Fall was in the air. The light changes in the autumn. Even at sunrise the angle is different, the intensity softened, muted, like looking through a painting under water. The air was just a few degrees cooler than it had been on previous mornings. I felt a sudden weightlessness, a burst of joy, and I looked at Samuel and let myself smile with it, let it pour out. I felt better than I had in a very long time. I felt whole, I realized. Complete. How was it possible than in two weeks I could undergo this radical shift? Like somehow I’d discovered the key to the secret garden -- a place that had been there all along, but had become overgrown with neglect; I’d unlocked the door and stepped inside, and I was ready to pull weeds and plant roses.
Samuel must have felt it too, because his white teeth flashed back at me as his grin stretched wide in his strong golden face. My eyes lingered on his face appreciatively, and then I turned again to the dusty dirt road in front of me. I knew better than to look away from the road ahead for too long. I ran face first into horse butt when I did that.
As we neared the end of our run, my muscles protested the downshift in speed, having become accustomed to the flying sprint we’d maintained for the last mile of the homestretch. I needed to run with Samuel every morning; he made me push myself, big time. No more lazy morning jog for this superhero.
Samuel continued on with me past his grandparent’s house, and we slowed to a walk as we arrived at mine. My dad was sitting out on the front porch, feet up on the rail, a Diet Pepsi in his hand. My dad liked his caffeine cold. He called it cheap whiskey and claimed there was nothing better then the burn of that first long pull after he popped the tab. I was my father’s daughter, and I couldn’t agree more, though I favored Diet Coke.
“Looks like ya got yerself a runnin’ partner, Josie Jo,” my dad called out in greeting as we walked across the grass towards him. Like every girl does, I felt a flash of relief that my dad seemed fine with the fact that I had male company.
“Morning, Daddy.” I leaned over the porch rail and grabbed his drink, stealing a swig of ice cold fire.
“Sir.” Samuel nodded towards my dad and stuck out his hand. My dad’s boots fell heavily to the porch as he grasped Samuel’s hand in his own.
“I’m glad you’ve got someone to run with, for the time being at least, huh Josie? I always worry a little with you running all alone. Even in a little place like Levan, ya just never know.”
I shrugged off my dad’s worry. On my morning runs I’d never seen anything but chipmunks, birds, livestock, and the neighbors I’d known all my life.
“Samuel, come on in and I’ll get us something cold to drink, since I’m sure Dad doesn’t really want to share.” I smiled at my dad, and Samuel followed me, excusing himself with another polite “Sir” to my dad. I liked that.
“The manners, is that a Marine thing?” I said over my shoulder as we walked through the living room into my cheery kitchen. “Water, orange juice, milk, or caffeine?”
“Orange juice - and yes. Definitely a Marine thing. I couldn’t not say “yes ma’am” or “no sir” if my life depended on it. You live around it for ten years and it becomes pretty ingrained.”
I poured Samuel a tall glass of orange juice and handed it to him. Then I gulped down my requisite 8 oz of water before I let myself pop the tab on a cold can of caffeine. We leaned against the counter together, nursing our drinks in thirsty silence.
“So what comes next?” I propped my hip against the counter, turning to face him. “I mean, as far as the Marines?”
“I honestly don’t know.” Samuel face was contemplative. “I got back from Iraq three weeks ago-”
“Three weeks?” I yelped, stunned that he had so recently returned. “How long were you there?”
“All told, except for some leave stateside, I’ve spent almost three years in Iraq. Two 12 month tours, with the last one being extended by six months. It was time to come home, whatever that means.”
“Whatever that means?” I repeated, puzzled.
“I don’t really have a home to come home to,” Samuel said matter-of-factly. “I have been in the Marine Corp since I was 18-years-old. I’ve been stationed all over. I did two tours in Afghanistan after 9/11, and then did the two tours in Iraq. When I haven’t been deployed, I’ve either been receiving specialized training, or stationed at Camp Pendleton, or on a ship. Anyway, once I was through debriefment, my platoon was given a month’s paid leave. I’ve stored up more than that in the last ten years; I haven’t taken much. I borrowed that truck from a member of my platoon. I don’t own any wheels. No house, no wheels, all my possessions fit in a suitcase. Anyway, it’s been two weeks since I got here, and I have about two weeks more.”
“And then what?” I couldn’t imagine going back to Iraq for round three. I was exhausted just listening to him.
“And then I have to decide.” Samuel’s eyes met mine.
“Decide?”
“Decide whether I want something else.” Samuel was being cryptic again.
“You mean, something besides the Marine Corp?”
“Yeah.” Samuel set his glass down and pushed himself away from the counter. “What are you doing today?”
He changed the subject abruptly, as if his future was not something he wanted to discuss, and my brain spun with thoughts of his last ten years - wondering at his experiences, his losses and triumphs, his friendships…his life. Somehow, because his letters had dwindled after boot camp, I had always imagined him in the context of that environment, in the relative safety of a military base with drill instructors watching his every move. In actuality, he had spent most of the last ten years in very hostile environments, in very dangerous places. I shuddered a little bit, and shook my head in wonder. Even when his Grandma Nettie had marveled at his sniper skills and his prowess as an ‘assassin,’ I had not processed the fact that he had most likely spent the majority of his time as a Marine in different war zones.