I’m not going to risk my grades to do that, and it’s my good luck I’m rooming with Carter.
When Carter re-enters the room, he’s shirtless, hair damp, has a towel draped over his shoulders, and is wearing loose shorts. I get a look at his back again as he returns to his side of the room. I now see the scars extend under the waistband of his shorts and make a reappearance down the backs of his thighs and calves.
“How long were you in the hospital after it happened?” I ask.
He glances my way. “That’s an interesting question to lead with.”
“Why?”
He settles on the end of his bed. I’m sitting on the far end of mine. Like this, we can see each other around the bookshelves and desks that usually provide a natural privacy screen between the beds.
“Most people assume there’s some sort of story attached to it. Like they want to hear violence porn or something. And the answer is six months. Another two in a rehab facility before I was discharged.”
He scrubs the towel over his short brown hair. “I applied to college while I was still going through rehab, started working on that almost as soon as I was transferred from the hospital into the rehab center.”
I do the mental math. “Wow. That means you were injured—”
“Less than two years ago, yeah.” He smiles. “I don’t do well bored. Kind of a family trait.”
“Would you still be in the Army if you hadn’t been injured?”
He studies me for a long moment. “I don’t honestly know. I didn’t want to be career like my dad and brothers, but I thought I’d be in a little longer than I was. I had always planned to go to college and be an attorney after I got out.”
“What kind of law do you want to practice?”
“Something that pays well.” He smirks. “Maybe go into politics, working for campaigns. You?”
“I haven’t decided yet. I want to help people. Make a difference.” I lean against the bookshelves. “I mean, obviously, I want to be able to support myself. But I don’t want to be some ambulance chaser, or trying to get people out of traffic tickets. Maybe go into environmental or civil rights law or something. I don’t know.”
Carter leans back against the wall, his arms crossed over his chest. “That sounds very specific.”
“I’m not fond of my step-father.”
He doesn’t uncross his arms, but he makes a small gesture with his left hand, indicating for me to continue.
“Austin works for one of those really big-ass law firms. You’ve probably seen the ads on TV or heard them on the radio. Have their own 1-800 number, offices all over the state, and even up in Georgia and Alabama. Listening to him talk at home, you can tell he doesn’t give a shit about the people he’s representing. His favorite clients are corporations who basically pay him to keep them legal, or to get them out of jams for the least amount of money possible. That’s not the kind of attorney I want to be.”
Carter uncrosses his arms and leans forward, watching me, his elbows propped on his knees. “You sound like you should go into politics. Run for office.”
“Me?Phhpt. I’d suck as a politician.” Although he’s effortlessly struck a secret dream I know will never come to pass. Cannevercome to pass, because I’m no ass-kisser, I think both major parties suck, and I know for my own reasons that I would be too much of a liability as a politician and refuse to live my life like that.
Yet I can’t bring myself to admit to Carter that I know that it’s nothing more than a dream.
I get the feeling Carter sees more than the average person, because now he’s studying me.
“What?” I mumble.
“I’d vote for you, if you ran for office.”
Now I know he’s got to be fucking with me. “You just met me. You had to teach me how to fold my dang clothes.”
“Doesn’t matter. I already trust you. That’s a really hard thing to earn from people.” He shrugs. “If I see it in you, why wouldn’t others?”
* * * *
I take my shower, Carter’s words running through my head.
Sure, in my fantasies I run for governor and win, and then kick ass making good changes in our state. Protecting our environment, fixing our screwed up public school system, things like that.
