Long Road Ch. 05

Author's Note: I am sure that you guys can already tell where this part of the story will end, but it's just another chapter of the events that have taken place. I am grateful at the comments the previous chapters have received, and I am keeping them in mind as each chapter is produced. I will apologize ahead of time because this will be the last chapter for a little while as I make my way through Texas and visit some family.

As promised, the flashbacks are fewer this time, and this chapter brings to an end this part of the story. Quite frankly, breaking it up into different series will make reading it a bit easier considering the way I write and the timeline that I have available to complete chapters. I will pick it up in another series, again this is done for a reason, and I hope that it will become clear as to why I am doing the story in this very unique way. As always, comment, rate, and enjoy the story, I am having fun putting all this on paper.

Also keep an eye out in other sections of Literotica for my other works. The standalone stories are some of my earliest writings, the other series I am beginning there will be based on someone that I briefly discuss in this series, and will hopefully help bring some closure to the character by the time the stories are completed. Some of the characters there might be a little familiar if you have read these chapters, but it is not necessary to do so in order to understand the other series.

I am not putting this series or these characters in the back burner for that project, all I will say is please be patient and: there is a method to the madness.

-aka_Mike

...

Three weeks in beautiful Georgia. I wish I could say that, honestly I wish I could. But those three weeks were miserable. I am sure that if I had the opportunity to go out of the base and actually experience the life in the state, mingle with the locals, and eat the local foods, then my opinion would have been different. DS Anderson had been good, he prepared us physically for what would come during zero day, he also gave us the best piece of advice I had ever received. "Move to the second or third place in the line for the PT Test," he told us, "the first is usually the one they use as an example, the first couple after will be graded fairly, but the last ones will be under huge scrutiny. Once they have enough students, they will find little mistakes to eliminate people." He was right, of course. From the group that left Fort Sam Houston, only five of us made it through Zero Day, we would pick up our equipment and fall into the routine of the training, the rest would get recycled and have the opportunity to try again in a week, when the next class cycle started.

Leyva came into my thoughts frequently, and when I tried to push away those thoughts then Ann would start creeping in. It was strange, the entire last weeks I had been with Harper and Leyva she never entered into my mind. But now, as my body lay exhausted after the harness training my brain tried to make sense of everything that I had pushed out of my mind. Harness training was not as simple as it sounds; we got strapped to an exact replica of the parachute harness where we hung from chains and with our feet dangling ten feet from the ground. While we hung there, we would be instructed to pull our parachute straps to mimic what we would need to do in order to direct our parachute as we descended. Again, this sounds far easier than it is, we learned to steer in every conceivable direction by pulling our body weight and holding it there over and over again. By the time your turn in the harness was up, it would be a miracle if you weren't shaking from exhaustion.

The morning warm up for these activities was a gauntlet called a "smoking session," where we would be pushed to our absolute physical limits while being taunted that all we needed to do to stop the pain was just stand up. Once we stood up, we would return our equipment and would be on our merry way to our next duty station, effectively quitting a training that for many here was not an absolute necessity. It was a little funny, once one body stood up more and more followed. Our class started with 400 candidates, by Jump Week that number was closer to 150. Not all of them quit during the first week, the second week and the mandatory runs made short work of more of the people that weren't quite ready physically for the course. Tower Week drove the dangers of our profession home, in case the constant screaming from the Black Hats had not done that already, falling from the sky is not really a talent. The ones that had trouble with harness training were the ones selected to participate in the Towers, the few other slots were reserved for those that the Black Hats identified as being on the brink of quitting.

But once Jump Week began, the demeanor of the Black Hats changed to a friendlier one that reflected the stress of the week. Regardless of the precautions taken by the Black Hats, when the time came it was us against destiny. We were falling from the sky, alone. Sure, they were in the ground with bullhorns screaming instructions, but even then it was us against destiny. Yes, I was scared, I was nervous, I was terrified, and I had not felt this alive in a very long time. As predicted, the speeches changed as the days dragged on, from encouraging to more boastful screams of pride from both the Black Hats and from us.

"We bring death from above," one of them said as we sat on the aircraft in what would be our last jump before earning our jump wings, "when we land, even Satan shakes. And when our canopies don't open, he shakes even more, knowing that another Airborne is headed to serve his Lord!"

"AIRBORNE!" Our reply came as he walked out of the door to the C-17 and onto the ramp before stepping right out into the open sky. Within one second, 30 eager paratroopers followed his lead, the wind caressing our faces, the complete stillness of the air interrupted only by screams throughout the heavens screaming in anticipation to landing. We would complete our graduation later that day, and receive our orders.

Elvis was headed to Fort Bragg, North Carolina for Special Forces Selection; I would be headed down the road from where I was to join the ranks of the Ranger Indoctrination Process. We shook hands and made to our separate destinations, it would be years until we ran into each other again, but at the time I thought that this would be the last time I would see the only person that I still held some type of connection with because of our adventures in Fort Sam. With a mixture of pride and melancholy, I gathered what little belongings I had with my and headed to Camp Rogers, Fort Benning, Georgia.

I had decided to take a few days of leave before starting Ranger School and so I loaded a small cab and headed to the small airport to a connecting flight and back home. This would be the first time since I left for Basic Training that I would go around and see the old neighborhood; I was looking forward to that but with a slight sense of dread. Ann was there, and I hoped to avoid her at all costs. Of course, I did not count on my dear mother staying out of my business, and I underestimated the cunning of women.

...

Angie and I progressed in our relationship, however uneasy it was. She was part of my chain of command, although not a direct part of it, we had to keep it a little hidden at work. However, it was obvious to our close acquaintances and friends that we were an item. We avoided making eye contact at work or any displays of affection, we even had lunch at different times. However, after duty hours we became completely involved with each other, she often went to the gym with me and I often attended parties with her, again those people that saw us together knew of our situation. The more time we spent together, the more we learned from each other, our past relationships, our quirks, and more importantly our damaged pasts. Like me, she had a couple of deployments under her belt, and like me, she was a little hesitant to openly talk about her experiences short of few snippets.

Usually, she avoided the most uncomfortable questions by asking some of her own openly asking about things that I had made clear I was comfortable talking about. Over the following months, between making love and going out on dates we each learned to ignore a lot of our damaged pasts and looked forward to crafting a new future for ourselves. We both knew that our scars were still fresh, even if years had passed, and that hesitation helped us avoid talking too much about a more permanent future as a couple. She had learned about my training both before and after joining the military, often teasing about how someone like me could end up becoming nothing more than a desk jockey as she called it.

"I don't get it," she would often start, "you could've made a great living as a contractor."

"But then I wouldn't have met you," I replied, trying my best cheesy line to draw another one of those laughs from her.

"Shut up," she said and leaned over to kiss me, "but seriously, why didn't you go through with that?"

"Eventually," I said in a more serious tone, "you have to realize when you've had enough. My uncle once told me that when you when you stop feeling anything, then it's time to walk away. He called it a mask, once you start carrying a mask then you need to walk away before that mask becomes all you see about humanity. You lose sight of who you are, you start to see everyone around you as commodities or hazards. They can help you become more or can cost you." She remain silent while I spoke, my voice becoming a little colder than I wanted, "I was wearing a mask by the time I joined. By the time I had to decide if I was going to continue or get out I had almost forgotten what it was like to be a person. I did become a contractor, though, but I remained stateside to try to get a break. I helped train people that would be headed overseas, some of them that did not return."

"It's not the same..." she began, again reaching out for me in that caring fashion that she had taken to every time she felt that she had pushed too far.

"Yes," I replied, "it was the same. I was preparing them; I failed them at some point or another. They did not come back because I did not prepare them for something." I looked at her, "you know the feeling, don't you? That somehow, something you didn't do right made you lose someone."

"Yes," she meekly replied, we each held onto each other in support, "but sweetheart, it's not the same. You did your best, I'm sure, you aren't responsible for their mistakes, you aren't responsible for what happened." Tears were forming in her eyes, she clung to me almost desperately, as if I would float away from her and she was the only anchor holding me to the earth.

"I was always good at one thing, babe. Putting holes into people," I said, "after joining the military, I became good at patching up those holes. That simplicity helped me make sense of the chaos that was expected, I became a damn good Medic, but I sometimes felt like that spark was gone. Like a lion in a zoo. So I got out, got out of contractor, and got me a simple 9 to 5 to pay the bills until I figure some things out."

"What kind of things are you trying to figure out?" She stopped crying, I think part of her knew that the cheesy line was coming and was prepared for it.

"I don't know yet, all I know is that I want you there when I do." She playfully hit me in the arm even as she tried to pull me in for another kiss. Sometimes my cheesiness helps.

...

I paid the cabbie that had dared take me to my parent's house and gave him a huge tip. I knew that most of them wouldn't have dared coming this far out of the city, so I showed my appreciation to him with my wallet. It was still early in the morning, I hadn't called ahead to surprise my parents, I knew my father would be out working so it would give me plenty of time to listen to my mother's gossip while I waited for him to get home. It was almost as bad as I had anticipated, she hugged me, she yelled at me, she asked me about my training, she wanted to know everything but did not give me a chance to tell her anything. I just laughed as she went on and on, like a child that had eaten far too much sugar. I asked her for the keys to her Expedition so that I could pick up my brother from school, he was the only person that was aware that I would be coming home.

I picked him up from his class, he was in ROTC as I had been years before, I was still in uniform as he had asked me to remain while I picked him up. He walked me to his classroom and introduced me to his primary instructor, I bet you know who it is. He looked at me trying to place me, I had to remind him who I was, and my hair was very different from when I was in high school to that day. Back then I had a shoulder length style that was the rage with the metal heads of the day, by the time I had returned I had been sporting a clean shave face and head. It made it easier for the helmet, especially with the extra foam pieces required for Airborne Operations, and with the constant movement that I knew would be coming through Ranger School. We shared a few laughs, met with some of my old teachers, remembered some few good memories of school, then headed back home.

"You know she's going to tell her you're back, don't you?" My brother laughed as he said this, we all knew how meddlesome my mother could be in our personal lives. This was the main reason why I never told them that I was leaving for the military until the morning when the recruiter came to pick me up to put me on a plane for Basic.

"I told her I did not want to see her," I replied, "so hopefully she doesn't invite her over."

"Um, dude?" He had that tone in his voice, that fucking tone of I'm about to learn something that someone should've told me a long time ago. I learned to hate that tone years before, to this day I fucking hate that tone. "You know that she's renting the little pool house in the back, right?"

"First off," I replied, of course my mother would, "it can't be a fucking pool house if there is no fucking pool." My temper was misdirected, I knew this much but this was some class A bullshit my mother had pulled, "second, why the fuck is she living there?"

"Oh man," he replied, "that's something you need to talk to them. I am not getting in the middle of it."

"For fuck's sake, mother!" I began as we walked into the house, "you just can't fucking help yourself, can you? You always got to get in the fucking middle of shit that is none of your goddamned business!" Now my temper was properly directed.

"Watch your mouth," she replied, "and what are you talking about?"

"Oh don't give me that fucking sainthood fucking innocence," I replied even as my brother ran into his room, "you damn well know exactly what the fuck I am talking about!"

"She needed a place to stay," she began, that other tone I learned to hate, this one being the "I didn't know I was doing the wrong thing" fucking tone that my mother often used. "She's like family, so I let her rent the house."

"She is not fucking family..." I began before she interrupted me.

"You guys have been together for years," she replied, "so forgive me if I think of her as my future daughter-in-law."

"We aren't together, mother," I hissed, "you fucking know that. So whatever fucking game you are playing at, stop now."

"You guys will be together before you know it," she replied matter of fact, "I am just making sure she is here for when you get your head out of your ass and put a ring on that girl. We are having a cookout tonight, and she is invited. So behave yourselves, your uncles and aunts will be here." I knew that cookout meant that I would be doing the cooking, I also knew that my family being there implied that there would be a lot of alcohol, and I also knew that behaving meant that I was expected to talk to Ann.

"You're a fucking piece of work," I spat at my mother as I walked away.

"You mind how you're talking to your mother" she replied, holding a wooden spoon in her hands. I am very familiar with said spoon, but it no longer scared me... too much.

"I'll mind her as much as she minds her business" I answered as I walked outside, more than ready to light a cigarette.

As I lit the cigarette, a voice interrupted my foul mood. "I told her it was going to blow up in her face." My father said from the side of the house, I moved to him as I held me cigarette. Normally I wouldn't smoke in from of my father as a matter of respect, but I was pissed and didn't think much of it as I made my way around the corner of the house. "You shouldn't be smoking," he said as he saw the cigarette in my hand.

"No," I replied, "you shouldn't be smoking," I replied, "thought you were told you needed to quit by the doctor." That was the other reason I did not smoke around him, he had developed a bad heart problem and his doctor had forced him to quit smoking, he was clearly the reason behind my own medical stubbornness.

"I only smoke when I get stressed," he replied, "and your mother has been stressing me out a lot lately. Have you talked to Ann?"

"No," I replied, offering him another cigarette as he reached into the cooler laying beside him and offering me a beer. We had never been this close, so it was a momentary bonding moment between him and I. "Just got into town, haven't gone back there yet."

"It's just the same," he replied as he lit the offered cigarette, "think she's still at work. Her car is not here. Son," he started, looking at the ground as if searching for a way to tell me something that he knew would piss me off, "your mother has taken it upon herself to teach Ann how to win you over. We got into it when she first started doing that, I slept in the living room for a few nights. Then I kicked her out of the room, told her if she wanted to spend so much time with Ann then she should be the one out of the bed. She spend a few nights over there before she came back. I didn't fight it too much because Ann was in rough shape when she got back from wherever the fuck she had gone. Talking to your mother brought her back to the world of the living."

"I had told her to let it be," I replied, "but that's like some code only she knows that means 'get your nose in my business,' and off she goes."

"Just be cordial, son" he said, I guess he knew that I would have to eventually talk to Ann, "let me take a shower and we'll head to the store to buy whatever we are going to need for tonight." Before I could say anything he continued, "I walked in when she said that, that's why I am out here in my stress relief."

"I'll be out here," I replied, fishing another cigarette from my pack, "I'll go off on her if I go back inside."

"She means well, son" he replied, "you can't blame her for that at least."

I knew he was right, but I also knew that she was trying to play poker with a deck of UNO cards, so I finished my beer and went inside to my old room to get ready for a trip to the store. I never told them the reason for out breakup, partially out of shame and partially because I knew that my mother would get herself involved in the situation. Even more than she was even now.

The trip was quick, we got chicken, some pork, a few hotdogs, and a few pounds of chorizo. This was one of my favorite dishes, you take all the meats and finely chop them and mix them together. Then you cook it over a fire on a steel disk, slowly pouring a beer over it to keep the meat moist and turning it to make sure it cooked evenly. After a few hours, you throw some tortillas over the meat to heat them up then you walk away unless you want to get trampled by the hungry hands that would reach into the dish in order to serve themselves.