memory in
her eyes and the sadness it held for her. I wanted to reach out and touch her
but I didn’t want to intrude on her thoughts. She reached up and tucked a lock
of hair behind her ear.
“Can I be honest?” she
said at last and I felt my breath catch.
I swallowed down my fear
and nodded. “Of course.”
“I thought I had forgiven you,” Lizzie started slowly. “But then I
saw you for the first time in eleven years and I felt … something. Something I
couldn’t quite place. It was only later that I realized what it was. I was
resentful and I was still hurt. And when I realized that that was what I was
feeling, I knew that I couldn’t have forgiven you … at least not completely.
But I think a part of me has since then.”
“And the other part?” I
asked slowly.
“I’m still working on
that,” she said softly. “It was really hard after you left. And then …”
“Yes?”
“The letters stopped
coming,” Lizzie said.
I could hear the hurt in her voice. It was palpable and it hurt me
in the process. I hated knowing how much pain I had caused her. She had
deserved more than that. She had deserved something from me.
“We never really broke up,” Lizzie went on. “We just drifted and
then we stopped communicating and then … we lost contact completely. Even when
I knew what was happening, I still couldn’t quite bring myself to believe it.”
“It was my fault,” I said. “I should have tried to explain better,
I should have done more than I did. It was just that the training was so much
more intense that I would ever have imagined. I threw myself into the fray and
I didn’t have time to look back.”
She flinched at my last words and I reached for her hand. “I’m
sorry,” I said. “I don’t mean to hurt you, I’m just trying to be honest with
you.”
“I know,” Lizzie replied.
“I want you to be honest with me.”
It was the first real conversation we had had in over a decade and
we both knew it. This was not small talk or casual flirting; it wasn’t even the
beginnings of a courtship. It was two people who had a massive history between
them, it was two people trying to put their past behind them and find some
closure in the present.
“Once I passed my
training, I was sent off on my first deployment,” I said.
“I remember,” Lizzie nodded. “You sent me a letter telling me
about it; June seventeenth was when you told me you would be leaving. It was
one of the last letters you sent me.”
“Afghanistan,” I said.
“That was the first mission.”
“It changed you,” Lizzie
said before I could finish.
“Yes,” I nodded. “It changed me, more than I could have thought.
All the training in the world can’t prepare you for certain things. Everything
was going according to plan and then suddenly … it wasn’t. We found ourselves
in the middle of enemy fire and we had no choice but to defend ourselves. I
killed three men that day.”
I fell into silence as the memory of that day overtook me. I could
still remember the first man. His eyes were wide with anger; his skin was
burnished brown and covered in scars. He looked at me like I was the devil. I
had panicked and the moment he took a step towards me I fired. I didn’t think
and I didn’t aim: I just shot blindly.
“The first man I shot,” I
said after a moment. “He was unarmed. I looked, but I couldn’t find a weapon on
him.”
“Dylan,” Lizzie’s voice
was soft as a whisper. She clutched my hand in both of hers and squeezed. “You
didn’t know that.”
“I was trained better,” I
said. “I was scared and my fear took over.”
“It was your first
mission and your first real fight,” Lizzie said. “If you hadn’t killed him, he
would have found a way to kill you.”
“It doesn’t matter,” I said. “That’s what I realized once the dust
had settled and I was alone in my tent. It doesn’t matter what the
justifications are, it
her eyes and the sadness it held for her. I wanted to reach out and touch her
but I didn’t want to intrude on her thoughts. She reached up and tucked a lock
of hair behind her ear.
“Can I be honest?” she
said at last and I felt my breath catch.
I swallowed down my fear
and nodded. “Of course.”
“I thought I had forgiven you,” Lizzie started slowly. “But then I
saw you for the first time in eleven years and I felt … something. Something I
couldn’t quite place. It was only later that I realized what it was. I was
resentful and I was still hurt. And when I realized that that was what I was
feeling, I knew that I couldn’t have forgiven you … at least not completely.
But I think a part of me has since then.”
“And the other part?” I
asked slowly.
“I’m still working on
that,” she said softly. “It was really hard after you left. And then …”
“Yes?”
“The letters stopped
coming,” Lizzie said.
I could hear the hurt in her voice. It was palpable and it hurt me
in the process. I hated knowing how much pain I had caused her. She had
deserved more than that. She had deserved something from me.
“We never really broke up,” Lizzie went on. “We just drifted and
then we stopped communicating and then … we lost contact completely. Even when
I knew what was happening, I still couldn’t quite bring myself to believe it.”
“It was my fault,” I said. “I should have tried to explain better,
I should have done more than I did. It was just that the training was so much
more intense that I would ever have imagined. I threw myself into the fray and
I didn’t have time to look back.”
She flinched at my last words and I reached for her hand. “I’m
sorry,” I said. “I don’t mean to hurt you, I’m just trying to be honest with
you.”
“I know,” Lizzie replied.
“I want you to be honest with me.”
It was the first real conversation we had had in over a decade and
we both knew it. This was not small talk or casual flirting; it wasn’t even the
beginnings of a courtship. It was two people who had a massive history between
them, it was two people trying to put their past behind them and find some
closure in the present.
“Once I passed my
training, I was sent off on my first deployment,” I said.
“I remember,” Lizzie nodded. “You sent me a letter telling me
about it; June seventeenth was when you told me you would be leaving. It was
one of the last letters you sent me.”
“Afghanistan,” I said.
“That was the first mission.”
“It changed you,” Lizzie
said before I could finish.
“Yes,” I nodded. “It changed me, more than I could have thought.
All the training in the world can’t prepare you for certain things. Everything
was going according to plan and then suddenly … it wasn’t. We found ourselves
in the middle of enemy fire and we had no choice but to defend ourselves. I
killed three men that day.”
I fell into silence as the memory of that day overtook me. I could
still remember the first man. His eyes were wide with anger; his skin was
burnished brown and covered in scars. He looked at me like I was the devil. I
had panicked and the moment he took a step towards me I fired. I didn’t think
and I didn’t aim: I just shot blindly.
“The first man I shot,” I
said after a moment. “He was unarmed. I looked, but I couldn’t find a weapon on
him.”
“Dylan,” Lizzie’s voice
was soft as a whisper. She clutched my hand in both of hers and squeezed. “You
didn’t know that.”
“I was trained better,” I
said. “I was scared and my fear took over.”
“It was your first
mission and your first real fight,” Lizzie said. “If you hadn’t killed him, he
would have found a way to kill you.”
“It doesn’t matter,” I said. “That’s what I realized once the dust
had settled and I was alone in my tent. It doesn’t matter what the
justifications are, it
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