He moves his lips like he’s trying to say something, but nothingcomes out.
“Dude, I’m staying here until this passes,” I add. “If I leave,any of the other guys can come in here. Is that what you want?”
He closes his eyes, muttering to himself.
I feel like crap. Wish there was something I could do to helphim. Not just because he’s tortured by whatever the fuck memory he’sexperiencing from Iraq, but because I know what it’s like to feelembarrassed—to be ashamed and want everyone in the world to leave me the fuckalone.
I try to think of something to say, but everything that comes tomind seems trite. Like it’ll just annoy him more than anything else. The lastthing he needs right now is a series of clichés to pull him out of his veryreal pain.
Tears rush from his eyes, down his cheeks. I turn away.
“I’m just gonna come over here and not look at you, okay? I’ll justkeep guard, and you can do whatever you need to do.” I head to the table,facing the wall.
He breathes intensely. Like it’s nearly impossible for him toget air in.
“Do I need to call an ambulance?” I ask.
I wait. If he can’t respond, maybe that’s what I need to do. Ireach into my pocket and retrieve my phone.
“No,” he says in a deep, guttural voice that keeps me fromdoubting his sincerity. Judging by his tone, if I call anyone, the moment he returnsto his usual self, he’ll kick my fucking ass, and I’ll be out on the streetswithout the sort of consideration he gave me the other day.
I’ll stop talking. Anything else is going to annoy him, Ifigure. I just hope no one else swings by and disturbs him.
The sounds he makes intensify from heavy breathing to whatsounds like weeping and then whimpering. I shouldn’t be here for this.Shouldn’t be witnessing it. He deserves a moment to recover on his own.
Not five minutes pass before the sounds settle, and I hear himmoving around. I spin back around. He climbs to his feet and rests against thevending machine, tucking his face close to it.
“You can get out now,” he says, his voice deep as ever. Severe.
He doesn’t sound appreciative. He sounds pissed. Like there wasa way to handle this and I fucked it up royally.
“I was just trying to help,” I say quickly, but he points to thedoor.
I hurry out. Better this way. I don’t want to see him like this,and at least now I know he’s fine. I feel like crap knowing that he can neverlook at me the same way again. First I exposed his leg. Now this. Reeseobviously isn’t the kind of guy who likes people to see him weak. Or in pain.
And having a fucking PTSD episode right in front of me surecovers that.
I head back to work, and some of the guys start giving me shitabout how long I was gone, but I say that Reese had me cleaning up my mess.
I don’t give a shit about saving my own ass, but I’m glad Icould save Reese’s.
4
Reese
I can’t believe he saw me like that.
For the past two years, I’ve done so well. I was nervous as fuckabout even taking this supervisor position because when I first started workinghere, the noises freaked me the fuck out, and a factory is such a goddamn noisyplace. But I didn’t have any work experience outside the military training.This and construction were really the only options I had available to me—myonly shots at creating a life for myself. Thanks to the meds and my work withLaura, I’ve gotten good at getting by day to day. The noises still freak meout, but few have transported me like the one that came from the hall today,one that evoked memories of me alongside my crew, dressed in full combat gear,as we raced through the smoldering heat. The sounds of gunshots fired allaround us as we watched a few guys collapse onto the ground and eat thedirt-covered earth, their bodies going limp.
I’m better at handling everyday tasks now, but that episodereminds me of what I already know—I’m always a moment away from being backwhere I started, struggling to control the raging thoughts that are far beyondmy control, falling prey to the sensations that overtake my body and paralyzeme.
I already know why this one affected me so much. I haven’t hadmuch sleep the past few days. I knew I needed more rest, but it’s not easy fora guy who never wants to sleep—a guy who needs Ambien and Nyquil so his mindwill shut down. I don’t have the nightmares like I used to, but my lingeringfear of them makes it easy for me to stay up. Once again, I’m reminded of why Ineed sleep. Getting on edge like I’ve been for this inventory audit puts me ata greater risk of an episode.
I think Jay is partially responsible for them, too. From hisfirst interview, he reminded me of Caleb. How closed-off he was. How he couldn’tlook me in the eyes. A guy who doesn’t trust anyone. The sort of guy I’d haveto earn trust from. The memory he awakened is one of the reasons that even whenthe guy at his last job told me not to hire him, I went against my betterjudgment and gave him a shot. Because even though Caleb had a short temper, hewas a hard worker. And a great man. I want to believe the same thing is true ofJay. That I’m not just desperately trying to keep Caleb’s memory alive.
But part of the similarity triggers those things that I work tobury within me every day, and it’s even worse now that he knows about myissues. The other guys have seen me act weird, but I’ve always been able tosneak away before losing it. Even with loud noises, I’ve been cognizant enoughto get the fuck away from everyone to have my breakdowns—panic attacks, mainly.And the other guys are usually so unaware of what’s going on or where I’m atthat I don’t have to worry about them bothering me in a moment of weakness.
I head out of the freight elevator and walk into the main partof the warehouse, where I see Jay securing some shipments with plastic wrap andtape. I stand tall even though I want to curl back up like I did earlier.Because seeing him takes me back to that moment in the breakroom.
