Worth Saving(14)

“The things you don’t know about me are things you don’t want to know, Austin.”

“No, I do want to know, if you’d be okay with telling me.”

“No, you don’t, you just think you do. My life is complicated, and if you knew everything about me, you wouldn’t even be sitting here. Or, you might, but for a different reason.”

“I don’t get it. How could you possible know that?”

“I just do.”

“Then try me.”

“What?”

“Whatever it is that that you think is such a big deal, I’m sure I can handle it. I’m a big boy.”

I look down at him and his eyes are genuine. He really wants to know about me, but I don’t want to tell him. Because who would want to be with someone who does what I do? Yet, he sits here, looking up at me with such sincerity and hope that I’ll let him in. But, I’m not going to do that.

“Look, Austin you don’t know me,” I begin, frustrated by everything. I can’t pinpoint one thing. I’m frustrated by all of it. “I know you’re trying to be nice, being persistent, but the truth is that you don’t know anything about me or my life. You don’t know what you’d be getting yourself into, so please don’t sit there and act like you’d be my savior.”

“What? I don’t think you need a savior. I’m just saying . . .”

“Well don’t. I’ve got enough complications in my life.”

I stand there for a minute, thinking about what it is I’m doing, and it feels like I’m there for an hour, until I feel Austin slip something into my hand.

“What’s this?” I say as I open my hand and see a piece of a napkin from the table.

“It’s my phone number.”

“What? Why are you giving me this?”

“I guess I’m hoping that after you walk out of here, back to whatever complicated life you have, maybe you’ll think about me. I’m not trying to be a savior or anything like that. I’d just like the chance to get to know you. If you decide you’re not willing to give me that chance, then I guess I won’t hear from you, and that’ll be it. I’d like it better if that wasn’t the case, but I’ll leave that up to you.”

“Austin,” I try to chime in, but he cuts me off.

“You don’t have to explain anything else. I understand things get hard. But, I hope you at least think about it. I’m not trying to get married, I’m just looking for a new friend.”

“I don’t need a new friend.”

“Maybe you do. You should see me in action, I’m a pretty awesome friend.”

That look of hope is still on his face as he turns his attention back to his food and starts eating again. I watch him for a second, mesmerized by his persistence, but my phone chimes again in my purse, reminding me that I haven’t responded to Damien yet—reminding me of the messy life I live. So, instead of saying anything else to Austin, I turn and walk away, hoping I can flag down a cab as I exit the building.





Austin

“Good morning, Captain Sloan. Welcome back. Have a seat, please.”

I walk into the room with the all-white walls and take a seat on the brown leather couch. Across from me is Major Don Nelson, my mental health physician, who takes his own seat in a black leather chair. He’s like the military equivalent of a therapist, and it’s time for me to see him again. This is only my second time having to see him since I got back from the desert, and I’m holding out hope that he doesn’t annoy me this time the way he did the first time. It’s something in his face that bothers me. Not so much the top half, but the bottom that does it. It’s his chin. It’s massive and it looks like a giant ass with that deep groove in it. When he talks, that thing just bounces around and annoys the hell out of me and I feel like checking out, but I’m being “prescribed” these weekly meetings, so I guess I better get used to it.

“So, it’s been a week since we last saw each other, Austin, how have you been feeling?” Major Nelson asks as he whips out his yellow notepad and holds a blue pen, ready to write down all my business. His curly red hair is starting to thin at the front, but I can tell it used to be really thick. He’s wearing his dress blues, making the session feel more formal than it should. Considering this is supposed to be therapy, I should be relaxed.

“Been feeling okay, I guess,” I reply.

“Just okay?”

“What else am I supposed to be feeling besides okay?” I say with a chuckle.

“I don’t know. Maybe you should feel phenomenal. Maybe awesome. Maybe great.”

“Well, I’m not feeling phenomenal, or awesome, or great either. I’m okay.”

“Okay. Is there something that’s maybe keeping you from feeling phenomenal?”

I have to think before I answer. The one thing I hate most about being forced to come to these sessions is that Major Nelson is actually really good at getting me to open up, ass-chin aside. I don’t want to open up—not to him, anyway. It’s not that he’s a bad person, it’s just that I don’t know him, and the thing that got me sent here isn’t something you should talk about with someone you don’t know. But, that’s the way the cookie crumbles with the military sometimes.