When it's Over

Part 1

Wes

I'm leaning against my truck out in the field when I see her across the bonfire. It's been over a year and even just a glimpse of her makes my heart twist and fold in my chest. I remember how it used to feel to be at these parties with her, back before I graduated and long before I joined the Marines. It always feels like a lifetime ago until I see her and suddenly we're there again—carefree teenagers in love. Only now all of that is behind us and I can't bring myself to go to her because I'm afraid we'll have nothing to talk about.

"Did you visit Coach earlier?" Cam asks from beside me. His words are starting to slur together. I move my eyes to him as he takes a long pull from his drink. We used to be the top football players on our team, but it seems like maybe he didn't get the memo that it's time to grow up and get to living off that field.

"No. I just got in this morning. I stayed around family. Didn't even leave the house until an hour ago. I had a hangover from spending the night at my buddy's place before my flight." I wish it were Mateo, Liam, or Lucas beside me instead of Cam.

"You should stop by. I hang out there all the time. Coach has me helping some of the players run plays." I can tell he's pretty proud of himself for that. I sigh and take another sip of my drink. This would have been my life if I stayed. I'd be doing exactly what he has been doing. Working a 9-5 job, dropping out of the local junior college, and hanging out like a never-left at my old stomping grounds. I'd be a loser.

"Maybe," I say with a noncommittal shrug. I watch Liz talking to one of her friends, wondering what she's doing now. I don't really keep in touch with anyone in town, but I'd be lying if I said I hadn't looked her up on social media to see what she's been doing with her life. It's her senior year. If she stuck to her plans, she cheers for the school and has dreams of heading straight for beautician school in the fall. She tips her head back and laughs at something and I'm instantly flooded with a million images of her doing that over the years. We have such a long history together. Our parents became neighbors when I was a freshman and she was still in eighth grade. Before we were together as a couple, we were family friends.

As if she can feel me watching her, she turns her gaze in my direction and our eyes lock over the orange glow of the fire. I'm frozen in place, my beer half way to my lips again. Her eyes dip to look at me from the dusty old boots I'm wearing up to my shortly cut hair. I wonder if she thinks about me as often as I've thought about her. The way things ended didn't give either of us much closure.

I can't take my eyes off of her. It's like watching my past meet my present and I stand there wondering how all these pieces are going to fit together. It sometimes feels like my life in the Marines is not connected to my life in this town. Everything about the two makes them clash like a fairytale meeting a thriller. She was my princess and I was the prince of this town for a while. But then came the plot twist no one saw coming. Liz Weatherly broke up with me the day I signed that contract and turned my life over to the Corps. I guess we both made a life changing decision that day. I just wonder if I'll ever get over the consequences.

I stumble into my small room back home, the taste of whiskey strong on my tongue. Cam's younger brother picked us both up and made sure we got home safely. I started doing shots when Liz left with a boy from school I barely recognized. I catch my toe on the corner of my old desk and try to hold in the yelp as the pain shoots up my leg, barely numbed by the alcohol in my blood. Damn it. That corner always gets me. I turn and sit in the chair and squeeze my toe until the sharp pain gives way to the throb.

My phone buzzes in my pants pocket and I lean back so I can slide my hand inside and fish it out. I have to blink a few times to get my eyes to focus on the bright screen, but I see the new notifications and can't help but open up my mail to read the messages waiting in my inbox. Why? Because for the last three months I've been getting email meant for someone else. Apparently while I was overseas, a new advice column was started at some newspaper somewhere. Weslee Richmond answers questions much like her predecessor, Dear Abby, every Friday in some paper. What does that have to do with me? It just so happens that our email addresses are one typo away from disaster. Mine has been WesLeeUSMC (at) biznet.com  since I joined the Marines at 17, and hers is WesLeeUSME (at)biz.net.com. If you type too quickly or let your finger slip in the wrong direction, your question will be sent to an 18 year-old (probably drunk) Marine instead of some old lady behind the desk waiting with a wealth of experience to answer it.