What good would it do? We’re worlds apart, both physically and mentally. We couldn’t be living more opposite lives even if we tried. “Nothing, baby. Just a long day, just … I’m tired.”
She sighs. “I’ll bet. I can’t imagine what you’re going through."
She has no idea.
“Where are you right now?”
“Back at base; had to tie up some loose ends.” Had to bring back what was left of my fellow comrades, get new orders, wait for more Marines to get shipped out so we could make a new plan to go find whoever did this to us. “I’ll be heading out again in a few days.”
“Be safe,” she whispers.
I don’t want to say that I will, because I don’t want to make a promise I can't keep. “What’s new with you? What are you performing tonight?”
“Giselle.”
“That's your favorite? Right?”
“Oh my gosh, it’s incredible. I wish you could see it in person. You should at least look online for a video of a performance. It's painfully beautiful.”
“Wow.” I try to muster some energy for my reaction, but I’m too beat to make it believable. “Sounds cool. I'm glad you … get to dance it.” I've talked about ballet with Magnolia since we were kids, and somehow, I can't think of anything else to say, any questions to ask, or to offer anything besides a lame ‘cool.’
“Yeah, it’s been exhausting, harder than I would have imagined. These last few months have been some of the hardest of my life, training-wise. I’ve been challenged like you wouldn’t believe.”
A small, condescending laugh escapes me, and the second it does, I can feel her tone shift.
“What’s that laugh for?”
I wish my days were only as exhausting as hers. I’d kill for the day of playing ball, of a three-hour practice in the Florida sun being the stressful point of my day. I used to whine when I had to sit and watch tapes after practices. I thought I knew exhaustion, sacrifice, but I knew nothing until I came here. “Nothing. Not to be a dick, but you’re a ballerina, Mags. What’s the hardest decision you have to make in a day? Whether to twirl left or right?”
“Screw you, Lukas.”
Mags has never sworn at me before, at anyone, really. Saying screw you is her version of telling someone to fuck off.
“You wouldn’t have any idea, Lukas. You don’t know what goes on with me anymore. Because we don’t talk. And when we do talk, you’re like this.”
We’re both quiet, the awkward silence stretching out until it’s painful.
Apologize, I yell to myself. Make it right. Tell her that you mean to call more often. Tell her about the stack of half-writtenletters you have addressed to her. Letters that read like a diary, telling her how you can feel yourself changing.
I rub at the center of my chest, willing myself to say what my mind is begging me to do. That’s how it always is lately. My mind can say one thing, nearly demand it of me, but I can’t dig myself out of this mental fog enough to do it.
“Lukas, what's happened?”
“I don’t want to talk about it.”
“I think you need to, though,” she prods. “I know you, Lukas. You’ll keep whatever you’re going through buried deep inside because you don’t want to bother anyone; that’s what you do. I know my therapist told me to wait, to not push you, but something’s off. Ifeelit. You said yourself you wanted to try to talk about what’s going on, and this would be the time. You can’t?—”
“I already have a mom to nag me, Mags. I don't need another one.” I practically spit the words at her, willing her to stop talking. I don’t want to talk about what happened. Ican’ttalk about what happened. Not now. She’s silent on the other end of the line, and I know I’ve fucked up. “That’s … that’s not what I?—”
“You’re right,” she says, clearly her throat roughly. “And I need my boyfriend, a supportive partner, not a child to coddle.”
“That’s not how I mean it at all.” I push off of the cot and pace through the small barracks. Needing fresh air, needing space, I walk down the hall, boots scuffing along the tile. The worn yellow fluorescent lights cast a sickening glow on the walls, and I leave the tent, moving toward my buddies playing cards at an open picnic table. I swipe a cigarette from one of their packs, and usher for someone to toss me a lighter.
“I wish you’d open up to me, Lukas,” she finally says. “We don’t get the luxury of seeing each other when we want. We need to be able to talk like we used to.”
I nod, inhaling a deep drag of my cigarette as I light it, exhaling while I tell her I agree.
“What’s that noise? Are you … are you smoking something?”
