Sorry

Sorry

“You have a visitor.”

I hadn’t been surprised to hear those words, but even so it was something to look forward to. Usually I saw the same people, the same patients, the same therapists, the same everything. A change was welcomed, however it worried me that I wasn’t told who it was.

I expected my parents to come, or even some friends. Perhaps even a general from the Marines. The last thing I expected was a complete stranger with absolutely no apparent connection to me whatsoever. That’s actually what I got. She seemed like a nice person, perhaps someone I had even seen before. A photograph? I think so. Anyway, looking in those brown eyes brought back some sort of feeling I couldn’t explain, something sort of like a warped version of nostalgia.

“Hello, Ryan,” the woman smiled from across the cold, white table, the creases in her face becoming apparent. I didn’t think she was too old, maybe in her 30’s, but it was as if she had matured faster than those of her age group in demeanor. However, I thought she carried somewhat of a youthful glow.

Being in this room was kind of like my own. White as hell, but the shadows from a dim lamp brought in dark grays, perhaps even a faint yellow. It was like being in one of those old movie scenes where a detective instigates a criminal. Surely it wasn’t the same, but in a way I could relate. There was nothing great about being questioned, and I suspected this would be the same.

I didn’t attempt to smile at her, but she seemed to understand. Actually, I couldn’t decide whether she was smiling because she felt where I was coming from, or if she was just one of those people who were always happy. Perhaps she could switch living arrangements with me.

“Hi,” I responded awkwardly, glancing at Anna, who stood at the corner of the room. It was annoying to have my psychologist in here watching my conversation, even if it was required. So much for privacy. Regulations were such a pain, but then again there wasn’t much you could ask for when you were deemed “too ill to coexist with modern society.” It’s not that I didn’t like Anna’s presence; it was just too awkward. I hated being watched, I hated being listened on. Things like that, people observing you or the possibility of being observed, always scared the hell out of me. I supposed it was something I picked up overseas. You’d never know when you were spotted, and if you found out then you had seconds to save yourself from getting bullets in your body. Paranoia became one of my closest companions.

“How are you, dear?”

I felt compelled to think about my response to that, for whatever reason. Such small conversation was foreign to me. Unless you had something important or funny to say around here, you didn’t say much of anything. I hadn’t even been here as long as half the other patients, but in a way I felt as if I’d never been born in the outside world.

“Decent enough,” I finally replied, pleased with my choice of word but nonetheless frowning. How convincing I was. “Who are you?”

The woman fidgeted a bit, rubbing her fingers nervously on the sleeves of her shirt, as if she were cold. This conversation was becoming more and more awkward with each second. It was becoming a waste of my time and everyone else’s.

“Well, you know- er, knew- my fiancé.”

Waste of time? Perhaps I spoke too soon.

“You’re Macon’s fiancée,” I muttered in surprise, looking her over again, noting shadows and highlights in her face I hadn’t noticed before. That was right. I’d seen her when I’d first met Macon before we’d flown out to Kabul. He’d shaken my hand and pulled out his wallet, showing me pictures of his family like it was his Christmas present. “Sorry.”

“For what?”

“Everything.”

“Oh, honey, things happen. It wasn‘t your fault-”

“Right,” I scoffed, “That’s why I’m the only one left. That’s why everyone else is dead. That’s why I’m stuck in this damn place until they let me out.”

Again, I’d gone on one of my little rampages. Funnily enough, she didn’t seem too taken aback. She just sat there, looking over at me with a strange kind of smile pulling at her lips that I couldn’t help but frown back at. It was almost like she was mocking me, but I figured that wasn’t the case.

“You know,” she spoke up after a long minute, “you remind me of him.”

I wasn’t sure whether to be honored or angered by this confession. Honored in the sense that Macon was one of the greatest men I’d ever known. Brave, admirable, and always there when you needed him. I remembered the times we’d come across snakes while on patrol. Admittedly, I am horrified of snakes for whatever reason; but with a poke on Macon’s soldier and a quick glance at the ground, he would figure out what was wrong and kill the damn thing, grunting a bit then laughing at my childish phobia. But with this revelation brought anger. Because I was not the same person as Macon, and I couldn’t be. Not only did I not deserve to buried in Arlington, I definitely did not deserve the privilege of following in his footsteps.

“I’m not like him.”

“You are,” she stated with a slight shake to her head. “You had the same determination he always had… That drive.”

There was a slight tapping coming from under the table, probably from my own
foot. I wasn’t impatient, or at least I didn’t think so, but I felt nervous. Maybe even anxious. I attempted to change the subject. “So, why did you come here?”

“To see you. Your mother called me.”

“Oh.”

“She said…,” a slight pause came, and the woman’s frown deteriorated, as if it’d been wiped off. Even her eyes faltered, casting to the floor instead of looking at me. “She said you might be able to tell me of what happened to my fiancé… I want to know exactly what happened. The letter the military sent me didn’t really, well… Explain much. Even when I had to identify his body, they didn’t tell me anything.”

“They didn’t tell you anything for a reason.”

“And why is that?” she asked, a tinge of anger in her voice. “I have a right to know.”

“You wouldn’t want to know,” I replied flatly, holding a hand up when she attempted to speak. “But I’ll give you what I think about it. He… He saved me when he died, and it was an honorable way to go. I know where his body is now; I’ve been to his grave. I’ll tell you, he deserves to be there. More than anyone I’ve ever known.”

There was the same silence again, the same awkward silence as before. She did deserve to know what exactly happened, but I didn’t want to tell her. There were some things in the Marines that had to stay there… and I didn’t want to raise the notion of more nightmares coming back to me. I was already an insomniac because of it; talking about the cause might just make it worse.

Somehow, Macon’s fiancée sensed that our conversation was over and took her leave. There was one thing she said to me though, something I found very peculiar, and made me feel a little embarrassed.

“Do you miss playing piano?” she had asked as she stood to leave.

“Sometimes.”

“I heard some of your compositions from when you were in high school. They’re good; you do Chopin justice.”

Damn my mother.