Just Remember to Breathe (Thompson Sisters)

crazy?”
    “Sure.”
    “I’m hoping it’s not going to be like… I don’t know, the movie college parties you see. Big crowd, lots of people drunk. I don’t think I could take a crowd. I wanted to chew my own arm off in the airport.”
    I snickered. “Know what you mean, man. I don’t do crowds any more. But I don’t think so, this is mostly an older crowd than that, from what Alex said.”
    “You seem happy, man. Happier than I’ve ever seen you.”
    I thought about that for a minute, then said, “I am, dude. School is good, and Alex… Well… Shit, I got a second chance, you know? That’s a big deal.”
    He nodded, then yawned. “Listen, I’m gonna get some Z s then, before the party. You mind?”
    “Sure, that’s fine. Crash in my room, let me just get my laptop.”
    “All right. You better have clean sheets, you fucker.”
    “You better not have brought back any funky Afghan parasites.”
    So I got my laptop, and he went to sleep, and I popped online for a little while, then did some homework.
    And then I did something different.
    See, when I was in the hospital, still trying to figure out if I was going to live or die, or if they were going to cut off my leg, or if I was going to end up addicted to the morphine they’d given me, the last thing I was ready to do was read her emails. Because, well: failure. I’m no stranger to it. Alex was everything to me. But she also had a future. And I didn’t, really. All I had was some serious fucking brain damage, a leg that might go into sepsis and be cut off any moment, and the last thing I was going to do was drag myself back into her life and fuck things up for her, too. Like I fucked up everything.
    So I buried her emails. Stuck them in a folder and never looked at them.
    Now, with Sherman sleeping in my room, and Alex off to pick up her sister, I finally decided it was time.
    I’ll admit, I had some anxiety about this. I knew I’d hurt her. I’d hurt her bad. What had she said?
    I was about to find out, and that scared the hell out of me.
    February 10, 2012; 01:45 AM
    TO: [email protected]
    FROM: [email protected]

    Dear Dylan,
    I’m sorry about what happened. I’m a little drunk, and feeling down in the dumps, and just frustrated as hell about our sometimes crazy long distance relationship. Forgive me? I know I upset you, and I’m so sorry. If you can get to skype, I’ll be online in the morning and tomorrow night. Or email me. Or something.
    Please don’t forget I love you very much!
    Hugs and kisses!
    Alex
    I stared at the email, feeling… staggered. She must have written the email minutes after I disconnected our Skype session. I was busy disabling my Facebook account right then.
    February 10, 2012; 09:45 AM
    TO: [email protected]
    FROM: [email protected]

    Dylan,
    I tried to message you on Facebook, but couldn’t find you. Really? Did you defriend me? Talk to me, Dylan, what’s going on? Please?
    Hugs,
    Alex
    Reading the second email, I found myself breathing heavily. It was written ten hours after I’d hung up on her. Right after I shot up my old laptop, Sergeant Colton had dragged me in to see the Old Man. Captain Wilson was a fair guy; I never had anything bad to say about him. He, on the other hand, had plenty bad to say about me, and pretty much got all of it off his chest right then and there. I gave the only answer there was: I had no excuse.
    After he dressed me down, he sent me outside to wait, and he and Sergeant Colton talked. Then they called me back in.
    “Paris, personally I’m of the view that we should court-martial your ass. But Sergeant Colton here says you aren’t completely worthless, and reluctant as I am, I have to agree. So we’ve agreed on a suitable non-judicial punishment. Are you ready to hear the terms?”
    “Yes, sir,” I replied, still numb and in shock from seeing the guy— Joel— in her room.
    “This is a company-grade Article 15. The maximum sentence for a company-grade Article 15 is reduction in grade by one rank, forfeiture of seven days pay, plus fourteen days extra duty and restriction.
    “Due to the seriousness of what you did, I intend to levy the maximum sentence. You’ll be reduced in grade to Private First Class. Restriction doesn’t mean a hell of a lot here, but the fourteen days extra duty will. Do you understand the terms of the punishment?”
    “Yes, sir.”
    “You’re entitled to demand a court-martial instead of this