But like I said, I had changed. I went into the army as a smoker and almost coughed up a lung during boot camp, but unlike practically everyone else in my unit, I quit and hadn't touched the things in over two years. I moderated my drinking to the point that one or two beers a week was sufficient, and I might go a month without having any at all. My record was spotless. I'd been promoted from private to corporal and then, six months later, to sergeant, and I learned that I had an ability to lead. I'd led men in firefights, and my squad was involved in capturing one of the most notorious war criminals in the Balkans. My commanding officer recommended me for Officer Candidate School (OCS), and I was debating whether or not to become an officer, but that sometimes meant a desk job and even more paperwork, and I wasn't sure I wanted that. Aside from surfing, I hadn't exercised in years before I joined the service; by the time I took my third leave, I'd put on twenty pounds of muscle and cut the flab from my belly. I spent most of my free time running, boxing, and weight lifting with Tony, a musclehead from New York who always shouted when he talked, swore that tequila was an aphrodisiac, and was far and away my best friend in the unit. He talked me into getting tattoos on both arms just like him, and with every passing day, the memory of who I once had been became more and more distant.
I read a lot, too. In the army, you have a lot of time to read, and people trade books back and forth or sign them out from the library until the covers are practically worn away. I don't want you to get the impression that I became a scholar, because I didn't. I wasn't into Chaucer or Proust or Dostoevsky or any of those other dead guys; I read mainly mysteries and thrillers and books by Stephen King, and I took a particular liking to Carl Hiaasen because his words flowed easily and he always made me laugh. I couldn't help but think that if schools had assigned these books in English class, we'd have a lot more readers in the world.
Unlike my buddies, I shied away from any prospect of female companionship. Sounds weird, right? Prime of life, testosteronefilled job—what could be more natural than searching for a little release with the help of a female? It wasn't for me. Although some of the guys I knew dated and even married the locals while stationed in Wiirzburg, I'd heard enough stories to know that those marriages seldom worked out. The military was hard on relationships in general—I'd seen enough divorces to know that—and while I wouldn't have minded the company of someone special, it just never happened. Tony couldn't understand it.
“You gotta come with me,” he'd plead. “You never come.” “I'm not in the mood.”
“How can you not be in the mood? Sabine swears her friend is gorgeous. Tall and blond, and she loves tequila.”
“Bring Don. I'm sure he'd like to go.” “Castelow? No way. Sabine can't stand him.” I said nothing.
“We're just going to have a little fun.”
I shook my head, thinking that I'd rather be alone than revert to the kind of person I'd been, but I found myself wondering whether I would end up being as monkish as my dad. Knowing he couldn't change my mind, Tony didn't bother hiding his disgust on his way out the door. “I just don't get you sometimes.”
When my dad picked me up from the airport, he didn't recognize me at first and almost jumped when I tapped him on the shoulder. He looked smaller than I remembered. Instead of offering a hug, he shook my hand and asked me about the flight, but neither of us knew what to say next, so we wandered outside. It was odd and disorienting to be back at home, and I felt on edge, just like the last time I took leave. In the parking lot, as I tossed my gear in the trunk, I spotted on the back of his ancient Ford Escort a bumper sticker that told people to SUPPORT OUR TROOPS. I wasn't sure exactly what that meant to my dad, but I was still glad to see it.
At home, I stowed my gear in my old bedroom. Everything was where I remembered, right down to the dusty trophies on my shelf and a hidden, half-empty bottle of Wild Turkey in the back of my underwear drawer. Same thing in the rest of the house. The blanket still covered the couch, the green refrigerator seemed to scream that it didn't belong, and the television picked up only four blurry channels. Dad cooked spaghetti; Friday was always spaghetti. At dinner, we tried to talk.
“Its nice to be back,” I said.
His smile was brief. “Good,” he responded.
He took a drink of milk. At dinner, we always drank milk. He concentrated on his meal.
“Do you remember Tony?” I ventured. "I think I mentioned him in my letters. Anyway, get this—he thinks he's in love. Her name's Sabine, and she has a six-year-old daughter. I've warned him that it might not be such a good idea, but he isn't listening."
He carefully sprinkled Parmesan cheese over his food, making sure every spot had the perfect amount. “Oh,” he said. “Okay.” After that, I ate and neither of us said anything. I drank some milk. I ate some more. The clock ticked on the wall.
“I'll bet you're excited to be retiring this year,” I suggested.
“Just think, you can finally take a vacation, see the world.” I almost said that he could come see me in Germany, but I didn't. I knew he wouldn't and didn't want to put him on the spot. We twirled our noodles simultaneously as he seemed to ponder how best to respond.
“I don't know,” he finally said.
I gave up trying to talk to him, and from then on the only sounds were those coming from our forks as they hit the plates. When we finished dinner, we went our separate ways. Exhausted from the flight, I headed off to bed, waking every hour the way I did back on base. By the time I stirred in the morning, my dad was off at work.
I ate and read the paper, tried to contact a friend without success, then grabbed my surfboard from the garage and hitched my way to the beach. The waves weren't great, but it didn't matter. I hadn't been on a board in three years and was rusty at first, but even the little dribblers made me wish I had been stationed near the ocean. It was early June 2000, the temperature was already hot, and the water was refreshing. From my vantage point on my board, I could see folks moving their belongings into some of the homes just beyond the dunes. As I mentioned, Wrightsville Beach was always crowded with families who rented for a week or more, but occasionally college students from Chapel Hill or Raleigh did the same. It was the latter who interested me, and I noted a group of coeds in bikinis taking their spots on the back deck of one of the houses near the pier. I watched them for a bit, appreciating the view, then caught another wave and spent the rest of the afternoon lost in my own little world.
I thought about paying a visit to Leroy's but figured that nothing or no one had changed except for me. Instead, I grabbed a bottle of beer from the corner store and went to sit on the pier to enjoy the sunset. Most of the people fishing had already begun clearing out, and the few who remained were cleaning their catch and tossing the discards in the water. In time, the color of the ocean began changing from iron gray to orange, then yellow. In the breakers beyond the pier, I could see pelicans riding the backs of porpoises as they skimmed through the waves. I knew that the evening would bring the first night of the full moon—my time in the field made the realization almost instinctive. I wasn't thinking about much of anything, just sort of letting my mind wander. Believe me, meeting a girl was the last thing on my mind.
That was when I saw her walking up the pier. Or rather, two of them walking. One was tall and blond, the other an attractive brunette, both a little younger than me. College students, most likely. Both wore shorts and halters, and the brunette was carrying one of those big knit bags that people sometimes bring to the beach when they plan to stay for hours with the kids. I could hear them talking and laughing, sounding carefree and vacation-ready as they approached.
“Hey,” I called out when they were close. Not very smooth, and I can't say I expected anything in response.
The blonde proved me right. She took one glimpse at my surfboard and the beer in my hand and ignored me with a roll of her eyes. The brunette, however, surprised me.
“Hiya, stranger,” she answered with a smile. She motioned toward my board. “I'll bet the waves were great today.”
Her comment caught me off guard, and I heard an unexpected kindness in her words. She and her friend continued down to the end of the pier, and I found myself watching her as she leaned over the railing. I debated whether or not I should stroll over and introduce myself, then decided against it. They weren't my type, or more accurately, I probably wasn't theirs. I took a long pull on my beer, trying to ignore them.
Try as I might, though, I couldn't stop my gaze from drifting back to the brunette. I tried not to listen to what the two girls were saying, but the blonde had one of those voices impossible to ignore.
She was talking endlessly about some guy named Brad and how much she loved him, and how her sorority was the best at UNC, and the party they had at the end of the year was the best ever, and that the other should join next year, and that too many of her friends were hooking up with the worst kind of frat guys, and one of them even got pregnant, but it was her own fault since she'd been warned about the guy. The brunette didn't say much—I couldn't tell whether she was amused or bored by the conversation—but every now and then, she would laugh. Again, I heard something friendly and understanding in her voice, something akin to coming home, which I'll admit made no sense at all. As I set aside my bottle of beer, I noticed that she'd placed her bag on the railing.
They had been standing there for ten minutes or so before two guys started up the pier—frat guys, I guessed—wearing pink and orange Lacoste shirts over their knee-length Bermuda shorts. My first thought was that one of these two must be the Brad that the blonde had been talking about. Both carried beers, and they grew furtive as they approached, as if intending to sneak up on the girls. More than likely the two girls wanted them there, and after a quick burst of surprise, complete with a scream and a couple of friendly slaps on the arm, they'd all head back together, laughing and giggling or doing whatever it was college couples did.
It may have turned out that way, too, for the boys did just what
I thought they would. As soon as they were close, they jumped at the girls with a yell; both girls shrieked and did the friendly slap thing. The guys hooted, and pink shirt spilled some of his beer. He leaned against the railing, near the bag, one leg over the other, his arms behind him.
“Hey, we're going to be starting the bonfire in a couple of minutes,” orange shirt said, putting his arms around the blonde. He kissed her neck. “You two ready to come back?” “You ready?” the blonde asked, looking at her friend. “Sure,” the brunette answered.
Pink shirt pushed back from the railing, but somehow his hand must have hit the bag, because it slid, then tumbled over the edge. The splash sounded like a fish jumping.
“What was that?” he asked, turning around.
“My bag!” the brunette gasped. “You knocked it off.” “Sorry about that,” he said, not sounding particularly sorry. “My purse was in there!”
He frowned. “I said I'm sorry.” “You've got to get it before it sinks!”
The frat brothers seemed frozen, and I knew neither of them had any intention of jumping in to get it. For one thing, they'd probably never find it, and then they'd have to swim all the way back to shore, something that wasn't recommended when one had been drinking, as they obviously had been. I think the brunette read pink shirt's expression as well, because I saw her put both hands on the upper rail and one foot on the bottom. “Don't be dumb. It's gone,” pink shirt declared, putting his hand on hers to stop her. “It's too dangerous to jump. There might be sharks down there. It's just a purse. I'll buy you a new one.”
“I need that purse! It's got all my money in there!”
It wasn't any of my business, I knew. But all I could think as I leapt to my feet and rushed toward the edge of the pier was, Oh, what the h e l l ....
TWO
I suppose I should explain why I jumped into the waves to retrieve her bag. It wasn't that I thought she would view me as some sort of hero, or because I wanted to impress her, or even because I cared in the slightest how much money she'd lost. It had to do with the genuineness of her smile and the warmth of her laugh. Even as I was plunging into the water, I knew how ridiculous my reaction was, but by then it was too late. I hit the water, went under, and popped to the surface. Four faces stared down at me from the railing. Pink shirt was definitely annoyed.
“Where is it?” I shouted up at them.
“Right over there!” the brunette shouted. "I think I can still see it. It's going down...."
It took a minute to locate it in the deepening twilight, and the surge of the ocean was doing its best to drive me into the pier. I swam to the side, then held the bag above the water as best I could, despite the fact that it was already soaking. The waves made the swim back to shore less difficult than I'd feared, and every now and then I'd look up and see the four people following along with me.
I finally felt bottom and trudged out of the surf. I shook the water from my hair, started up the sand, and met them halfway up the beach. I held out the bag.
“Here you go.”
“Thank you,” the brunette said, and when her eyes met mine, I felt something click, like a key turning in a lock. Believe me, I'm no romantic, and while I've heard all about love at first sight, I've never believed in it, and I still don't. But even so, there was something there, something recognizably real, and I couldn't look away.
Up close, she was more beautiful than I'd first realized, but it had less to do with the way she looked than the way she was. It wasn't just her slightly gap-toothed smile, it was the casual way she swiped at a loose strand of hair, the easy way she held herself.
“You didn't have to do that,” she said with something like wonder in her voice. “I would have gotten it.”
“I know.” I nodded. “I saw you getting ready to jump.”