Tethered Edge

We had been planning out this last date for a while now. We tried to laugh it off at first, like it would be any other meeting. I mean, you’re supposed to be friends with your significant other, aren’t you? It’s just friends hanging out at the end of the day.

But as the day got closer, we kept putting it off. Neither of us were any good at goodbyes, and no theatrical Disney musical sting could get us to pause in our everyday lives, look up to the sky with a glisten in our eyes, and run toward each other in an impossibly long embrace sequence. It just wasn’t us.

So when Kate decided to make the date for both of us, seeing (rightfully) that I was reluctant to make the plans for both of us, I breathed a sigh of relief that ended up choking my throat. Hot tears I didn’t intend for ran rolling down my cheeks and I was just grateful that I was by myself. I just happened to be packing for the trip too – light, as instructions were given to just bring the essentials. 

I paced back and forth in my spartan apartment, lit only by the one window in the corner of the living room. I used to think of Kate as that light; always there, shining just for me it seemed. But now our lives were going in two different directions entirely; I had to go to war and she had to go to college, and it just seemed there was no way out of these two fates.

The next day, Kate and I met at the little bistro we had our first date at, Mark’s Diner. It was a nice little place, cheap, well-lit, and it served as a retro themed diner at one time but has since fallen into a certain amount of disrepair for the old vintage furnishings so they just put down some new linoleum that wasn’t cracked and slapped up some music posters on the wall. It wasn’t a bad look, but it made you feel like you were eating brunch in your brother’s room.

I was there first, playing with a pen I just happened to have found in my pocket. I was just about to start taking it apart when Kate bounced up in a nice blue dress that I always told her she looked radiant in. She always beamed when I told her that, cultivating a rosy smile that went from ear to ear and never ceased to keep me from smiling myself. There was something safe in that smile.

“You look beautiful as always, Kate,” I said with a sense of resignation, knowing it was probably one of the last times I could say sappy stuff like this.

“Really? I just kind of put this together,” Kate said off-handedly, giggling a little, still grinning that pretty smile of hers. “You don’t look half bad yourself there, sir. Or is it soldier?”

I chuckled and looked down, putting the pen back in my pocket. I laced my fingers together in front of me and gave her a thoughtful look. “Pretty soon, here,” I said, glancing out the window for a second. “It won’t be long before I’ll be joining the ranks of the United States Army.”

“Well, just be safe,” Kate said, her tone dropping to a more serious note. “It’d be nice to see you again when this is all over.”

I had to physically fight myself from crying again. I was not going to cry, not now. Not at this moment.

“Oh, I almost forgot this at home,” Kate said, rummaging in her little plaid bag she always carried slung over her shoulder, even when she sat down. “It’s that book I kept saying you had to read. I figured a long trip like the one you’re going on would be perfect to start reading it.”

I never remembered the name of the book. No matter how many times I tried to force myself to focus on this one little detail, the title always looks like a blur in my memory. Ditto on the author too, so I may never find out what she was wanting me to read. I’d spend the last few dollars in my dwindling bank account to buy it and read it.

Kate smiled a wan smile that didn’t quite meet her deep blue eyes, which showed a spark of tentative passion. “I’m going to miss you, you know,” she said, folding her arms in front of her on the table. Looking down at the menus between us, her eyes darted from me to the table before continuing, “You know I’m not gonna forget you Mike, not for a minute.”

I almost forgot where I was for a minute, and when I came to a couple seconds later she was still there, as present as ever. As real as ever. As I touched her arm, she laced her other arm out from under the arm I was holding, and we sat that way for a while, just looking into each other’s eyes and not saying one word.

We ordered our food and took our leaves, each lingering ever so long to help us cope with our mutual loss of each other. Kate cried too, knowing that I might not make it before she sees me again. 

“It’ll be okay, baby,” I told her. “I’ll be back before you know it. Just focus on school, and I’ll be back home.”

And that was the last time I saw her. 

Kate86: And that was the last thing you remember?

M_Parker4: Of you? Yeah.

Kate86: That’s not how I remember it.

M_Parker4: Why, what do you remember?

Kate86: I remember seeing you the day before you left. It was a quick inconsequential thing, but I’m glad I went. You remember Dom’s going away party for you?

M_Parker4: Oh yeah, I do. We all got really wasted that night. That must be why I don’t remember.

Kate86: Well it’s a good thing I can remember for the both of us.

Renee winced as she kept monitoring the conversation. As an AI supervisor, she had to make sure at all times that the AI was remaining in consistent conversational tones with the soldier, to keep up appearances. Especially in cases like this, where the living representative of the couple was no longer around to survey their own conversations.

In all consideration, it was unfair to keep these service men in the dark about what happened to their loved ones. In many cases, including this one, it was usually a decision carried over by the family and commanding officers, to keep the soldier’s morale pointed toward winning the fight for the good guys. 

Renee sighed and walked down the long block of cubicles, people from different programs talking to soldiers from overseas. She reached in her back pocket for her Newports and walked out the front door of the building, as calm as a quiet storm.