War

“Two more soldiers were killed in Brazil today while performing routine inspection of their platoon’s motor pool. The Brazilian military denies any activity in that area, insisting that it was the act of anti-war guerillas. This attack brings the American death toll to three-hundred ninty-fo—” I unplugged the monochrome monitor from the wall as I walked past.

“Hey! I was watching that!”

“Tough.” I shot her a glance that could melt steel. “This war is bullshit. I’m sick of hearing about it.”

“Come on, Chris! I want to know if my dad is okay.” Callie looked at me and tried to imitate a pound puppy. She was a cute girl, but she failed miserably.

“Look,” I said, noticing the tears welling up in the corners of her crystal-blue eyes, “your dad is on a ship in the middle of the Pacific Ocean. How could some guerillas in Brazil hurt him? The war isn’t in America, and even if it were, it would be taking place on the land—not the sea.” My words seemed to provide some solace, but I could tell from her sniffling that the calm was only temporary.

“If you hate the war so much, then why are you leaving? I mean, my dad is already out there. I don’t need both the men I love to get killed.”

“I’m not going to die, Callie. Hell, I’m not even fighting! Why would a soldier shoot a guy with a pen?”

“The soldiers wouldn’t, but the bullets don’t care whose lives they take or whose family they destroy.” Callie was becoming visibly upset again as I quickly jotted that line down: It would be a good closer to an article I was working on.

“Well, you should look on the bright side. If I get killed in battle, maybe your dad won’t hate me as much.”

The joke went over much better than I expected, because a smile crept between Callie’s painted lips, and a quiet laugh skittered out.

“Shut up, Chris. He doesn’t hate you. And, you aren’t going to die, so don’t even talk like that.”

The thing is, I knew for a fact that her dad hated the fact that we were married: I could see it in his face as he gave her away at our wedding. It felt more like I was stealing her than receiving her as a gift. If I had it my way, we wouldn’t have had to worry about any of that, but Callie is Callie, and that means the wedding was going to be in my hometown with both of our (extended) families present. The fact that I was crazy in love with the girl more than outweighed the complete disdain I had for American tradition, so she got the wedding her way.

Her dad still probably blames me for that hideous wedding. Maybe I will die in the war.

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