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12
JAK. If Bin Laden couldn’t hide in Pakistan, Shelley Peterson couldn’t expect to remain hidden in a town of 900 people. After asking the local cashier at the only gas station in the city, I had quickly found her address. Although I didn’t know for certain what she was going to do or say, I knew what I expected. This was certainly going to be a reunion I wasn’t looking forward to.
I parked the truck a block from where she was supposed to live. It was the same vehicle I had driven since I was in high school, and I feared she’d recognize it if i drove it in clear view of her home. If she did realize it was me visiting, she may not answer the door. I pushed the photo album under the seat and pulled the baseball cap I’d purchased down to my brow. I shut the door, locked the truck, and walked down the street of a neighborhood I had not seen in over twenty years. Reluctantly, I walked up the driveway and onto the porch. After a short pause and prayer, I inhaled a deep breath and knocked on the door. Almost immediately, it opened.
She remained petite and still rather attractive. It was obvious by the look on her face she had no idea who I was. As my heart began to race, and I mentally prepared for the worst, she broke the uncomfortable silence.
“Something I can do for you?” she asked.
I reached up and removed the baseball cap, “Shell.”
She stared as if she’d seen a ghost. After what seemed like an eternity, she began right where I expected her to, “Jak fucking Kennedy, war hero. You know Jak, it doesn’t matter how many people you think you may have saved in that war; you still killed him. Doesn’t really matter how long you were away, it’ll never change. You need to leave and not be bringing memories back here talking about shit I’m trying to forget.”
I took a deep breath and exhaled, “It’s not why I’m here, Shell. Can I come in?”
She swung the door opened and turned toward the living room. Hesitantly, I stepped into the house and attempted to settle her down, “Shell. We’ve been over this. I didn’t kill him. It was a motorcycle accident. An absolute accident. Sometimes things happen, and we have no control over them.”
“You son-of-a-bitch. Accept it. Admit it. You know I wouldn’t hate you if you’d just admit it. You two were drunk and you were racing. If it wasn’t for you, he’d still be here,” her voice became unsteady and she sat down on the edge of the couch.
Graham, Shelley, and I were best friends since we were ten years old. We were close at a much younger age, but became inseparable in middle school. Shelley and I dated all through high school, and most who knew us expected we would become married. Although in our latter years she had become somewhat unpredictable in her actions, I always believed I loved her. When Graham and I announced our intent to join the Navy and attempt to become SEALS, she was livid. She spent many a long night with Graham attempting to talk him out of going to the Navy. I believed she felt all along if she could stop him form going, it would prevent me from proceeding with my plan to become a SEAL as well.
We remained together up to the point Graham died. She blamed me solely for his accident; and after his funeral we separated. A matter of one day after his funeral, I left for training. She hadn’t spoken to me since, nor did I have any expectation of her doing so. Shelley and Graham were like brother and sister, and Graham’s death was far more difficult for her to accept than anyone else. No one quite understood the connection between them, or the pain she felt, but I did. She and Graham were like family.
“I’m sorry you feel the way you do about it all, Shell. I suppose I reserved a little hope you’d feel different about it now. I’ve never refused to believe what happened actually happened, but I chose to set the memory of it aside. I guess at least until the other day. I uhhm,” I paused and thought of how to word the remaining portion of my question without giving too much information away.
“Graham’s bike was green, wasn’t it?” I asked.
Since opening the chest and driving to her house, I had begun to remember things about my former life I hadn’t remembered in years. If someone would have asked me two weeks prior what color Graham’s bike was, I wouldn’t have been able to answer. Now, I was recalling things about my early years with each tick of the clock.
“You know what color it was,” she growled as she stood from the couch.
“Shell, if I did, I wouldn’t have asked. Like I said, it’s really difficult for me. I have a hard time remembering any of that part of my life,” I said as I stood.
She turned to face me and scowled, “Yes, dark green. Is that why you came here?”
I pulled the ball cap tightly onto my head and crossed my arms, “Not entirely. I thought I saw Graham’s old bike the other day, but with a few different parts on it. I wasn’t sure. I knew you bought it from his parents after the wreck, but I wasn’t sure what you ever did with it.”
“It’s gone,” she grunted.
“Well, is it around here?” I asked.
She shrugged, “Hard sayin’, I suppose it could be.”
“What did you do with it?” I asked.
“I gave the motherfucker away, Jak. After fifteen years, I couldn’t stand to look at it anymore,” she snapped.
I better leave that one alone for now.
“You ever get married?” I asked.
She crossed her arms and sighed, “No, and it’s none of your business, Jak. Jesus, why’d you come here? To cause me pain? Maybe you should go.”
“I just wanted to ask about the bike. It was a Harley, right?” I asked.
“Just stop, Jak. Please,” she paused and placed her hands on her hips.
“Why didn’t you respond to my letters, Jak?” she sniffed.
