By Manda
The Army’s my life, sir.
The office, cold and dark. Why did they always keep those blinds shut?
It was a plea from the heart but they wouldn’t know that. You didn’t have a heart in the army.
If you did they soon made sure you got rid of it.
--
The slap of her hands on the tiles.
The thud of her head.
Sounds through water like when she used to go swimming.
--
Swimming. With Alex. Races up and down, seeing who was the fastest, who could keep going the longest. She had always won, dying to show off and impress Alex. Then afterwards she’d think no, next time I’ll let her win, I’ll let Alex win. But next time she couldn’t resist. Besides if she won, she got to watch Alex swim, pushing herself to the last stroke, still determined even after she knew she had lost. She loved that look on Alex’s face. And the smiles afterwards. Ok so maybe she had let Alex win sometimes. Let her.
--
Like she used to let Jenny in the swimming pool on the corner back home, the home of long ago.
Running home from school to see who could get changed first and meet by the lamppost, the third one down. Two school kids with messy hair, ugly anoraks and swimming towels. She used to wear short skirts to school to make everyone look at her but with Jenny it was always jeans. Who cares what you look like in your clothes when you can take them off and dive into the water in five minutes time. Short skirts were for attention. She didn’t need them with Jenny. She always had Jenny’s attention Until that boy, Jack. Sneaking around, stealing her friend. A total prat too. Just like all men. She had shown him.
--
Blood on the tiles. That’s what she remembered. A sickening dull sound, very soft. Funny how the sound came first. Then the pain. Spreading out slowly from a sharp shot in her back. In gentle waves. Then she realised. This was pain. It hurt. She screamed. No she didn’t. She didn’t make a sound. There was blood on the tiles. An almost orangey red, diluted by the water. Her nose? Her tooth? She couldn’t feel any more. And deeper, more scattered blood that she remembered seeing afterwards. Blood that came from a place lower down, a place that hurt. She curled up on herself. It hurts, it hurts.
--
She hated her periods. Except the first day. She kept it a secret. Her secret from everyone.
Then her mum found out and it started hurting.
It hurts, it hurts.
--
The nurse didn’t listen. The nurse didn’t want to know.
Take your clothes off.
Lift your legs.
Get a move on.
It hurts, it hurts.
Take your clothes off.
Lift you legs.
Get a move on.
Right, that’s it.
Like sex.
Like being raped.
--
Claire turned up the volume of her radio and shook her head so that her hair swung in the wind. The car speeded up slightly. She didn’t care.
--
They couldn’t get to her. The bureaucratic bigots who sat there sniffing and staring and scribbling. They couldn’t get to her. With their questions and their accusations.
They couldn’t get to her. No one could get to her.
--
She was a soldier. No one could get to her. Nothing could get to her. She could face the sights of the dying, the crawling, the fatally wounded, the suffering, the dead everyday. She could face Kosovo. She was a soldier.
--
The Army’s my life, sir.
Well you’ll have to find a new life now. You can get lost. We don’t want you. You can go to hell. In fact you probably will. Because you committed the unspeakable crime of not wanting what you should have wanted. And worse. Well you got what you deserved didn’t you? Yes sir? Say yes sir. Play the game one last time. Yes sir. No sir. No.
--
No.
No.
Get…
Please...
No…
Cliché. Did she say that? She can’t remember.
--
Can’t remember... No I don’t think we did that... It can’t have been me… No, I’m sure that wasn’t… Can’t remember… I don’t remember that bit… Sorry, I don’t know… I’ve forgotten…
--
But she can remember blonde hair and blue eyes, a smile, a heart that beat.
She can remember guns and fear and guts and dirt and fire.
She can remember blood and pain and sweat and noises, and no.
She can remember the word no. She’s been hearing it too long.
--
No Claire. Mustn’t touch.
No Claire. You can’t go out and play.
No Claire. We don’t want to be your friend.
No Claire. You can’t draw pictures now.
No Claire. Jenny can’t stay over.
No Claire. I’ve had enough of you and your swimming.
No Claire. I’m not doing that.
No Claire. That’s wrong.
No Claire. What do you think you’re doing?
--
Stop. The car slowed gently at the junction. The sign firmly proclaiming to all the scanty traffic.
Stop.
--
Stop what? What? Don’t you like it? Come on Jenny. Don’t be such a baby. Relax. No. What? I won’t stop it. You wanted this. You wanted me. You’ve always wanted me. Don’t turn your back on me. What so you’ve had enough of me now? Is that it? Had all you wanted? Don’t you walk away from me. Bitch! I’ve done everything for you.
You can’t just pretend I don’t exist…Jenny…Dad…Sir…Alex
--
You want me. You need me. You’ve always needed me.
We’re friends.
I need you.
--
There’s another life. There’s Alex. There’s someone who needs me. Like in Kosovo. The first time. She remembers tears and dirt and darkness and distant noises. She remembers a close escape from death and a close escape from living death. She remembers light and dark tangled together and shaking. The first time. Soft and smooth and sweet and warm and needing, wanting.
There’s another life. There’s Alex. There’s another time.
--
Claire grips the wheel slightly more firmly and swings the car left, towards the hills.
--
What next?