The Place That Can Not Be
Feb. 15th, 2010 07:21 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
talonkarrdeDear James...
---
Private James Carter turned the letter over, expecting to find more. He expected to find something that said, "just kidding, James. Still waiting anxiously for you to come home. Your friend forever, Stephie," or perhaps, "Hah, got you, didn't I — well, here are some cookies to make up for the joke I just pulled on you, and I'll see you soon, okay?" But there was nothing written on the back, no cookies to be found. Just the letter, just his best friend telling him that he was someone else, that he had broken his promise.
But he hadn't changed, he wanted to say! He had promised Steph that nothing would change, and he damn well intended to keep his promise, even if she didn't believe him. He had made it through training just fine, hadn't he, and while he didn't look forward to combat, he would still be the same person he always was. He would show her, he thought — he would get back and they'd go to the East Orange Diner together at one in the morning and everything would be okay. They would still hike the woods together, talk about their futures, be the best of friends as they always had been.
Everything would be okay. So why did he keep turning the letter over, again and again, trying to find out where it was that "I know I was wrong," left him?
"Jimmy?"
"Huh? What, Iron Man?" James turned to look at his bunkmate, Anthony Stark, eyeing him from over the railing of the bed above. Naturally, the first time someone put two and two together, the name stuck; it helped that the guy was as rambunctious and cocksure as his nickname.
"She dump you?" Tony looked serious for a second.
"What? No, man, we weren't dating, we're just friends. Anyway, she's just...worried that I'm not really answering, you know? No calls, no emails, no letters and —"
"I'm sure you're not dating, Jimmy-boy. Friends don't write letters that lead to you turning the thing over and over like it was a goddamn prayer bead or somethin'. Anyway, just go call her up on the phone and tell her that the mail hasn't been coming because we have an alert that the mail trucks are being targeted and the comms been down. Blah blah blah, you're sorry, you love her, you want to make her moan in—"
"Aww, go f— wait, the phones are back up now?"
"Actually... no, I just wanted to see how you'd react."
"You son of a bitch."
"You know it. But I'm a son of a bitch that's a damn good shot, thank you very much. Now put down the goddamn letter, Jimmy-boy, and let's go pop some cans from five hundred feet."
---
The first few weeks that the company went out on patrol, all was quiet. The humvees trundled through their routes in Helmand province and although there were few smiling faces, it didn't seem like anyone was trying to kill them, either. James started paying more attention to the clouds than the people around them, figuring that a few more months of this might not be that bad. And then the honeymoon wore off.
There were skirmishes, from time to time; he became used to going from idyllic daydreams to the heat of battle in a split second, when the inevitable ambushes would happen, and desperately trying to find cover when the bullets started landing all around him. He learned about the IEDs that riddled the roads, that would be placed just after they went out on patrol and be waiting to blow them up when they were on their way back, almost within sight of the base. He learned that promises by the tribal members had about a 50/50 chance of being a trap, and he started to keep his guard up, constantly, after he heard of the suicide bombers that posed as informants to get into the American bases.
But he still joked around, albeit with more gallows humor. He still tried to be kind, giving sweets to the children that he walked past in Nawzad, though he did it less and less when the firefights started to erupt as he was busy with candy in one hand. And he still thought about Steph and home, though he didn't really know what to say to her. Occasionally, he would send out a email to let her know he was alright... but he kept them short, not having that much to say.
The thing about war, though, is that it isn't like the movies, where one event suddenly turns friendly, courageous fathers and sons into those that are broken and can't cope. Instead, it's the accumulation of events, each tolerable by itself, that ends up crushing a person under the combined weight of its insanity.
It was urban conflict, bitter street-to-street fighting in Garmsir where James sighted down his rifle and saw an insurgent go down, AK-47 in his hands, and then a little boy, no more than ten, go to pick it up. James hesitated, saying, no, don't and the boy turned the gun towards the Americans, clearly inexperienced, clearly wanting to kill them anyway. And then he pressed the trigger, watched the bullets hit, saw the boy collapse next to his father? brother? uncle?
It was the time after that, when he saw another kid go for a gun, and he didn't even think, just shot, and moved on to the next target.
It was the teenager that came to them, hysterical, in the middle of the night, begging the guards to talk to someone. She was dressed in the traditional burqa, and the translator said she came to warn them of an impending attack. And then, when Tony — Iron Man — volunteered to see her to some shelter and get her something to drink, she pulled the trigger on the bomb she had hidden, killed him and two others.
It was, overall, being in a hostile environment where the rules of engagement didn't apply, where every friendly gesture could be a setup to kill you, where you don't trust anyone, because that's how you stay alive. And James knew that it was changing him, but he stubbornly held onto the belief that it would be over after his deployment, that he'd go back to Stephie and they'd be fine, pick up right where they left off.
---
And then his tour was over, just like that. He would be lying if he said he wasn't counting down the days, but he felt that the last few weeks had been calm, calmer than before — or maybe he was just getting better at surviving — at being distrustful of everyone and anyone. But now that he was home, he could let that go and it would all be okay.
Seeing Stephie after getting off the plane gave him hope — the tears in her eyes, the smile on her face, the bear hug he wrapped her up in; it was everything he had hoped their reunion would be. I missed you, he whispered to her, and the kiss she gave back was forgiveness enough. The reunion with his family was equally joyful, and he settled easily into life back at home, reconnecting with all those that he hadn't talked to.
He does take her out to the East Orange Diner and they still go for walks together and trips to the beach. As the days turn into weeks, though, James realizes that Steph's words to him when he left are growing more and more true, as much as he fights against it. He isn't the same person he was anymore, and the time they spend together is more going through the motions than re-establishing what they used to have.
James sees it in the way that she asks him questions that he has no answer for, in the way that the more she wants to know what happened, the less he wants to tell her. He understands that she wants to make up for time lost and share in his experiences, but he would never expose anyone else to that, even if his stories could convey what he had seen. And so he simply denies, dodges, and avoids the questions, despite the awkward silences that come after. It's no better when she talks about her life, he can't force himself to care about juvenile crushes and job changes and friends moving across town. There's a war out there, he wants to say. Why does any of this matter?
He sees it in the way that he prefers to spend time on base with his company members instead of civilians. He has nothing against his old friends, nothing against his family or Steph, but there are comments that they wouldn't catch, moments that mean nothing to them. And conversely, he sees that there are moments they share that he is excluded from because he wasn't there when it happened, in-jokes he isn't a part of, stories where everyone is laughing but him.
And finally, he sees the changes that have happened to him in the way that he's never able to fully let go of that distrust that he built in Afghanistan. A car moves too fast on the street and he drops into a crouch, his heart pounding, his fingers fumbling for the rifle that isn't there. A streetlight flickers, casting shadows, and he's up against the wall, trying to discern where the shooters are, how many of them, and which way he should move.
The home that Private James Carter wanted to come back to no longer exists for him, he realizes. And so, a few weeks later, he makes a decision, and returns to the only world he knows.
"I have to go, Stephanie. I don't belong here anymore, and when I'm home, I'm simply... waiting, I guess. The world keeps turning, and I'm here, but I'm not really a part of it. I don't know if I'll ever be a part of it anymore."
"I don't want you to go," she says, and then sighs. "But I see why you think you have to. I'll miss you, James."
"I'll be back, Stephanie," he responds, even though he doesn't know if he really wants to be. Because home isn't the place he thought it was anymore.
She steps forward and his arms wrap around her in one last bear hug, but there are no promises this time, no pinky swears that he won't ever change.
Just a fierce hug, an uncertain future.
//
A/N: This week, I wrote with![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
thaliontholwen who was a pleasure to work with. I've always been a fan of her style, and I had a lot of fun writing with her. Her entry is linked at the top and is here, and should have been read before mine.
i really enjoyed writing this, as I feel the subject matter is something that I haven't touched on much, or even seen much. At the same time, I hope it comes across as fairly realistic, because I have a limited experience with war (thankfully), so this was mostly based on memoirs that I've read and a few conversations I've had with those who have served.
---
Private James Carter turned the letter over, expecting to find more. He expected to find something that said, "just kidding, James. Still waiting anxiously for you to come home. Your friend forever, Stephie," or perhaps, "Hah, got you, didn't I — well, here are some cookies to make up for the joke I just pulled on you, and I'll see you soon, okay?" But there was nothing written on the back, no cookies to be found. Just the letter, just his best friend telling him that he was someone else, that he had broken his promise.
But he hadn't changed, he wanted to say! He had promised Steph that nothing would change, and he damn well intended to keep his promise, even if she didn't believe him. He had made it through training just fine, hadn't he, and while he didn't look forward to combat, he would still be the same person he always was. He would show her, he thought — he would get back and they'd go to the East Orange Diner together at one in the morning and everything would be okay. They would still hike the woods together, talk about their futures, be the best of friends as they always had been.
Everything would be okay. So why did he keep turning the letter over, again and again, trying to find out where it was that "I know I was wrong," left him?
"Jimmy?"
"Huh? What, Iron Man?" James turned to look at his bunkmate, Anthony Stark, eyeing him from over the railing of the bed above. Naturally, the first time someone put two and two together, the name stuck; it helped that the guy was as rambunctious and cocksure as his nickname.
"She dump you?" Tony looked serious for a second.
"What? No, man, we weren't dating, we're just friends. Anyway, she's just...worried that I'm not really answering, you know? No calls, no emails, no letters and —"
"I'm sure you're not dating, Jimmy-boy. Friends don't write letters that lead to you turning the thing over and over like it was a goddamn prayer bead or somethin'. Anyway, just go call her up on the phone and tell her that the mail hasn't been coming because we have an alert that the mail trucks are being targeted and the comms been down. Blah blah blah, you're sorry, you love her, you want to make her moan in—"
"Aww, go f— wait, the phones are back up now?"
"Actually... no, I just wanted to see how you'd react."
"You son of a bitch."
"You know it. But I'm a son of a bitch that's a damn good shot, thank you very much. Now put down the goddamn letter, Jimmy-boy, and let's go pop some cans from five hundred feet."
---
The first few weeks that the company went out on patrol, all was quiet. The humvees trundled through their routes in Helmand province and although there were few smiling faces, it didn't seem like anyone was trying to kill them, either. James started paying more attention to the clouds than the people around them, figuring that a few more months of this might not be that bad. And then the honeymoon wore off.
There were skirmishes, from time to time; he became used to going from idyllic daydreams to the heat of battle in a split second, when the inevitable ambushes would happen, and desperately trying to find cover when the bullets started landing all around him. He learned about the IEDs that riddled the roads, that would be placed just after they went out on patrol and be waiting to blow them up when they were on their way back, almost within sight of the base. He learned that promises by the tribal members had about a 50/50 chance of being a trap, and he started to keep his guard up, constantly, after he heard of the suicide bombers that posed as informants to get into the American bases.
But he still joked around, albeit with more gallows humor. He still tried to be kind, giving sweets to the children that he walked past in Nawzad, though he did it less and less when the firefights started to erupt as he was busy with candy in one hand. And he still thought about Steph and home, though he didn't really know what to say to her. Occasionally, he would send out a email to let her know he was alright... but he kept them short, not having that much to say.
The thing about war, though, is that it isn't like the movies, where one event suddenly turns friendly, courageous fathers and sons into those that are broken and can't cope. Instead, it's the accumulation of events, each tolerable by itself, that ends up crushing a person under the combined weight of its insanity.
It was urban conflict, bitter street-to-street fighting in Garmsir where James sighted down his rifle and saw an insurgent go down, AK-47 in his hands, and then a little boy, no more than ten, go to pick it up. James hesitated, saying, no, don't and the boy turned the gun towards the Americans, clearly inexperienced, clearly wanting to kill them anyway. And then he pressed the trigger, watched the bullets hit, saw the boy collapse next to his father? brother? uncle?
It was the time after that, when he saw another kid go for a gun, and he didn't even think, just shot, and moved on to the next target.
It was the teenager that came to them, hysterical, in the middle of the night, begging the guards to talk to someone. She was dressed in the traditional burqa, and the translator said she came to warn them of an impending attack. And then, when Tony — Iron Man — volunteered to see her to some shelter and get her something to drink, she pulled the trigger on the bomb she had hidden, killed him and two others.
It was, overall, being in a hostile environment where the rules of engagement didn't apply, where every friendly gesture could be a setup to kill you, where you don't trust anyone, because that's how you stay alive. And James knew that it was changing him, but he stubbornly held onto the belief that it would be over after his deployment, that he'd go back to Stephie and they'd be fine, pick up right where they left off.
---
And then his tour was over, just like that. He would be lying if he said he wasn't counting down the days, but he felt that the last few weeks had been calm, calmer than before — or maybe he was just getting better at surviving — at being distrustful of everyone and anyone. But now that he was home, he could let that go and it would all be okay.
Seeing Stephie after getting off the plane gave him hope — the tears in her eyes, the smile on her face, the bear hug he wrapped her up in; it was everything he had hoped their reunion would be. I missed you, he whispered to her, and the kiss she gave back was forgiveness enough. The reunion with his family was equally joyful, and he settled easily into life back at home, reconnecting with all those that he hadn't talked to.
He does take her out to the East Orange Diner and they still go for walks together and trips to the beach. As the days turn into weeks, though, James realizes that Steph's words to him when he left are growing more and more true, as much as he fights against it. He isn't the same person he was anymore, and the time they spend together is more going through the motions than re-establishing what they used to have.
James sees it in the way that she asks him questions that he has no answer for, in the way that the more she wants to know what happened, the less he wants to tell her. He understands that she wants to make up for time lost and share in his experiences, but he would never expose anyone else to that, even if his stories could convey what he had seen. And so he simply denies, dodges, and avoids the questions, despite the awkward silences that come after. It's no better when she talks about her life, he can't force himself to care about juvenile crushes and job changes and friends moving across town. There's a war out there, he wants to say. Why does any of this matter?
He sees it in the way that he prefers to spend time on base with his company members instead of civilians. He has nothing against his old friends, nothing against his family or Steph, but there are comments that they wouldn't catch, moments that mean nothing to them. And conversely, he sees that there are moments they share that he is excluded from because he wasn't there when it happened, in-jokes he isn't a part of, stories where everyone is laughing but him.
And finally, he sees the changes that have happened to him in the way that he's never able to fully let go of that distrust that he built in Afghanistan. A car moves too fast on the street and he drops into a crouch, his heart pounding, his fingers fumbling for the rifle that isn't there. A streetlight flickers, casting shadows, and he's up against the wall, trying to discern where the shooters are, how many of them, and which way he should move.
The home that Private James Carter wanted to come back to no longer exists for him, he realizes. And so, a few weeks later, he makes a decision, and returns to the only world he knows.
"I have to go, Stephanie. I don't belong here anymore, and when I'm home, I'm simply... waiting, I guess. The world keeps turning, and I'm here, but I'm not really a part of it. I don't know if I'll ever be a part of it anymore."
"I don't want you to go," she says, and then sighs. "But I see why you think you have to. I'll miss you, James."
"I'll be back, Stephanie," he responds, even though he doesn't know if he really wants to be. Because home isn't the place he thought it was anymore.
She steps forward and his arms wrap around her in one last bear hug, but there are no promises this time, no pinky swears that he won't ever change.
Just a fierce hug, an uncertain future.
//
A/N: This week, I wrote with
thaliontholwen who was a pleasure to work with. I've always been a fan of her style, and I had a lot of fun writing with her. Her entry is linked at the top and is here, and should have been read before mine.i really enjoyed writing this, as I feel the subject matter is something that I haven't touched on much, or even seen much. At the same time, I hope it comes across as fairly realistic, because I have a limited experience with war (thankfully), so this was mostly based on memoirs that I've read and a few conversations I've had with those who have served.
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2010-02-16 01:28 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-02-16 04:44 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-02-16 04:54 am (UTC)Love, Cat and Tea
This is a paid message from Cupid College. Check out our new Distance Learning Program today and earn the degree you've always wanted!
no subject
Date: 2010-02-16 07:55 am (UTC)While I know this doesn't happen to 100% of the soldiers that experience war, I know it happens to many of them. Indeed, most war stories are predicated on the idea that there's something that men who fought in the same war share with each other that nobody else can share with them - from "Henry V" to more modern war stories.
Anyhow, great work.
no subject
Date: 2010-02-16 04:23 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-02-16 06:20 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-02-16 07:52 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-02-17 02:07 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-02-17 06:22 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-02-17 08:39 pm (UTC)Well done.
no subject
Date: 2010-02-17 11:42 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-02-18 03:17 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-02-18 06:54 pm (UTC)This was great.
no subject
Date: 2010-02-18 10:21 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-02-19 02:22 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-02-19 02:49 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-02-19 04:58 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-02-19 07:05 pm (UTC)Well done. You and your partner tied your pieces together well.
no subject
Date: 2010-02-19 07:50 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-02-19 08:18 pm (UTC)This was beautiful.
no subject
Date: 2010-02-19 11:00 pm (UTC)