down a deep well. It was the sound of something lost.

  I thought of all the loss in that country. Glenn, without a wife, sad and jaded. Thorstad, being denied fatherhood and filling the void by handing out candy to the locals. I thought about Little Mac. It all felt like a dark, inescapable well. I rebooted the computer, and it worked. Sophie answered on the first ring.

  “Hello, babe.”

  “Hello, Sophie.” I was thankful to see her. I didn’t know why it was awkward, but it felt as if each time we got on live video it was a new date.

  “Mac, I was packing up some more things the other day. I was thinking about God, wondering where He was when our baby died. My whole childhood, I heard the story of how my dad died in a crash. It wasn’t until I met the woman who held him as he died, that I saw God’s hand in it. I blamed God for so many years for taking my father. If God sent someone to be with my dad in the last moments of his life, wouldn’t He be with our son?”

  God knew all along it would be me holding Little Mac? My temples pulsed. I heard my own heartbeat in my ears.

  We were interrupted by the atmosphere-ripping screech of a low-flying jet. The roar rattled my shelves and thundered through the tent canvas.

  I was glad for the interruption. It gave me time to think.

  As soon as we could talk again, Sophie continued softly, “The other day when we were talking, I heard an explosion go off outside your camp. Your situation hasn’t changed, but you know what has changed, Mac?” She leaned in toward the computer screen. “I always looked to you to protect me, to make things all right. Since you’ve been gone, I have to depend on God. At first, I thought He was too distant to care about me, but the more I trusted Him, the more I found Him to be there. It’s kind of hard to describe. I’m still alone, but I have peace.”

  “He hasn’t shown up for me. Where was He the day Little Mac died?”

  “I ask Him that, too, Mac, every day.”

  “Then how can you trust a God who would allow our son to die?” I didn’t tell her what I really meant. I couldn’t believe in this God because then I would be accountable for what I did.

  We said good night and signed off.

  Turning off that computer and losing Sophie’s presence felt like losing the only remaining stability in my life. The day had been long, and I was tired. I hated to admit that this had not been the adventure I thought it would be. I questioned the wisdom of going to Afghanistan, but all I knew was I had to work those things out in my mind. I had to go home as a whole man for Sophie, but I had no idea how to accomplish that. Before I turned out my light, I slid down under the covers and pulled them over my face. Maybe if I lay still and made time for God, He’d show up.

  But all I heard was the stuffy sound of my own nose. There was no voice from God, and I felt like that confus
ed kid back in Sunday school, always the last to understand Bible verses. I drifted off to a fitful sleep.

  The next time I was aware, sounds of camp intruded on my morning. Vehicles raced down the gravel drive on the other side of the T-wall and threw up a racket of diesel engines and grinding from the weight of their tires. Pieces of conversation blasted over the noise of vehicles. Men marched to the DFAC for breakfast.

  Meanwhile, inside the tent, Travis was shouting above the racket to his wife about bills. I was concerned about him lately. Things were coming unraveled in tent 29. When I first arrived at camp, he peppered me with self-help ideas and lectured me on the importance of keeping a healthy relationship with my wife. He hadn’t spoken to me about his own wife lately.

  I rolled out of my cot and dressed in clean khaki pants and polo shirt, my usual uniform. As I pulled on my pants, my hands automatically searched the pockets.

  Sophie always packed notes for me to find. One time I’d been away fourteen days working security in Mobile during Hurricane Katrina. I put on my boots that first morning and found something balled up in the toe. I’d pulled out a folded piece of pink paper with Sophie’s flowing handwriting. It said she wanted me to be safe and know she loved me.

  There were no notes in my clothing this time. My running shoes contained no pink scraps of paper. I turned all the pockets of my clothes inside out when I unpacked, hoping for her notes.

  I missed those scraps of paper. Maybe Sophie outgrew love notes. The irony hit me. She’d always been the one to write them.

  I didn’t remember a single time I sent her flowers or cards for any occasion, even our anniversary. The memory sent a blade of pain between my ribs and twisted it. I heard in my mind, the disappointment in her voice, seven years’ worth. “Can’t you just pick me up some flowers?” She asked. “The grocery store has them in the produce department, for Pete’s sake.”

  I didn’t get it. Flowers died. Like, little boys.

  When I turned my pockets inside out and found nothing, I began to understand.

  16

  “Camp Paradise Cigar Club, come to order.” Glenn sauntered to the front of our bench, opened a box of cigars. “It’s time you young bucks learned the art of manliness.”

  Friday nights had evolved into Camp Paradise Cigar Club. Glenn started it, said we needed an activity to make us real men.

  Glenn, Travis, Sergeant Thorstad, and I were the usual suspects. Visiting instructors and brass joined us from time to time, but mostly, it was just the four. Glenn received a new shipment of cigars, and he was eager for us to try them.

  I inspected the cigars. I’d never been a smoker. If my dad had caught me with a cigar, I’d have learned the art of manliness from his belt. “What kind are these?”

  Glenn pulled a cigar out of a tube, extended it in my direction and ignored my question. “Your first love affair with a cigar is like meeting a beautiful woman for the first time. You take your time and enjoy the experience. The wrapper should be well-made, no knots or defects. Feel how smooth that is?” He placed the cigar in my hand. “Use this for cutting, not your knife.”

  “What’s this?”

  “It’s a guillotine cutter. Place the cigar foot in it. Yeah, like that, and cut.”

  I fumbled around but managed to get the thing cut to Glenn’s satisfaction.

  I automatically placed the cigar in my mouth. I felt as if I was still in high school, and I’d just sneaked out back of the field house to have a smoke.

  “No, hold it away from you like this.”

  Glenn held his cigar away from his body and rotated it, lighting it carefully and evenly. The tip glowed in the dusk. There was a lot more production to this cigar smoking business than I’d thought.

  I dropped my hand to my side and curled the unlit cigar in my palm.

  A voluminous cloud of smoke billowed from our little group. I was sure our position was clearly visible from the air.

  Travis drew on his cigar and smoke trailed beside my right elbow.

  The glow of cigars flared around our bench, reflecting back the dying rays of Afghanistan sun. Our names were carved in that bench. We became brothers through that small act, and I was reminded of our friendship each day we were in camp.

  Travis turned toward me, and I could see my face reflected red in the evening rays of sun in his sunglass lenses. I thought I looked rather manly with the cigar, though it was unlit.

  “Where’s Phoenix? They didn’t make you get rid of him, did they?” Travis asked.

  “No, Reynolds was taking a flight back to Kabul. No Dog Left Behind said if we could get Phoenix to Kabul they had a way to get him shipped back to the States, so Reynolds agreed to take him along.”

  “What’ll happen to him once he’s in the States?”

  “That’s the good part, my Sergeant from HPD is picking him up at the airport and will take him home to Sophie.”

  “I bet she’s excited.”

  I started to feel nauseous, and it wasn’t the cigar smoke. “Um, yeah.”

  Travis studied me in the setting sun. “You didn’t tell her, did you?”

  “I will, I just haven’t figured out how to break it to her yet.

  “That’s easy. You call Sophie, and you say, ‘I’m sending you a puppy.’”

  “It’s not that easy. I’ve wanted a dog for years, but Sophie always said no. They were too much trouble. She’s afraid it’ll tear up the house.”

  Travis took another draw on his cigar. “Well, you’d better warn her before Phoenix shows up on her doorstep. By the way, we’re having a manliest beard contest. Categories are Manliest Beard of Camp, Best Mustache of Camp, and Most Creative of Camp.”

  “I think I already have a good start on the manliest,” I said, scratching my fingers into the unruly hair that engulfed my face. “What are the prizes?”

  Travis blew out a lazy stream of smoke before answering. “Bragging rights, I suppose.”

  “I’d have liked a plaque.”

  “Where will we get a plaque out here?”

  “I bet Glenn could come up with something. Isn’t he supposed to be the King of Procurement? At least that’s what you told me.”

  “You’re right.”

  Glenn caught the last few words. “The King of Procurement needs to get what?”

  “A plaque, for the winner of the Manliest Beard of Camp Paradise,” Travis said.

  “Hm. Yeah, I think I can come up with an award. Give me a month or so.”

  “It’ll take them that long to reach their full glory anyway,” Travis said.

  “Speak for yourself. I think I already have a magnificent beard.”

  Glenn still only had the thinnest of mustaches, and Travis hadn’t even begun to grow his beard yet.

  I had high hopes to claim the title.

  “You still haven’t lit your cigar.” Glenn inspected the stogie hanging from my fingers.

  “I’m saving it for later.”

  “I have a feeling you’re too much of a wuss to smoke it.”

  I couldn’t stand it when Glenn gloated. I made an attempt at lighting the thing. I was rewarded with a glow of light. I inhaled deeply and immediately realized that was the wrong thing to do. I slid to the gravel gasping like a fish out of water. I flashed back to the morning the middle school bully delivered a fist to my stomach on the playground.

  “Are you all right?” Glenn feigned concern, but it was hard not to miss the mirth in his face, even as the T-wall spun and I found myself studying the underside of the bench. Someone accumulated a lot of chewing gum under there.

  Gravel poked my back in all sorts of uncomfortable places, and my stomach threatened to turn itself inside out. Next thing I knew I was being heaved up from under the bench. I immediately double over and emptied the remnants of my dinner on Glenn’s boot. My retching was drowned out by Travis’s loud baritone laughter.

  “McCann, you destroyed a great cigar and my favorite boots in one night.” Glenn grabbed a bottle of wat
er and drenched his boot, scraping the sides on the gravel.

  “Let me get you to your cot. You look green.” Travis draped my arm over his shoulder, and half dragged, half carried me into the tent. Getting away from the smell of tobacco was good. Even the smell threatened to induce more retching.

  Travis, good man that he was, dragged me to my cot and deposited me there. “You want a drink?”

  “The thought of it makes me want to puke some more.”

  “OK, sleep it off. See you in the morning.”

  I curled into the fetal position and shoved my blanket into a wad against my stomach. All in all, it was quite a successful night. I managed to both placate Glenn and disgust him. I had a good start on the Manliest Beard of Camp Paradise, and Phoenix would soon be home, waiting for me to finish my tour. I drifted off to sleep with the smell of tobacco still clinging to my clothes.

  ~*~

  In my dream, I was home in our king-sized bed. Sophie leaned over me, kissing me. In the background, a phone rang incessantly. “Sophie, I’ll get the phone.” I rolled over, and the sour stench of vomit and stale cigar smoke filled my nostrils. I opened one eye, and unfortunately, I was back in the tent at Camp Paradise, still wearing yesterday’s clothes. I squeezed my eyes shut, tried to recapture that moment with Sophie, but the phone in my dream was still ringing. I dragged myself over to the desk and didn’t even bother to read the display. “Hello?”

  “Hello? Is that all you can say when you see my name pop up?” Sophie was not too pleased, judging from the sound of her voice.

  “Hi, sweetie.”

  “Don’t try to placate me.”

  The room was spinning, so I sat down on my computer chair. I was still riding out the after-effects of the night before. “I’m not trying to placate you.” Even the yellow desk light was too bright that morning. I shut it off and let the room bathe in the glow of my laptop. What day was this? I glanced up at my calendar, each complete day neatly marked through with a black line.

  Saturday. I had to be at the academy in two hours. My tongue stuck to the roof of my mouth, sandpapery. I set the phone down on my desk and groped around in the semi-dark for my drink bottle. All the while I could hear Sophie’s voice as if it was far away, fussing. I wished my head would stop throbbing.