At her puzzled expression, I pointed to the side of my head. “This isn’t real,” I said. “It’s a prosthetic.”
“I wouldn’t have known unless you’d told me.”
“I’m not sure why I did.”
But I knew the reason. As much as I wanted to know her, I also wanted her to know the real me, to feel as though I could be completely open with her. She was silent for a moment and I thought she’d change the subject, or even excuse herself to go to the restroom. Instead, she surprised me by reaching out and gently tracing the scarred stumps where my fingers used to be. The touch was electric.
“The explosion must have been…horrific,” she said, her fingertip still on my skin. “I’ve thought about it since you told me. But you didn’t go into any detail. I’d like to hear about it if you’re comfortable telling me.”
I offered a condensed version of the story: the random mortar blast after I’d exited the building, a flash of sudden heat and searing, and then nothing at all until I woke after my first surgeries. The flights to Germany and then back to the US, and the series of additional surgeries and rehabilitation at Walter Reed and Johns Hopkins. At some point while I was speaking, she removed her hand from mine, but even after I finished, I could still feel the ghostly remnants of her touch.
“I’m sorry you had to endure all that,” she said.
“If I could go back in time, I’d leave the hospital a few minutes earlier or later. But I can’t. As for right now, I’m trying to move forward in positive ways.”
“I’ll bet your parents are still proud of you.”
As soon as she said it, I remembered my previous experiences when I’d shared what had happened to them. I knew I should simply offer something ambiguous like, I hope so, without going into details, but with the way Natalie was looking at me, I realized I didn’t want to keep the words inside me.
“My parents died a month before I graduated from college. They were taking a trip to Martha’s Vineyard, some political soiree that probably meant virtually nothing in the long run. A client had chartered a plane, but they never made it. The plane crashed in Virginia less than five minutes after takeoff.”
“Oh my God! That’s awful!”
“It was,” I said. “One day they were there, and the next day they were gone and I was crushed. The whole thing felt surreal—still does sometimes. I was only twenty-two, but I still felt like I was closer to being a teenager than an adult. I can still remember when my commanding officer came into my class and called me to his office so he could tell me.”
I hesitated, the memories still vivid.
“Because I was largely done with my classes, the Academy gave me leave to handle the affairs and that was in some ways even more surreal. My grandfather came up to help, but still…I had to find a funeral home and choose caskets and pick out a dress for my mom and a suit for my dad, figure out what they would have wanted for services. I’d just spoken on the phone to them a few days earlier.”
“I’m glad your grandfather was there for you.”
“We needed each other, no question about it. He’d already lost his wife, and had just lost his only child. We ended up driving back to New Bern after the services, and I don’t think either of us said a word the entire trip. It wasn’t until we got to his house that we could even talk about it at all, and we both shed a lot of tears that week. It was just so sad for me to think of all the things they would never have the chance to do, or what my future would be like without them.”
“I can’t imagine losing my parents like that.”
“There are moments when I still can’t. It’s been a decade now, but sometimes, it still feels like I should be able to pick up the phone and call them.”
“I don’t know what to say.”
“No one does. It’s hard for people to fathom. I mean, who becomes an orphan at twenty-two? It’s not as though there are many people who ever have to deal with something like that.”
She looked away, as though still trying to process what I said, just as the waitress arrived to take our dinner orders. Almost robotically, Natalie ordered a beet salad and red snapper, and I ordered the choices I’d picked earlier. When the waitress retreated, Natalie looked up at me.
“When I was young, my best friend died. I know it’s not even close to the same, but I remember how awful it was.”
“What happened?”
“We were both twelve. She lived two doors down, and her birthday was only a week before mine. Her parents were friends with my parents, so we pretty much grew up together. Went to the same school, we were in the same class all the way through, we even both took the same dance lessons. At the time, I think I was closer to Georgianna than I was to either my sister or my brother. Even when we weren’t together, we spoke on the phone all the time. But anyway, we’d walked home from school together. I remember we were talking about this boy named Jeff, who she thought was cute, and she was wondering whether he liked her, too. We said goodbye at my house, and I remember hugging her goodbye. We always hugged. Anyway, about an hour after that, she wanted an ice cream sandwich, so she decided to walk to the convenience store, maybe three blocks away. While she was walking, she was hit by a drunk driver and died.”