“I’m sorry Royce couldn’t make it this morning. There was an accident on the bridge from Bellevue.” There’s always an accident on the bridge. Well, almost always. I hope Phillip doesn’t pay attention to trafficreports.
His smile highlights the lines around his mouth. Phillip is pushing seventy, from what I’ve read, but he appears much younger. “The absurdity of this city’s traffic causes no end of problems,doesn’tit?”
“Itdoes.”Shit.
I worry he’s going to call me on my lie, but instead, he sighs and leans back in his chair. “Ironically, that’s the reason I’ve asked you here. I’m throwing a party over Labor Day weekend. My daughter is kicking off her campaign for the Senate. Media coverage will be high, and we’ll have several members of the City Council present, as well as colleagues from her law firm and four former state representatives. Emma wanted the party at Coana East in Bellevue, but the Department of Transportation decided that’s the perfect weekend to tear down the overpass two blocks away. I’d like folks to show up—not be stuck in a traffic nightmare forhours.”
I nod, unsure of what this has to do with me, but then he leans forward and with an earnest gaze asks, “Is there any possible way we can bump up the install date for Oversight so it’s ready for the party?” He flips through a few pages of his desktop calendar. “Say in…threeweeks?
I’d push back, but we’ve never had a contract this big. We’re close. If Lucas and I work theweekends…
“I’ll compensate your firm for any overtime,” Phillip offers as I ponder theramifications.
Royce’s impassioned speech to the office when we took this contract replays in my head. Our big break. Our chance to put our small firm on the map. If I say no, I’ll let everyone down. With a deep breath, I force a smile. “We’ll make ithappen.”
Oversight is solid. Wiring the entire hotel in three weeks worries me, but Royce has installers on call. We candothis.
“Fantastic.”
* * *
Sparks of painrace up my left thigh, settling into my hip where I’m pretty sure someone’s driving a dagger directly into my pelvis. All afternoon, I kept myself going with thoughts of pizza and hard cider, then someHaloafter the worst of the strain fades. Vicodin goes so well with pepperoni,afterall.
Once I’ve placed the order, I sink into my recliner and open my laptop. You’d think after spending my days programming security software, I’d find something else to do at night, but the men and women I talk to online are my friends. I’m more comfortable behind a keyboard thananywhereelse.
Logging onto VetNet, I post a quick greeting:Been a long day. Everything hurts, and I’m trying to hold off taking a pain pill for a while. Distract me,please.
As I poke around the various threads, my messengerdings.
WestWind:You want distraction? I just picked upGears of War. Comejoinme.
West, the retired SEAL I’ve spent most of my nights with—online—ends his message with a YouTube link, and, seconds later, I’m laughing so hard my sides hurt. The puppy on the screen tries to navigate stairs for the first time, and the little yips and squeals as he gives up and runs down the stairs like some Evil-Knievel-wannabe ease the knots in my shoulders and back. My shoulders quake as I type myresponse.
FlashPoint:As soon as my pizza shows up. Give me an hour, and I’m allyours.
WestWind:All? Don’tteaseme.
I choke on my blackberry cider, sending liquid burning down my throat. When I can breathe again, I pause with my fingers on the keyboard. How in the world am I supposed to respond to that? We’re…friends. Sort of. Gaming buddies. Though lately, something’s shifted in his tone, and my cheeks burn as I realize he’s beenflirting. What’s worse, I’veflirtedback.
What the hell do I do now?In the end, cowardice wins, and I find a clip of baby sloths swaddled in fuzzy blankets, pop the link into the chat window, and send him a quickmessage.
FlashPoint:If you don’t up your game, I’m going to tease you mercilessly for being the only SEAL alive who can’t hit the broad side of an alien transpo with an assaultrifle.
That should shut him up for a while and give me time to think. Or avoid. Avoidance is easier. I head over to the Family and Relationships board. Fifteen new messages await—unsurprising, as families can be stressful under the best of circumstances. Add in PTSD, paralysis, amputation, and any of the other assorted injuries our members deal with, and you ratchet the stress level up to athousand.
A new amputee, JT893, posts about his girlfriend walking out on him, and the other members pile on, offering the predictable-but-true “you can do better than her” platitudes. I agree. Amputees with proper care can do almost anything these days with the advances in prosthetics, and if this chick doesn’t understand that, she doesn’tdeserveJT.
Over on the Rants and Vents board, a long thread catchesmyeye.
HuskyFan1998:New here. I served for nine years and came back so FUBAR that I couldn’t go back to my old job. Bummed around on my pension until my wife got pregnant, and then found this sweet job I loved. Great hours, enough money for us to get by, and paid vacation. And it all went to hell a month ago. The company started this big remodel and the noise… God, I thought I was back in Iraq. Jackhammers, nail guns, power sanders. I couldn't think straight. And then this customer starts yelling at me. Sounded just like my old CO. I lost it. Started to shake, barely stopped myself from pissing down my leg. I couldn't move. Couldn't think. When my boss came over, he jabbed me in the chest, and I swung at him. Missed, thank God. If I’d hit him, I’d probably beinjail.
Getting fired sucks ass, and my wife’s pregnant again. I can’t support us on my army pension, and she’s on bed rest. We’re going to run out of savings soon. And then I come home today to find out that I can’t borrow against my 401K because HR fucked up my paperwork. I needed that money to cover our health insurance until my new job’s coverage kicks in at the end of the month. What the hell am I going to do? My boss just had to touch me. I should sue him for all he's worth. And the company too. They can't do this to me. My wife can barely stand to look at me, and my son keeps asking why Mommy cries all the time. I don’t know what elsetodo.
HuskyFan1998 echoes the desperation a lot of us feel. Messed up after our tours, we try to put our lives back together, but some of us never do. I can’t fix his problems, but sometimes we just need to know someoneunderstands.
FlashPoint:HuskyFan, I’m one of the moderators here. Just wanted to tell you that you’re not alone. PTSD’s no joke. Sounds like your boss is damn lucky he’s never experienced it. I’ve got a list of lawyers in the greater Seattle area if that’d help. There might not be anything they can do—I know nothing about the law, really—but some of them take on pro bono work. At least they’d be able to tell you if there’s anything they can do aboutyour401k.
I wish I could offer more than sympathy. Stick around and get to know folks. Above all, what’s posted here, stays here. Though we let anyone join, we take privacy very seriously. So vent all you want. I learned a long time ago that the worst thing you can do is keep your pain bottled up inside. Take care ofyourself.
