“Embrace the suck.” Carson’s voice took on the hardness of every drill sergeant I’d met. More than a suggestion, the army-based saying was a call to welcome every task from scrubbing toilets to painting miles of hallways to completing endless inventory.
“Ah. You were one of those sergeants.” I laughed. Unlike me, Carson had likely found fulfillment in his military service. Fromthe way his relatives bragged about how he’d risen up the ranks, going from a transport operator to a certified Master Driver to Sergeant First Class in charge of entire transport and cargo missions, he’d been damn good at embracing the suck himself. “I would guess there’s plenty of menial maintenance jobs in the transportation corps to go around as well.”
“No job too small.” Carson chuckled as he continued his spot-on cranky drill sergeant impression.
“Trust me, I did my share of small jobs. I was infantry and only served six active-duty years and two reserve years, so I never advanced into NCO status like you. Did you miss driving in the field as you moved up the ranks? “
“Miss driving now.” His mouth twisted as he looked out the passenger window.
“I bet.” Crap. I hadn’t meant to wander into painful territory.
I flipped on the radio to spare Carson more small talk. My truck was too old for smart anything, so most of the time I made do with the limited assortment of local stations. I landed on a country station playing an older ballad, and Carson made an approving sound.
“Takes me back.” He stretched back in the seat, and I let a comfortable silence settle over us on the remainder of the drive to the community center where the veterans’ support group met.
“We’re here,” I said as I turned into the parking lot. “Do you want me to introduce you around, or do you prefer to hang back?”
I had a feeling which Carson would choose, but I wanted to leave it up to him.
“Hang back.” He gave a self-conscious laugh. “Thanks.”
“No problem. We’ll grab some seats near the door.” I would have happily introduced Carson to all the regulars, but I was also happy to keep to my usual routine of propping up a wall. “I don’t usually share much anyway.”
“I get that.” Again, our eyes met in an understanding that some things were easier to talk about than others. I could talk for hours about horses and random tidbits, but ask me to talk about difficult subjects and my words dried up.
“Jude! Good to see you again.” As usual, Simone had positioned herself near the doorway to the meeting room. She had long black hair, angular features, and the biggest smile in three counties. Her welcoming gaze moved onto Carson, a flicker of recognition in her eyes. “And you must be the brother of Colt Jennings. You look alike.”
Simone’s day job was as a community liaison officer with a nearby town’s police department, so it wasn’t surprising that she knew Colt. The Jennings genes were rather strong, with all the brothers having similar coloring and rugged jaw lines.
“Except shorter.” Carson was good at the deadpan jokes. He offered Simone a handshake. “I’m Carson.”
“We’re gonna stake out some chairs off to the side,” I told Simone before she could move into hostess mode and start making introductions.
“Excellent idea.” Simone was highly skilled at picking up on subtext, so she didn’t press for further small talk with Carson. “Glad to have you here.”
Despite the later hour, a coffee pot was set up on a counter toward the back of the multipurpose room, which hosted everything from swing dance lessons to kids’ clubs and meetings like this one. Simone liked to arrange the metal folding chairs in a circle, but she also always set some up near the door and along the sides of the room for those who didn’t feel comfortable circled up.
I felt less pressure to share when sitting near the door, so I found a couple of chairs for Carson and me. A number of the regulars were already inside the room, talking in clumps near the coffee pot or sitting in the chairs. I nodded inacknowledgment to those I recognized as everyone found seats for the meeting to start.
Simone liked to begin with announcements and any new community resources that might be of interest to the veteran community. We were headed into back-to-school time in August, so a number of the resources she mentioned were focused on school-supply help, affordable-housing developments, and support for parents. None of these were likely to ever apply to me, but I nodded along just the same.
“Who would like to share?” Simone held up a whiteboard withADAPTATIONwritten in big, colorful letters. The bulk of the meeting was always individual sharing, but Simone used various themes to help guide the conversation. “Our word for the month is adaptation, but feel free to share any successes or concerns as you’d like.”
“I finally got my new wheels. Took the VA long enough.” Alan, a guy around my age with shaggy brown hair who always sat near Simone, was first to share. He did a wheelie in his new racing-style wheelchair, which earned some applause. “Now we’re trying to scare up the funds for an accessible vehicle. Bring on the hand-control lessons!”
“That’s so good, Alan.” Simone’s tone was warm and encouraging. “I hope you manage to get something that works for your family. Anyone else with good news?”
A few others spoke up about things that were helping them or daily victories before the discussion returned to Simone’s theme. She read a short poem written by a fellow veteran before asking for thoughts.
“I hate the word adapt.” Bert, a skinny young guy in his twenties, always had an irritable tone for everything other than his service dog Roxie, who lay at his feet. “Like, why should I have to be the one to adapt?”
Bert’s rhetorical question drew some nods and murmurs of agreement. Next to me, Carson tensed. He sat forward in his chair, hands resting on his knees, more of that intent listening he was so good at.
“And there are some things you just can’t get used to, no matter what you try,” Bert continued, voice harsh enough that Roxie nudged his clenched fist. “I really hoped Roxie here would help with the nightmares, but no luck so far.”
Bert’s anger gave others an opportunity to chime in with similar frustrations.
“I hate that everyone else in my life has to adapt as well.” Valerie, a navy veteran, had talked at other meetings about her ongoing struggles with PTSD and social anxiety. “Sucks for them. I can’t go to my kids’ softball games. Can’t handle festivals or concerts. I’m missing out on so much, and so are the kids.”
