“Good morning, Wes,” Gloria greets cheerfully as soon as I walk in.
I nod. “Morning. Any news on Bruno?”
“Why? Is there a problem with him?”
“No, he’s fine, I just want to make sure he gets the best home.”
“I know he will.” She smiles widely. “Oh, that Lab from the last time you were here, Maverick? He did have a home. We were able to get ahold of them and reunite them.”
“That’s great,” I surmise.
“It is. We do have some more dogs that I’m sure would love some extra attention.”
“I have all day,” I tell her honestly.
“Perfect.”
I end up catching the eye of an extremely excitable Border Collie. He practically takes me for the walk along the path and doesn’t even mind being put back in the sad kennel. There’sanother dog that reminds me of Bruno with the way she’s laying on the dog cot. I look at her kennel tag and see her name is Sadie. She looks like some sort of Golden Retriever mix with more light golden fur.
I don’t think twice about grabbing one of the thin leashes and opening up the door, offering a walk. She perks up a little, and walks toward me so I can pet her head then slip the lead around her before walking out.
She’s a lot calmer than the Border Collie. It’s nice to not feel like I’m being dragged around, and can enjoy the cool fall weather.
My phone goes off in my pocket, and I pull it out expecting to see something from Bailey, or worse, the group chat Jameson added me to with Dave and Parker.
I don’t expect to see it’s Chris once again, and the message catches me off guard a bit.
Chris: Ever wish it was us that went down with the rest of them?
I stare at the screen, but Sadie doesn’t try to pull me anywhere. I read the words over and over, unsure of what to say.
Honestly, yeah, I do. The amount of times I’ve wanted to scream about how I should’ve been one of the people to die is countless. Why was it them? They had families, people that loved and cared about them. I didn’t and still don’t have anyone, yet for some reason I got to walk away with a fucked up leg and endless nightmares.
But I feel like admitting that to Chris isn’t the smartestdecision. I don’t know where this is coming from or why, but there must be a reason.
Wes: Why?
Chris: Because I do. A lot. I’m fucked up as it is. Should’ve taken me out of my misery before it had the chance to get this bad.
Again, I’m frozen just staring at the screen. He wasn’t like this when we worked together; he had hopes and dreams and so much going for him. Even now, I thought he had a wife and child. He’s always seemed happy other times I’ve talked to him, but this feels out of left field.
Wes: You talk to anyone? Like a therapist at the VA or anything?
Chris: I have. Doesn’t seem like they give a fuck though since I can’t get an appointment for awhile.
I can’t say I disagree. I tried therapy briefly and that shit isn’t for me. I’m fine and don’t need someone trying to poke around in my head for shit neither of us can change.
Wes: I get that. Do you have anyone to talk to? Your wife?
Chris: Fucking left me about a year ago now, couldn’t handle my “issues” she said.
I scrub my hand down my face with a subtle, “fuck.”
Wes: I’m sorry. Do you need anything? What can I do?
Chris: Nah, I don’t think there’s anything anyone can do.
I don’t know what to say to that. We may have walked in similar shoes with our experience from that horrible day, but I can’t say I understand what he’s feeling now since that’s not something I’ve been through.
