“H-h-hey,” I stammer. “What are you doing up, man?” I add, composing myself a little.
“What’s up, buddy?” The way he says it and the grin planted on his face lets me know he’s got me figured out. “Little bit sweaty, huh? Were you battlin’ a shit or beatin’ your dick?”
“Monster shit, bro. You know how that goes. A week of built-up MREs and the turds are like grappling hooks. What are you doing up this early?” I repeat, hoping to change the subject as we slowly make our way back to the tent.
“Chatting with the niños. … you know my mom. She’ll only let me talk to them once a week. Says it’s just too hard on them otherwise, and with the ten-hour time difference, this is the best time to do it.”
“And at least you’re not having to fight anyone over the phone,” I say as we reach the tent. I motion toward the smoke pit. “You want a cig?”
“No, man, I’m good, but I’ll chill with you.” We both take a seat as I spark up the cancer stick. Fuck this place for getting me hooked on these things. I hate them, but they’re just the buzz I need before and after these long-ass days.
Navas peers into the distance, appearing to be deep in thought, and continues. “Why the fuck they gotta have one phone and one computer for an entire combat outpost is beyond me. Even at this hour, I still had to wait for Dickfuck to get done talking to his wife. Motherfucker spent like two hours in there, and at one point I could hear his ass getting off, asking her to twist his nipples and shit.”
I think to my own release in the shitter moments earlier and chuckle to myself. Put a man in combat—or prison, or a fucking office with a view, it doesn’t matter—and he will eventually find his dick in his hand.
I look harder at Navas, who still seems lost in thought. “How are the kids?” I ask.
“You know, they miss me. It’s weird because it’s like, what do I talk to them about? They ask me what Daddy’s doing over here and I can never find the right words to say … nothing that a four and six-year-old would understand anyway. So I tell them we’re over here helping people.” He stops and runs a hand through his hair. “I’ve never felt like more of a liar,” he says, exhaling loudly, and I can see the pain in his eyes. “And then my mom gets on with her usual rant. She thinks I chose war over my kids, and she uses every chance she gets to remind me of it.”
“That’s fucked up. Seems like there’s not much good that can come of that.” I’m not sure what else to say. I haven’t spoken to my mother in years. Though she was physically there growing up, she left right along with my father all those years back.
“Yeah, that’s just who she is. Mexican women, man, what can you do?” He looks over to me as I light another cigarette. “You know that shit’s gonna kill ya, right?”
“Not before this place does.” I laugh, but immediately feel uneasy as I often see myself not making it out of here alive. Call it a premonition or what have you, but it feels so fucking real. I can even sense Jax standing just beside me, his hand resting on my shoulder as if waiting for me to join him. I’m coming, buddy. I’m coming.
I fight the thought away, and it takes everything I have to do so. Navas notices and pats me on the shoulder. “You alright, brother? Where’d you just go, man?” Fuck! I need a distraction…
I point to Navas’s cargo pocket where I know a cigar rests, impatiently waiting to be smoked after mission. “You think those things won’t kill you?” I send him a big, plastic smile, so mastered you’d think I was Beaver-fucking-Cleaver.
“Fuck it, man. If it’s not one thing, it’s another.” He knows me well enough to read through the bullshit, but he also knows, as his squad leader, I’m not going to be the one crying like a little bitch. That’s all Lieutenant Dixon, and I’d really like to keep it that way. “The way it’s going, if I do make it back, I’ll be walking dead,” he says, smiling.
“What do you mean?” I look at him curiously but carefully, so as not to seem judgmental.
“I don’t know. It’s weird,” he says, “but do you think we’ll ever learn to feel again? After all this, I mean.” I know exactly what he’s talking about, but I wait for him to continue. Navas isn’t always so generous with his emotions, and I make certain I take advantage of the times that he is. It’s obvious he’s hurting, and it seems to get worse with each phone call home.
“It’s like all this death and destruction, losing buddies, and the kids growing up without me, I’ve lost my sense of feeling. I don’t hurt. I don’t ache for home. I just exist. I don’t feel like I have control anymore. But I need this.” He emphasizes those last words, and I know it’s because he’s afraid of coming off too soft in front of me.
“I need this too, man. But as much as I wish I could, I can’t empathize with you. I don’t have anything back home. I don’t have anyone that needs me. You ... you have your babies, man. Kids that need their father.” I stop and look Navas in the eyes. He’s stooped over in his seat as if the weight of the world is resting squarely on his shoulders, but he perks up when I pause as if asking me to continue. I hesitate for a moment but then I do. “I feel for you, man. I feel for your family. For me, this all kind of seems normal now. I get anxious when I'm stateside. Too much time to think… and wonder. I think when that day comes and we finally hang up our boots, we’ll look in the mirror and not recognize who’s staring back. And I have a feeling we’re going to miss this. We will miss the hell out of it.”
"I couldn’t agree with you more.” He nods, looking relieved that someone understands. “I think that’s a big reason I’m back here. Besides being with you guys, I just didn't feel right back home. Like I was there for my kids, but I wasn't really there, ya know? Growing up, this was all I ever wanted to do. Now, I just don't know. It's like it's changed me. Fuck … it's too early for this shit, huh?" He shoots a forced smirk my way, but the sadness in his eyes is too prominent.
"Never too early, my friend. I'm here anytime you need to shoot the shit. The kids, man, they'll adapt. Eventually, they’ll be old enough to understand the meaning behind all of this. As for us, I can only hope that when the last shots are fired, we are able to cope with what we’ve seen and done, and come back stronger. The Army way, right?" I let out a sarcastic laugh as I rise to my feet, flicking the cigarette butt into the fire pit. Navas doesn't move, just continues to stare into nothing.
I rest a hand on his shoulder. "We have another five months to figure it all out. Don't let it get to you too much. Let's get through this shit and get these guys home safe, huh?"
Navas rises to his feet and faces me, and for a brief moment he embraces me before letting go and making his way toward the tent. There is no love like that of your brothers-in-arms.
"Let’s get some fuckin’ chow," he says, slipping through the tent’s entrance. I follow him in and scan the cots. Some of the guys are fork-deep in their MREs, while others are still getting their asses out of bed. I dig through a box of MREs at the front of the tent.
Chicken. Chicken. Chicken. I'm so fucking sick of chicken. "Damn it, you fuckers, this is a brand new box. Who the fuck took my tortellini?" As I say this, I see Elkins plop the pasta into his mouth with a wide smile.
"I hope you choke on it, Elkins. You know I’ve got infinite dibs on the tortellini.” I smile at him then grab two of the chicken MREs. I toss one to Navas and tear open the other. We take a seat on our cots, one beside the other, and dig in.
"Sarge, you know those officer fucks clear out the good ones before they give us the box, right?" Elkins’ words come out slightly distorted as he’s still working on a mouthful of my tortellini.
“Enunciate, Elkins, I can’t understand you with that dick in your mouth.” I lock my eyes onto Elkins with eyebrows furrowed as I fork a piece of dry chicken breast into my mouth.
Navas pulls my attention from Elkins by tossing a bag of peanut butter M&Ms at my back. In the world of MREs, peanut butter M&Ms are like gold. They are coveted and often bartered. I quickly forget about how awful the chicken tastes.