Matt & Zoe (27 page)

“I’m twenty-four, Matt. It’s time for me to figure out what I want to do when I grow up.”

He snorts. “Good luck with that. I don’t think anybody knows for sure.”

“What about teaching?” I ask. “How did you get into that?”

He stares out into the growing darkness, seeming to compose an answer in his head. Just before the silence becomes interminable, he says, “I had a teacher who inspired me. He made a real difference in my life, at a time when I needed what he had to offer. That’s why I ended up focusing on education. Honestly, I wanted to teach high school. Jobs were scarce when I graduated, and when I got an offer in South Hadley, I took it.”

“You didn’t look in Florida?”

In a slow, thoughtful tone, he says, “If a hurricane were to wash all of Florida away into the Atlantic Ocean, I’d be unlikely to shed a tear.”

Wow
. That drives home the fact that there’s a great deal I don’t know about Matt Paladino. What is it about his past that makes him so evasive? What is it that makes him so angry?

“I don’t suppose you’re going to tell me why you feel that way.”

He shrugs, and says, “Not much to tell. Florida is a cesspool. There’s no funding for schools. Kids don’t get textbooks, and the teachers barely get paid. In Florida, I could do better waiting tables.”

I’m sure all of that is true. I’m also sure that it’s only part of the story.

“Have it your way, Matt.” I don’t even bother to hide my annoyance.

“You know, for someone who pushes so hard for me to open up about my past, you’ve said nothing about your time in the Army.”

Now my annoyance flashes into anger. “That’s because it was a vicious, traumatic experience. I don’t like to dredge it back up.”

“You don’t say?” His eyes are gentle, but I feel as if he’s laughing at me. Caught in my own trap. I ought to know well, that war is hardly the only traumatic experience. Look at Jasmine… She went off to camp one morning and returned an orphan that afternoon. She’ll probably be in therapy for a decade. I probably ought to be. Maybe it’s wrong for me to push Matt so hard.

All the same, secrets bother the hell out of me.

Chapter Seventeen

You can shove your support (Zoe)

I’m not ready for this.

The small conference room in the Student Union feels crowded even though there aren’t that many of us in here. Part of that is the lack of windows. Part of it is the oversized table that’s out of proportion to the room. At the head end of the table is Craig Stills, the Director of Veterans Services at UMASS. He has a fierce grin on his face, like a wolf that’s just taken down its prey. I’m sandwiched in between Craig and Nicole, who showed up in her uniform. Me and Nicole are the only women in the room. At the end of the table opposite Craig are two men, both in their early twenties, both looking as if they are uncomfortable in their own skin. Hair cropped extremely short, I would expect either one of them could change back into uniform this afternoon and look wholly in place.

Across from me, slumped in a chair with his eyes closed, is a man with disheveled looking hair that’s well past his shoulders. His tangled blond beard is overdue for a trim. His skin is weathered, giving him an overall appearance that seems out of sync somehow. I can’t quite place what’s wrong, until I look at his hands. No age spots… His hands look young. He looks like he’s twenty, but his eyes make him look fifty.

When Craig clears his throat and says, “Let’s get started,” the man across from me looks up and meets my eyes.

That’s when I realize I was wrong—he’s not young. His eyes make him look a thousand years old.

“I think we’ll all introduce ourselves first,” Craig says. “I’m assuming you don’t know each other. I’m Craig Stills, Director of Veterans Services. You’ve all come to my attention—one way or another—that you’re combat veterans. While I’m sure there are more on campus, we’ll start with this group and maybe grow over time. Long story short, I was an Army Sergeant until late 2005, when the insurgents decided it was time for me to medically retire.”

As Craig probably expected, his grim humor evokes chuckles around the room. “Anyway… After a year of physical therapy and recovery, I got my Master’s in social work at NC State, then came to work here.”

Craig points at me. Why we can’t go around the table in the other direction? Whatever. “I’m Zoe Welch. Military police, one tour in Iraq, then I was stationed in Japan for a little bit more than a year. I just got home a few weeks ago.”

Craig smiles and says, “You don’t have to talk about it, obviously, but there are some unusual circumstances around your life now. Do you want to say anything?”

No, I want to punch him in the face.

I sigh. “My parents were killed in an accident a few weeks ago. I have custody of my eight-year-old sister. I’m trying to figure out what I’m going to do—I didn’t have a plan for when I got out of the military because I was planning on staying in.”

Craig gives me a warm smile, and says, “Welcome home, Zoe.” His words make me choke up a little. Now I want to punch him even more.

“Nicole?”

Nicole grimaces. She elbows me in the side. “Me and Zoe were best friends as kids and enlisted together. We were in Iraq together. I got out of the Army before she did. Now I mostly police up drunken frat boys and investigate stolen laptops and dormitory sexual assaults… in other words, I’m a UMASS cop.”

Craig says, “Nicole won’t tell you, but I will. She was awarded a Bronze Star for valor.”

Nicole tries to waive it off. “It was just for showing up.”

I interrupt. “That’s bullshit Nicole. You saved our lives.”

She rolls her eyes.

“Mike?” Craig directs the word at Tom Cruise look-alike at the end of the table. He seems to sit at attention. Clear complexion, dark brown hair, light blue eyes and a cocky grin. His striking appearance is marred by his obvious arrogance.

Or is that just me reading my own bias into the situation?

“Mike Palmer. Infantry, Afghanistan and Iraq. I’m a junior here majoring in engineering.”

No… I’m guessing my assessment was correct.

The next man speaks without prompting. Like Mike, he has a formal, almost rigid look about him. Extremely dark skin, with very short cropped hair, he’s wearing a polo shirt with the creases ironed so sharp you could cut yourself. He’d look more at home in a business meeting than on campus here. “I’m Terrell Palmer. Marine Corps. Civil affairs. I did four tours in Iraq.”

My mouth drops open. It’s not that I didn’t know people that served that many tours…it’s just that I didn’t know anybody who’d served that many and come out of it without being a little crazy.

Of course, it was pretty early to tell anything about Terrell.

Finally it’s the turn of the guy across from me. He lets silence weigh the room down for a few seconds before speaking. Finally he said, I’m Luke Osmond. I was a sniper.”

Luke says nothing more. I’m not the only one who notices. Craig looks at him, raises an eyebrow, and says, “That’s it?”

Luke shrugs. “Ain’t that enough?”

I guess so.

“I called you all together because I believe there are particular challenges associated with being a combat veteran returning to college—over and above what others might face. I want to give you guys a chance to network… And maybe lean on each other a little. Sometimes it’s hard to find people who understand what language we’re speaking.”

Luke snorts. “Who would want to?”

“I don’t have any problems readjusting,” Mike says. “I’m happy to help anyone who is having trouble.” As he says the words, he eyes Luke.

“We’ll see how things develop,” Craig says. “Don’t rule out how much or what help you may need in the future. I’ll tell you a fascinating fact that I learned last year. During the Gulf War? There was a surge of PTSD diagnoses among World War II veterans. The same thing happened for Vietnam veterans during Iraq. Sometimes this shit sets in a long time after the fact.”

Mike smirks. “Like when people are looking for a check from the government?”

Craig frowns.

Luke shakes his head. “I get it. You’re one of those jerks who thinks he knows everything.”

Mike freezes. Then in a conversational voice, he says, “And you’re one of those crybabies who sits on the street begging for money saying ‘poor me’ aren’t you?”

Always helpful, Nicole blurts out, “
Motherfucker
.”

“Gentlemen…ladies… that’ll be quite enough.” Craig says. “Maybe we should stick to topics that have to do with supporting each other.”

“You can shove your support up your ass.” After he says the words, Mike gathers his bag and walks out, leaving the door ajar.

A weird silence settles over the room after his departure.

Nicole stands up, walks to the door and closes it. “He’s kinda mad.”

That evokes a choked laugh from Luke.

Terrell says, “Looks like he needs this group more than anyone.”

“Maybe,” Nicole quips. “Support groups can’t cure being an asshole.”

The four of us remaining in the room look at Craig as if to say, “What now?”

Luke actually asks it. “What now?”

Craig says “We continue as planned. This isn’t for everybody. Not everybody needs it, and even less people want it. It’s up to you guys. I called this group together for you—if you think you can use the support, here it is.”

Nicole gets a wry smile on her face. “Well, I’m staying for all the drama.” The rest of us laugh.

Craig says, “Why don’t we get started with you guys telling us a little bit about your biggest challenges since returning to school.”

Luke says, “That’s easy. It’s being around all these people.”

I understand that. I honestly thought I was going to go insane in Tokyo sometimes. I grew to tolerate the crowding, and even to love the city, but I never felt entirely comfortable.

Craig asks, “What is it about the people that bothers you?”

“I guess there’s some diamonds in the mix, but most of them are over-privileged, immature kids. It’s all about partying and getting drunk and getting laid and who gives a shit about anything else. When I tell people I was in the Army they look at me like I said I was from Mars. As far as they’re concerned I might as well be.”

“How does that make you feel?” Craig asked.

“Sometimes I want to go back. Or at least get away from here. Honestly it was a little easier on the streets. Get something to eat, something to drink, you’re good to go. At least until winter comes. Now it’s all complicated. I hate that.”

It takes me a minute to make sense of what he is saying.
It was easier on the street
. Was he homeless?

Nicole, who dropped her verbal filter in the toilet years ago and never got it working again, leans her head back, eyes narrowing a little. “Wait a minute… I thought you looked familiar. You used to panhandle over near the Starbucks.” It wasn’t a question.

Luke shrugs. “I played guitar some. Sang a little. I entertained people for a dime.”

“I remember. I wondered what had happened to you.”

“I guess I decided dorm life was better.”

“That’s not a hard call to make,” Nicole says.

I catch myself wondering what Luke looked like when he was still in the Army. Before he had the scraggly beard and long hair and cheap secondhand clothes.

“How did you end up homeless?” I ask.

“Wasn’t one thing. It was 109 of them.”

Nicole shakes her head, and I get a sinking feeling, and it’s obvious that Terrell knows what he means. He mutters, “
Shit
.”

Nicole is still struggling, so I let her off the hook. I lean over and touch her on the shoulder. “He’s saying he had 109 kills. He was a sniper.” The room goes grimly silent. Nicole croaks something.

Luke says, “Not trying to kill the vibe guys. But you asked. I ended up homeless because I couldn’t work. I can’t work because I can’t sleep. And I’ve got a little bit of an anger problem. Fucking Army threw me out. They said I had a personality disorder. Yeah, I had a personality disorder. Who wouldn’t after shooting all those people?”

Personality disorder? “What does that mean?”

“Means they threw me out with the garbage. No veterans benefits. At least not until Craig helped me out. Anyway, I don’t want to talk about my bullshit anymore. What about you?” He looks at me as he asks the question. “You lost your parents?”

He asks the question as if he thought I did it.

“It was an accident. A stupid freaking accident. They were killed by an oven.”

Nicole says, “You don’t have to —“

Luke stares at me. His eyes are uncomfortable.

Then he asks the craziest question I ever heard. “What kind of oven?” He has one eyebrow scrunched down as he asks the question.

I shake my head just the barest of shakes. “I…it … it was a commercial oven. It hit my Dad’s car.” I realize how weird that sounds, and I wave my hands a little in confusion, then say, “It was flying. I mean… it… the truck turned over. The oven flew out…”

Nicole looks horrified.

Terrell has an expression more appropriate for a Marine—incredulous near—amusement. He leans forward, and says, “Your parents were killed by a flying commercial oven?”

Luke nearly chokes himself. “That… is the craziest thing I’ve ever… what the
hell
?” He’s obviously struggling to suppress… laughter?

Terrell mutters, “Oh my God.”

That’s all it takes. I don’t think anybody outside of this room would understand what happens next. I don’t even understand. Luke lets out a choked cry and loses it, exploding into the most inappropriate laughter ever. Immediately he looks ashamed of himself and he clamps his hand over his mouth and squeezes his eyes shut. Then Terrell bursts into laughter.

Nicole is going to set them both on fire.

But then, before my best friend can rush to the rescue, I do something that appalls even me. I start laughing myself. I can’t stop. It rumbles up from my chest until I have to scream, and tears roll down my face as I both laugh and cry.

Luke has sort of gotten ahold of himself by now. “Christ, I am so sorry,” he says. I shake my head urgently, unable to speak. Then I fall into mild hysterics again, but this time there is less laughter and far more tears.