(I)

My wife and I had gone out to her favorite restaurant to celebrate her 28th birthday. It was a restaurant decorated with every sort of novelty item from movie posters to farm tools. The place felt more like a strange museum of urban legends than a restaurant.

A waiter dressed in blue jeans and a t-shirt with strange dancing aliens rushed up to take our drink order. I ordered a beer served in an oversized glass, she ordered a Margarita served in an obscenely oversized glass that required two hands and a gym membership just to lift it up to her mouth.

After the waiter brought our drinks he rushed off to another table where a man sat looking like Mount Vesuvius getting ready to explode.

“Busy night tonight,” she observed while bringing her drink up to her mouth. Her face suddenly closed up, her lips closed tightly and her eyelids scrunched down until I thought they would be sucked through her eyes to the back of her head. “Brain freeze,” she said through her clinched teeth. I smiled and looked down at the menu while waiting for her fit to end.

“That sucked. I hate it when that happens.”

“Really, I think you do it every time.”

“Do what every time?”

“You always drink too fast, and you always get a brain freeze.”

“I don’t always do it,” she said and looked over absently at one of the TVs showing some sort of football game.

“Oh look, our waiter is coming back,” I told her. “I’m going to let him know it’s your birthday, that way you can get a little song and a free cupcake with a candle on it. Won’t that be fun?” I laughed a little.

Her attention snapped away from the TV, she looked at me with wide eyes, “No. Seriously, you better not.”

I held her gaze, smiled, lifted up my hand, and called for the waiter.

“Yes, sir? You’re ready to order?”

“Um, yeah. My wife would like the chicken Caesar salad, and I would like the bacon cheeseburger with fries.” She always loved it when I ordered for her, she told me once she thought it was “endearing.” Who was I to argue with that? While ordering I could sense her leg drawn back, ready to deliver a playful kick to my shins if I even started the word “birthday.” Actually, I had no intention of mentioning her birthday. The both of us always felt sorry for the poor wait staff who would have to come out and sing stupid songs for people they didn’t know while their other customer’s food was going cold.

We finished our meal and stepped out into the hot, muggy night. A strong wind blew while lightning flashed in the sky over us and the dull sound of thunder sidled through the air. We walked toward our car; she was leaning into the wind, a look of determination on her face, her brown hair being whipped about like a flag behind her.

Always trying to be the consummate gentleman I rushed to open the car door for her.

“After you madam.”

“Why thank you sir,” she said closing her eyes and tilting her head back. She glided into her seat, looked up and smiled. “You better hurry up; it’s getting ready to rain.”

As I reached my door a light rain began to sprinkle down. I climbed behind the wheel and started the car. Looking over at her I noticed she was watching the water hitting our windshield. She had this look of wonder on her face that I found mesmerizing. I leaned over to kiss her, to taste her. Her mouth was warm and wet, underneath the faint tastes chicken and Caesar dressing there was her. Something intangible that always drove me wild. “Happy Birthday,” I breathed into her ear.

“Thanks,” she whispered back.

I moved back behind the steering wheel. “So, where to now? It’s your night, birthday girl, what do you want to do?”

She jumped when a bolt of lightning crashed through the sky. “Let’s go home and watch the storm.”

“Sounds good to me,” I said while backing out of the parking spot.

As I pulled out onto the main road heavy drops of water started to hit the windshield like some kind of a gel squeezed lazily from a tube high above. Seconds later the sky opened and water was hitting the windshield at such a furious rate the wipers couldn’t begin to keep up. The sound was deafening and I could barely see the hood of the car.

“Do you think we should stop?” she asked nervously. I looked over at her. She sat like a stone, wanting to be home where we would be safe.

“No,” I offered, trying to sound confident. “My dad always told me that in rain storms you’re supposed to keep going, no matter how bad they get. If you stop, some poor schmuck who’s trying to follow your taillights will just plow into the back of you.”

I knew that a stop sign should be coming up, but with the combination of dark and rain I couldn’t see it. I could, however, see headlights swimming towards us at an impossibly fast speed. There wasn’t even enough time to hit the brakes.

This was the first accident I had ever been in and I was surprised by the lack of events. In movies you always see car accidents that are very loud and shortly followed by explosions. All I noticed during our accident was a strange absence of sound.

Time and noise seemed to stop for a moment. I saw every drop of rain that fell on the windshield, watched as the windshield wipers moved slowly over their arc. “That’s strange,” I thought to myself.

In the darkness it was difficult to know exactly what was going on, but I felt that we were spinning slowly off towards the side of the road. Then I was upside down, my seatbelt straining to hold me into the seat.

Water started falling on me while lightning danced quickly across the low sky. A moment earlier my wife was sitting beside me. When I looked over for her all I saw was the wet, muddy ground, while the sky continued its torrent of water.

(II)

It was raining on the morning I picked up my orders telling me I was finally done with the Army. I stood patiently in front of a tall wooden desk while an old black woman with white hair made sure everything was in order. She sat in front of a small window looking out over a parking lot and as she moved a shiny metal pen over my paper work, I watched as rain fell in sheets towards the earth as steam rose gently into the air to greet it.

I got out of the Army deep in the month of May after a five year stint in the Infantry. Most people have some plan of what they’re going to do once they get out; they’ll go back home to Mom and Dad until they can find their bearings, some will go to school, others already have jobs waiting for them. I’ve always envied people with a plan, maybe it wasn’t the plan I envied, but the fact that they had some sort of a safety net. Both of my parents died while I was in the military, nobody knew where my brother was, and I wasn’t on speaking terms with my sister. The upshot of this is that I had no home, no where to go back to, no plan to speak of.

So when the Army was done with me I took all my possessions and packed them into an old beat-up Jeep CJ that I had bought from a friend for $200. This new vehicle of mine had no roof, no doors, and there was so much rust on the thing you could say there was really wasn’t much of a floor either. It did have a working engine and four tires filled with air and at the time, that was enough for me.

I left Fort Benning on a cool, cloudless evening at midnight, the absolute earliest time I could sign out. A full moon cast everything in a strange blue-white tint and left me with enough visibility so I could shut off my head lights as I escaped from the Army and its unforgiving clutches.

When I hit the boundary line I lifted up my right hand and extended my middle finger and continued driving like that until the lighted “Welcome to the United States Infantry Center” sign was no longer visible in my rearview mirror. I felt free for the first time in years. I savored the night, the whipping wind, the smell of pine that hung in the air, and the thin fog that crept indolently through the trees and over the road.

I turned onto the interstate, headed North and didn’t slow down until I was on the other side of Atlanta. I needed some sort of a plan, a destination at least. There was a truck stop ahead, lights burning into the night creating an artificial day signaling its existence. I imagined all of the bugs that would be trapped there around the lights thinking how lucky they were to find a moon so bright, so close to home.

I filled my tank and went inside to pay and find some sort of an atlas. The cashier watched me nervously as I paced up and down the harshly lit aisles looking for anything I might find helpful or necessary. I found my atlas; I also got a Dr. Pepper, Twix bar and a cheap pop up tent that I thought would come in handy for shelter.

Standing beside the CJ, I took everything out of the brown paper bag and started spreading them out on the hood. The smell of fuel permeated the air; the hum of diesel engines provided a strangely comfortable background noise as I flipped through the pages of the atlas while eating my chocolate candy like some kind of crazed school boy. “Where to go? Where to go?” I spoke into the pages containing colorful crooked lines, hoping they would give up some secret code that I could decipher to find where I should be headed.

Myrtle Beach looked good to me. It was reasonably close by, I had been there once before, and during the summer had a large tourist population. I figured I could get there, set up camp at some rundown campground and get a part time job flipping burgers or busing tables. I really didn’t care what kind of shit job I would have to take; anything that didn’t involve waking up at five in the morning and running two miles sounded like paradise.

I was able to find a job at a local burger place washing dishes. It was only part time and didn’t pay much, but my expenses were relatively low. I was living at a state park and the rent was cheap. Some people may not find the idea of living in a tent and working a sweaty, greasy job appealing. These are the people who take things such as showers and rooms with four walls for granted. I was just happy to be living my life finally free of the harsh rules and regulations of military life. I was able to do what I wanted when I wanted, woke up when I felt like it, and let my hair grow out long.

After work on Friday nights I would go with some friends to a local bar. It was a smoky place that featured live bands on the weekends. Colorful lights hung from a low ceiling that flashed in time with the music, the floors were wooden, worn, and sticky, and a thin layer of smoke hung in the air. The place was packed with sweaty bodies and people screaming conversations over the throbbing music.

The dance floor was alive, people writhing to the music in shades of red, blue and orange. Looking at it I thought of a giant snake pit and as I watched as a large mating ball seemed to form. Slithering bodies were moving next to, over, and under each other.

I had moved near the pool tables where my friends were playing a game. I was drinking whatever beer was on special from a plastic cup when I noticed her walking up; it would have been impossible not to notice her. She was wearing jeans and a white t-shirt with some kind of sunburst design on it, her brown hair flowing softly over her shoulders, bouncing lightly as she confidently strode through the crowded bar. People cleared a path for her like Moses parting the Red Sea, and then they melted into the walls leaving only her.

I assumed that she was headed towards the bathrooms behind the pool room and was caught off-guard when she stopped a few inches in front of me. “Hi,” her voice upbeat and melodic. I was unaccustomed to women just coming up and speaking to me, so I turned around to see whom she was talking to. But, when I looked all I found was an empty room with puke green walls decorated by colorful pieces of paper that announced whatever bands would be playing in the coming weeks.

Where is everyone, I thought. Maybe they went outside for a smoke.

I turned back around and found that she was still standing there and was now grinning playfully at me. “You,” she said while pointing at my chest. “Hi. What? Did you think I’m talking to somebody else?”

The power of speech eluded me. My throat was dry and I took a drink out of my plastic cup before finally answering. “Umm, yes. Well, no. Hi. How are you?”

“I’m hot. Let’s go outside,” she said while turning and before I even had the chance to answer she was walking out towards the patio.

We stepped out into a cool night filled with stars. Everything was muffled and my ears were ringing from the music. People’s conversations drifted all around and over the light sounds made by the Atlantic churning onto land.

She told me that she was from a small town in Iowa and that she always tried to spend summers out East with her aunt. “I like being near the sun-rise,” she explained matter-of-factly. She was an Art major and wasn’t sure of what she was going to do when she was done with school.

The way she talked fascinated me. It was very animated, her hands were constantly moving around in a way I found hypnotic. As she talked I found myself watching the way her mouth moved, I noticed how her tongue danced between her teeth, and saw the white flashes of those teeth.

I was talking to her now, telling her about my recent experiences in the Army. As I was talking I found myself looking over her shoulder out into the dark ocean and sky. I noticed small dots of light bouncing on the horizon, ships moving up and down the coast. I thought about those ships, such small things floating on an infinite and hungry ocean. A beam of light slowly moved across the sky. It came from the lighthouse a couple of miles away. The light a signal of land, it was a promise to lost souls at sea. The lighthouse will keep burning, we won’t forget you.

I was deep in these thoughts of lighthouses, oceans, and lost ships when her voice broke the spell. “So, then what happened?” she was asking while smiling at me. In her smile I found my lighthouse, my promise.

“This,” I answered while moving towards her and kissed her mouth.

Someone tripping over into my chair brought me back to the world. “There you are man! Shit, we’ve been looking all over for you,” Marc, a friend of mine was shouting, drunk and half deaf from the music. “Hey, anyway. We’re getting ready to go, this place is closing down.” The bar was empty, the music stopped, harsh house lights exposed everything. A bartender obnoxiously rang a fire-house like bell designed to drive everyone out onto the crowded streets.

She and I walked out in each other’s arms and never looked back at the ocean again.

(III)

The rain is coming down slower now. There are flashing lights and hurried voices all around me. I watch as drops of rain fall into the gathered puddles.

I feel someone tugging on me. I’m on my back now and am looking up at a bright white light. There’s a strange man hovering over me. He’s clean shaven and looks too young. He wears a blue hat with red letters that spell out “JCAS.” I’m not sure what these letters mean but he’s speaking to me in a slow and heavy voice.

Then, I see my wife; she’s running down a beach bathed in a strange pink light. She looks back at me and smiles, motions for me to catch up with her. I try to call out for her as I start to run towards her but my words are crushed by a swallowing silence.

The darkness now creeps up. It folds in and crushes me.

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