Legionnaire

I needed a break. I needed to get away from everyone, everything, and every thought.

My therapist suggested a vacation, or a trip, or just a little getaway. I decided on a trial. I needed to know what I still had inside me. I needed to know what was buried there now.

I left that appointment the way I left every other appointment.

Pissed off.

All these fucking therapists were the same. They always said the same things.

“How does that make you feel?”

“What do you think you could change to make it better?”

“Maybe keep a journal to express your thoughts.”

Always the same shit. Never-ending.

Go on a vacation.

Gee, thanks, Heidi.

I walked out of the VA facility and headed toward my truck. A piece-of-shit blue 2005 Chevy Silverado 1500. Rusted-out jalopy.

I turned the key.

Rrr-rrr-rrr-rrr.

“God damn it,” I said through gritted teeth.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

I turned the key again.

Rrr-rrr-rrr—

I hit the steering wheel and turned the key one more time. Thankfully, the truck fired up.

On my way home, I thought about the appointment.

A vacation. A getaway. A break from everything.

“She’s not even listening,” I said to myself.

I didn’t need a break from everyone else. I needed a break from me. I needed a break from my broken brain running twenty-four seven, from dawn until dusk, from that 2 a.m. wake-up until I finally fell back asleep at 5 a.m.

From the nightmares.

Then I had an idea.

I didn’t need a vacation.

I needed a challenge.

I needed a test.

I needed to push myself. I needed to know if there was anything left in me worth dragging forward.

Maybe being away would clear my mind.

Or maybe it would finally give me the chance to disappear in peace.

An immediate wave of guilt washed over me.

No.

I will not quit.

I can’t.

A solo backpacking trip.

I grabbed my phone and thought about calling Mike.

Mike had been a mess after our deployment. Different kind of mess than me, but a mess all the same. Lately, he’d been swearing by MDMA therapy and hiking like he’d found religion. His Instagram was full of pictures of him smiling in the woods, standing on overlooks, sitting beside campfires with that stupid peaceful look people get when they’re either healed or trying really hard to convince everyone they are.

When was the last time I’d actually smiled because I was happy?

When was the last time I’d been in the woods? The mountains? Anywhere that didn’t smell like exhaust, old coffee, and VA waiting rooms?

It had been too long.

The horn snapped me back.

I jerked into my lane and dropped the phone onto the passenger seat. The other driver blew past, still on the horn.

Fair enough.

The thought came a second later.

Should’ve let it happen.

Same old bullshit.

I stared through the windshield and took a breath through my nose.

“Fuck you, brain,” I muttered. “Just… fuck you.”

I kept both hands on the wheel after that.

A few minutes later, I took a right at a four-way intersection.

My mind was made up.

And I needed gear.