Bailey

He was taller than me and carried himself in such a way that others stepped aside to let us through. When the crowd around the food court grew thick with people, he extended an elbow and grinned. Was this really happening? It felt more like I'd stepped into some old movie from another time when men respected women and treated them like a treasure. My hand closed around his strong arm and the universe seemed to sigh with relief as if the scattered pieces of something colossal were finally together again. I felt it all the way in the center of my heart.

"So tell me about this uniform, are you in the Army?" I asked as we stood in the line at the overcrowded café.

"Not the Army," he chuckled as if that should've been obvious. "I'm in the Marines." He dipped his lips down closer to my ear as if to tell me a secret and then whispered, "Marines are the toughest. We don't like to be mistaken for the Army." I was looking straight ahead, but I could hear the smile in his words.

"Sorry. I didn't know. So how long have you been in?" I lifted my face up so I could see his and my eyes followed his profile as he read the menu. I should've been reading it too, but I couldn't quite look away. He didn't seem old enough to look so mature.

"I've been in for almost a year. I just finished school, but I'm headed home for a little while to be a recruiter's assistant while I take care of a few things." I could see a change in his expression, a sadness that veiled his previously bright eyes. I knew not to ask about that any further, so I nodded my head and focused my attention on the menu. I could feel him watching me, and it made my heart beat roughly inside my chest. I seemed like it was my turn to let him in a little.

"I'm going to my father's house. He's an asshole and has a new family." His eyes stayed on me and I turned my face back to his. We connected there in that vulnerable place and held the silence for a minute as the line in front of us inched forward. The words had tumbled easily from my mouth, and that surprised me. I tried not to talk about my dad unless I had to. I suddenly worried that he might try to say something to comfort me and I hated that. There was nothing anyone could say to make up for my father leaving.

Lucas said nothing. He just looked into my eyes and was present. The line scooted up and we moved a few steps. "Is this your summer break?" he asked.

"Yes."

"And you are choosing to visit him?" his eyes looked forward again and he guided me a few steps towards to the front of the line. I laughed softly at his question. A big sigh escaped my lips. He was a stranger, but there was something about our connection that made me feel safe sharing that part of my life.

"Judge's orders actually. You see when you're a teenager and your father decides he's done with his life in California and is going to move across the entire country, there has to be some sort of resolution so that the judge can sleep at night. I blame the formalities of the court system."

"The 'formalities of the court system'" he repeated with a grin.

"Yes. The way I see it, some judge goes to work and gets assigned a case where the parents aren't able to agree on what should happen with their child. Mediation didn't work, so he was forced to rule so that the order could be filed. It all comes down to the stupid paperwork. He only has a few hours to review the case and then he makes a quick decision, some box gets checked or some legal babble is printed and then that judge gets to go home and never think about the consequences.

"I on the other hand, along with thousands of other children of broken homes, must live with what he's done. So every summer I must leave my friends and the parent that actually gave a shit about my wellbeing, and fly across the country so that my father can have 'his time.' And at the end of 'his time,' I must fly home again with these wonderful memories of him being at work while I play with his new kids. I also get to fly home with the knowledge that my opinion of the whole situation doesn't matter. It doesn't matter that I don't want to go. It doesn't matter that I'm missing out on a summer with my friends, and it doesn't matter that the whole thing only reminds me that I didn't matter."

His face was unmoving and yet I could see the empathy there. He looked away quickly, but then came back to me. "If you'd told me all of that a year ago I would've never understood. A year ago I sat in a small office at the mall and signed away my right to get a say in where I go. I sat in this shitty cheap chair as some arrogant asshole threw lie after lie at me and I ate it all up. I wanted to be tough; I wanted to make a difference and fight for my country. He preyed on that. He took my vague vision of what my duty to this country encompassed and molded it into an excellent sales pitch.

"And I signed. I signed because I didn't think I could get into college. I signed because even if I could've, I didn't want to go. I signed because the electricity at my house had been shut off twice in six months and I just wanted to know what a dependable paycheck would look like. I signed and I gave up my right to decide where I would live and when I would eat. Back then I didn't understand the value of my choices, but today I do."

My heart felt heavy and ached in my chest. I looked at this hero beside me, a little boy dressed in men's clothing, and I felt the loss of his autonomy as if it were my own. My free hand rose to my chest instinctively. "Do you regret it?" If he said he did it would break my heart. It would feel hopeless and I wasn't sure I could breathe if I saw that feeling in his eyes.

"No. It took some time getting used to it. It took a few months of drinking until I was black out drunk before I could wrap my head around what I'd done. I felt sorry for myself, and that's a feeling I never want to experience again. It fucking ate at me until I was this miserable kid." The darkness in his expression seemed to fade.

"Then one night I grew up. I was piss drunk on the floor of my barracks with my friends all fucking around and laughing in my room. I felt happy for the first time in forever and I realized that the recruiter might have lied to me and made promises that he had no power to keep, but I wanted to believe him. I wanted the Corps to be the answer and in the end, it gave me everything I needed. I had a bed to sleep in, food in my belly and hundreds of brothers who had only just met me, but would gladly give their lives to save mine. When I stopped beating myself up over what I had lost, I was able to see what I'd gained."

We moved forward again with the line, but my thoughts were racing as quickly as my heart. "I hope some day I'll be able to find something positive in this stupid visitation schedule, like you've been able to do with your commitment." Giving up my summer seemed so trivial now when this man beside me had given up so much more.

His lips rose into a smile and the heaviness was washed away with his contented look. "I know what that positive thing is already." He leaned in again and I wondered if he was going to kiss me. We were close, my body pressed against his in this never-ending line of weary travelers. Maybe it was more that I wanted him to kiss me.

"And what exactly is this positive thing?" I asked a bit breathlessly.

"You and I being forced here together is going to make a hell of a first meeting story to tell our grandkids."

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