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“Do you want to talk about it?” I ask him as he paces around my kitchen for the fifth time.
I’ve never been very patient, so even though I told myself that I was going to wait for him to open up to me, I can’t seem to take the wait. I need to know what is upsetting him so that I can help him fix it.
“No, but… I should. Talk about it, that is.”
“Come on,” I whisper, taking his hand and leading him over to my couch.
I force him to sit and then take a seat next to him. He squeezes my hand and I squeeze his back.
“You can talk to me, Jonah. I’m in for the long haul,” I tell him.
It feels terrifying to tell him that, to even hint that I love him and that I want to be with him for the rest of my life, especially with him acting so jumpy. It also feels like a weight has been lifted. I’ve been holding myself back from him, biting my tongue so that I didn’t come across as desperate or crazy.
“I got a call just before I came here,” Jonah starts and I scoot closer to him.
Whoever called or whatever the call was about has him on edge. He can’t seem to sit still. His knee is jiggling as his foot wiggles back and forth in rapid movements. Even his fingers are in constant motion. They twist together and he keeps squeezing or running his thumb over the back of my hand.
I try to sit patiently, but it’s hard. I’m starting to get really worried.
“It was from an old friend. One that I served with overseas.”
“That’s nice… right?” I ask cautiously when he doesn’t look happy.
“Yeah, it was nice to hear that he’s doing good after everything that happened.”
I nod encouragingly, urging him to go on.
“He… we talked about the attack. The one that sent both of us back to the States.”
“The one where you were injured,” I clarify and he nods.
His hand goes to his shoulder and I wonder if it’s bothering him or if it’s just a subconscious movement. He’s been lifting me a lot and helping me carry my groceries in the other day. Maybe he just overdid it and needs to rest.
“Yeah, the one that everyone keeps calling me a hero over.”
“But you don’t think that you’re a hero?” I ask, my voice coming out soft.
I’ve never tried to broach this topic with him. It always seemed off-limits. He would get tense and upset whenever anyone stopped him to thank him or shake his hand. At first, I thought that maybe it was just because he didn’t like the attention. I know that he’s shy and prefers to be alone or with a small group of people, but even when we were with our friends at dinner, he hadn’t reacted well.
“I’m not a hero,” he insists.
“What happened?” I ask him and he looks away from me.
There’s so much pain in his eyes and I hate it. I just want to help him feel better.
I want him to see himself the way that I see him. I don’t know what happened that day or during any of his time in the military but I know that he’s a hero. He served his country. He’s an honorable guy. He saved me when my car broke down. He carried me when I was scared of the animals in the forest even though I know now that it must have really hurt his shoulder. He fixed my car when he didn’t have to.
Jonah is a good guy and I’m sure that he was a good Marine too.
“We were outside the wire and driving back to base. We had just driven through this tiny little town. It was barely more than a dozen buildings,” he says and I can see him getting lost in his memories, in what happened that day.
“There was just sand and dirt. Everything over there is just sand and dirt,” he says with a humorless laugh.
His eyes look a little misty and my heart breaks for what he went through. If it’s making him cry, then I know that it must have been bad.
I remember laughing with my friends. Smith, he fancied himself a ladies’ man and he was trying to give us some pickup lines, but they were all awful. We were cracking up and I remember looking out the window and seeing this old shoe half buried in the sand.”
His hand tightens around mine and I swallow. I have a feeling that I already know where this is going and I wish that I could take some of his pain away. I wish that it had never happened to him.
