Page 41 of When in December
I stuck a fry into my mouth and paused. My forehead creased as I attempted to decipher the taste I was getting that wasn’t just burned?—
“The new bar guy who deals with the fries apparently got into adding spices to the fries.”
“It sucks.”
Barrett laughed, eating a few more. “Really does.”
I took a few more and chewed, listening to the music that slipped through the cracks of the bar.
“How long are you back for?” I finally asked Barrett once I had about a quarter of my beer left. My fingers started to turn numb, but neither of us suggested moving, even to the cab of his truck, which perpetually blew hot air out of the vents, even in the summer.
Barrett tapped his finger against his bottle like he was nervous. “Actually, I’m deciding on that.”
“Deciding?”
“Not sure if I’m ready to reenlist for another deployment for a while.”
For a second, I wondered if he’d said it just to get my attention. Either way, it worked.
“You’re retiring?”
“I wouldn’t call it that. Too young and handsome to retire,” he joked.
“You’re going to leave?”
“Maybe. Just not … reenlist. Maybe I’ll leave. I don’t know.”
“You have to be kidding.”
“People do it all the time.”
“That’s …”Fucked up? Perfect?I didn’t know how to respond.
“I’m tired,” Barrett said. For the first time, I heard it in his voice. The happy-go-lucky man that usually sat next to me let his head sag as he held his beer in two hands. He sucked on the side of his cheek. “You know I love the Army. I was good at it. I liked the structure. The challenge. You assholes.”
Another joke we shared that neither of us laughed at.
Because it was just the two of us, along with a few others who had never come to see me at the hospital but still had been part of our core group for the past decade. Some more, some less.
But still, I couldn’t believe it. “We’re all tired, Barrett.”
“Like you’re going to run back into where we left tomorrow.” He chuckled.
I stared at him. I shrugged. “I’m sure going to try.”
“Now, you have to be the one who’s kidding.”
I stared at him.
“Hayes. Come on now. You did your duty. You got a Purple Heart,” he said. “You’re not going back out there. I saw your file that day, along with you. They discharged you.”
“They medically discharged me,” I corrected. “If I show them I’m fit, I’ll be fine.”
“But you’re not fine, Hayes.”
That was his opinion.
It was as if he could read my thoughts.