War Torn Hearts

I can remember him leaving like it was yesterday. I counted each footstep he took away from me. I waited with baited breath until I heard the front door snap shut. And then I cried. I cried for the man I loved, for the country he was fighting for, for the memories we had together. I cried for his bravery, for his strength, for my weakness. I remember jumping out of the bed that we shared, remember taking the stairs two at a time and ripping open the front door. I remember the way the grass felt beneath my bare feet as I ran towards him, the way his arms wrapped around me, holding me close to him. I can still hear his soft words of comfort as he whispered them in my ear. I still remember how he smelled the day he left, the touch of his calloused fingers brushing away my tears.

That last fleeting look he gave to me before he got onto that bus that would take him away is still burned into my mind. It haunts me every night, every day, every waking moment that I have to endure without him home, safely within arms. I wanted to be strong for him so that he would remember me without tears in my eyes. But I couldn’t even give him that.

Now he is gone and it’s been a year. A torturous year of watching the news, of praying hard for him, of only seeing his face via Skype once in a while that it makes that moment in time bittersweet.
I feel as if I’m losing it, as if I’ve lost myself in the wait for him to come back home. His side of the bed is untouched, his clothes still hanging in the closet next to mine. He is everywhere, the ghost of him haunting me until he returns. Being strong takes its toll on me with each passing day and I feel drained, sleeping longer than usual but crying less. The news is always on in this house that doesn’t feel like home anymore because he’s not here.

I barely go out anymore, barely see the people that care about me enough to drop by three times for the week to make sure I’m eating properly and hanging in there. His best friend, who he’s known since they were in grade school swings by more often these days after the slew of bombings in the area that the troops are in. I remember sinking to my knees again today, my entire body shaking violently and I
can’t even tell you how long I stayed like that.

“You can’t keep doing this to yourself. Matt wouldn’t want you to be like this.” Brian says softly, sinking down onto his knees next to me. He wraps his arm awkwardly around my shoulders, pulling me closer to him.

I say nothing to him; I can’t seem to form words anymore as I stare at the television screen without really seeing anything at all. I feel numb as I wonder if Matt is ok, if he’s hurt, if he’s thinking about me as much as I think about him. I look over at Brian and I see something I never realized was there before. We’re both hurting, both missing someone near and dear to us. Matt may be my husband, but he was Brian’s best friend, the only person Brian really had left in this world. We sit in silence, there on the floor of the living room, two broken hearts missing the same man in very different ways.

“Do you think he’s okay Bri?” my voice is shaky at best but I know that Brian understands.

“Matt’s a tough guy Lizzy.” He forces himself to smile weakly at me

“But what if something happened to him?”

“Nothing’s happened to him.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because you’d feel it in your heart.”

We have this same conversation ever so often, whenever I feel overwhelmed with panic, anxiety and sadness. It never gets old nor does it get tired. We’re both patient with each other, carefully observing the other in fear of saying or doing something that may cause more grief and pain in an already trying time in both our lives.

Brian pulls himself to his feet, kicking out the cramps that formed from being in one position for too long. He holds out his hand for me to take and hauls me gently to my feet. We stand there, looking at each other, brows furrowed in comfortable silence that we have grown accustomed to over the last year.

“I’ll help you make dinner.” He offers, heading to the kitchen that used to always be filled with the scents of all Matt’s favorite dishes.

“I’m not really that hungry.” I mumble, following behind him only to sit at the kitchen table. He gives me a wary look and I know he’s trying hard to be strong for both of us.

“Then I’ll make dinner.” he smiles at me, a genuine smile that makes me feel bad about how hard he’s trying to keep my spirits up. I know why he’s here, why he comes over more often than not. He promised Matt that he would look after his new wife, promised to ensure that I didn’t fall apart when he was gone, promised to make sure I smiled through my tears. He was trying, more than he should and we both knew it.

That night, after a spectacular meal of grilled cheese and tomato soup from a can, Brian and I sit near the fireplace, watching the flames and listening to the crackle and pop of wood. He asks me how work has been going, if I’ve finished the proposal I had been working on. My answers are dull and lifeless but I can’t bring myself to be excited about anything anymore, not even my job which was something I was good at. Then we hear it. That familiar chime coming from the computer signaling an incoming call.

I race over, answering the call with video and for the first time in a very long time, I smile. His face flickers onto the screen, the image grainy and the lighting behind him casting shadows onto his handsome features.

“Hi baby.” He smiles at me, thousands of miles away from home. He looks tired, his hazel eyes showing signs of loss and agitation. I know that he’s suffered another loss of one of his men.

“Hi baba!” I’m almost breathless, my cheeks more flushed than they have been in months as I drink in the sight of the man I love, the man I married only two years ago. “Brian’s here too. C’mere Bri!”

Brian hovers behind me, and I when I turn to look at him, I can see his dark brown eyes shimmering with ill-concealed tears as he smiles sheepishly at his best friend who waves at him.

“Taking care of my baby for me Haner?” Matt asks, grinning from ear to ear as he watches both of us on the screen. He’s cut his hair again, and he’s more tanned then the last time we spoke three months ago.

“You know it Sanders.” Brian sounds confident but I know better. I know he’s putting on a brave face for Matt, much in the same way as I do. Neither of us wants him to see the toll his absence is taking.

“I don’t have very long, but I have two things I wanted to tell you guys.” Matt glances behind his shoulder and I follow his gaze, noticing the men in uniform milling around, their movements stilted.

“What is it baba?” I ask, excitement in my voice that makes both Matt and Brian smile at me.

“First, I don’t know when I’m going to see your pretty face again baby, because things are crazy on this side, so, happy anniversary a week in advance.” He kisses his lips with two of his fingers and presses it against the screen, waiting for me to do the same. I fight back the tears in my eyes, wanting to be as strong as Brian who has taken a step backwards to give us some space. “I love you Liz, don’t ever forget that. I married the bravest woman I know. Now get Haner over here before my time is up.”

I beckon Brian over, smiling like a fool. He puts both hands on my shoulders and I can feel him shaking as he does. “What do you have for me Sanders.”

“I’m coming home. In two months. My tour will be over and I’m coming home.” I can see the tears in my husband’s eyes, see the emotion on his face as he smiles at us, his dimples popping out as he does.

The chair I’m on tips over as I push away from the desk, causing Brian to laugh loudly at my action. I hug Brian hard, looking at Matt with a grin. My soul is free, unbound by the war that has taken my husband away from me for over a year.

“Oh thank God! Baba is coming home!” I squeal, tears streaming down my face as Matt looks at both of us with delight.

Then, a huge explosion from nearby causes his image to flicker. I can see dust rising in the distance before I hear shouts swirling around him. Orders are being barked behind him and I search his eyes, praying that everything will be ok.

“I have to go…” his voice trails off. “I love you both. Take care of her Brian.” He kisses his fingers again and presses them to the screen. Before I can do the same the screen goes black, the connection lost and I stare at the place is face was just in, my fingers halted in midair. Brian’s arms tighten around me, holding me close, aware that I’d have already been on my knees. We’re both stunned into silence, staring at the screen that only a few moments ago brought us the image of the man we both loved.

“He’ll be ok.” Murmurs Brian, kissing the top of my head.

“How do you know?” I ask tearfully.

“Matt’s a tough guy.”

“But what if something happened to him?”

“Nothing’s happened to him.”

“How do you know that?”

“Because you’d feel it in your heart.”

That night, after Brian had left, I felt it in my heart. It was as if someone had run a jagged blade
through me. The pain in my chest began to seize my entire body, constricting, suffocating. A week later, a cruiser pulls up in front of my house. Brian is with me that day. He goes out to meet the two men dressed in formal attire, their medals glistening in the sunshine as one of them hands him an envelope and something else that glints weakly.

Brian walks back to me, his shoulders hunched and shaking. I knew. I had known a week ago that Matt was gone. I felt it, the way Brian said I would. This was a mere formality, generic and emotionless. That envelope in Brian’s hand contained compensation from the army and a letter of condolences for our loss. Brian hands me something that tinkers softly before he places it in the palm of my hand.

Dog Tags.

Matt’s Dog Tags.

I clutch them to my chest, weeping for the loss of my husband who gave his life for his country. I weep for Brian, who had lost the closest thing in this world to him. I weep for all the things Matt and I will never get to do together, the places we’ll never see together, the family we will never have.

6 Months Later

“Are you sure that this is what you want?” Brian asks me softly, tucking a stray strand of hair behind my ear as we stand on my front porch in the weak morning light.

“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life.” I reply, hugging him tightly.

“What if something happens to you?”

“Nothing’s going to happen to me.”

“How do I know that?”

“You’d feel it in your heart.”

I give him one last hug, promising him that I will see him soon, to give my best to his girlfriend. I walk down the driveway, glancing at the For Sale sign hammered into the neatly cut grass. My dog tags jingle as I walk; my stride sure and my resolve strong. I take one last look at the man who had kept my sanity intact after I lost my husband, the man who was strong for both of us in the months after his death.

My days, as I have come to realize, are not meant to be spent in this tiny town. No, my days need to be spent avenging my husband’s death. I will pick up where he left off because the day he left to go to war I lost a part of myself.

Now, it’s my turn. I’m leaving, to join the same war that ripped my other half away from me. His dog tags clink against mine as I step onto the bus. He’ll always be close to my heart as I fight for what he believed in and I’d gladly give my life to serve this country, just as he did.

My name is Elizabeth Sanders and I will avenge my husband’s death.