“How many?”
“A lot. ” Keith sighed. “I know drinking doesn’t help. It’s something Emily and I had been fighting about. She thought I drank too much and got mean. And I could feel it that day, me getting mean. ”
“Did you drink much before Iraq?”
He shrugged. “I guess not. ”
“Afterward?”
“Lots. Sometimes it made the … yelling in my head quiet down. But it didn’t help that day. ”
“It made it worse. ”
Keith nodded. “We were leaving the market—I was pissed and pretty drunk by this time—and this homeless guy jumped out at me. Emily said he just walked up, but it didn’t seem like that to me. Or, he came up fast, and he was a skuzzy-looking guy with all this long black hair and a Jesus beard and I hit him so hard he went down. I saw blood spray up from his nose. Emily started screaming that she didn’t know me anymore and there was this … shaking that made it impossible for me to stand still. The next thing I remember is seeing Emily lying on the floor in our living room. ” In his lap, his hands clenched and unclenched. “It was like I woke up in someone else’s nightmare. There was blood everywhere, on me, on the wall, on Em. Half of her head was just … gone. I bent down and tried to give her mouth to mouth and I did compressions. The whole time I was screaming and crying. It wasn’t until I saw the gun—my gun—that I knew what I’d done. ”
“And that’s all you remember. ”
“That’s it. ”
“Okay. I’m going to need you to talk to a psychiatrist. Will you do that for me, Keith?”
“Sure. It won’t make a difference, though. I don’t need a doc to tell me I’m crazy. ”
Michael looked at his client, thinking, This kid needs my help. He knew how heavily the deck was stacked against them, and for the first time in a long time, he felt hopeful. This could be the kind of case that mattered. He wished his dad were here to hear about it. “I’ll set up the appointment. ”
Dear Mom:
You are NOT going to believe this. Dad bought me a cell phone. My very own one. Yesterday I was in the lunch room and I put it down on the cafeteria table and you should have seen Sierra’s face. She couldn’t STAND it. Only the high schoolers have cell phones. I told Sierra she could make a call if she wanted and she did and then she walked to class with me. You said one smile could make a difference—maybe you’re right. Maybe she’ll want to be my friend again. I really miss her. Well, I have to go now, Dad’s yelling for me. Like always. He is totally stressed. Yesterday he forgot to put the garbage out for the truck. Everyone misses you. Xo Betsy
Dear Betsy:
I’m glad to hear about your cell phone. It will be good for emergencies. Take good care of it and use it wisely. I wouldn’t be me if I didn’t say that if you have to bribe someone into liking you, she’s not much of a friend, but we can talk more about this later. I’m FINALLY leaving for Iraq today. I’ll write again when I land. Love you to the moon and back.
Mom
P. S. I hope you’re helping your dad around the house …
* * *
When Jolene stepped off the cargo jet and onto the flat sand at Balad, it was like stepping into a furnace. Tiny sand granules moved invisibly on the hot wind, insinuating themselves into everything—eyes, ears, nostrils, hair, throat. Jolene wanted to cover her mouth and nose in protection, but she stood tall, eyes watering, waiting.
There was a lot of waiting: for orders, for supplies, for transport. Their trip seemed to have taken forever. From Texas to Germany to Kuwait to Tallil to Al Kut to, finally, Balad Air Base.
Wind blew through the base, hot as fire. In seconds, Jolene was sweating. After what felt like hours of waiting, she and Tami were assigned to a small trailer with wood-paneled walls that were pockmarked with tack and nail holes from previous tenants. A pair of sagging beds and a pair of scarred-up metal lockers were the only furniture.
Jolene dropped her heavy duffle bag on the floor: dust puffed up around it. Dust, she knew already, was one of the many new facts of her life. She sat down on the narrow bed, holding her rough, newly issued bed linens and the pillow she’d brought from home. The bed squeaked beneath her.
“We need some pictures and posters,” Tami said, coughing as she sat down on her own bed. “Like Keanu or Johnny. ”
Jolene sighed and looked at her friend. The trailer smelled of dust and heat and of the men who’d inhabited it before them. Wind rattled the room, plied at the windows and doors, trying to come in.
Suddenly an alarm sounded.
Jolene was first to the door. She opened it for Tami, grabbed her friend’s wrist and pulled her through. The alarm and speakers were on a pole just outside their trailer and the repeated announcement—GET TO THE BUNKERS!—was so loud she couldn’t hear anything else.
There were dozens of cement bunkers positioned around the base. Jolene and Tami ran for the nearest bunker and went inside.
There was no one else in here. They sat on the floor inside, in the dark, while mortar fire exploded all around them. Shards of cement rained down. Somewhere close, a rocket hit hard and exploded. The acrid smell of smoke slipped through the cracks in the door.