The Death Date

chapter thirty-two

I couldn't believe I had almost not started the vet tech program. After my first day, I felt like I was walking on clouds. In place of the constant fear that continually rested in every nook and cranny of my life, was freedom; nothing was in my way or hid someplace waiting to attack. It had lost its control.

I had heard over two dozen death dates today – most students in my classes plus instructors – and while it had been draining, I didn't retreat. I charged ahead. It was just another part of my life and, for once, it didn't have power. I didn't need to fear death dates; they were a reminder of what it meant to live.

While Vi had been busy starting up a new semester, and Meghan was working twice as hard at the coffee shop in my absence, I had been able to see them once since Melanie's funeral. Vi had invited Meghan and me to her house for dinner, and the two couldn't have looked happier. I was so thankful my best friend had found someone who understood her, someone who made her want to try new things, and, when I got a moment alone with Vi, I made sure to tell her this. She embraced me with a hug lasting less than a second, the third one in our twelve years of friendship.

I was happy. And even if it only lasted a moment, that was okay, because I knew the feeling, I could remember it. I was free; fear no longer caged me. Happiness may be fleeting, but it would always come back around to the person willing to accept it. The more doors that opened, the more ways it could come through.

There was still one door I needed to open.

The Carl Vinson was scheduled to deploy this morning, taking Warner with it for four months at sea. I was tired of telling myself it wasn't fair to either of us, tired of constantly nipping my emotions in the bud just to have them grow again, desperate to bloom. I wasn't going to deny myself anymore. Happiness, I knew now, was never permanent, not really, so why defend myself against it when it was a gift? It would flourish and then wilt – like seasons – and just as so, would always return.

I barreled down the 94, thankful there wasn't much traffic, but cursing when the Coronado Bridge was backed up at the on ramp. The reversible lane was in my favor; three lanes were open heading towards base. Darting around lines of cars, I glided down the bridge – only suffering three honks from peeved drivers – and blew through a stoplight, finally making it to the base gate. My usual lane was backed up, the familiar face admitting cars through quickly, but not quickly enough. Deciding I didn't care, I swerved into the shortest lane and inched forward in line as my fingers drummed along the steering wheel.

Rolling my window down as I approached the man in uniform, I handed him my ID card and instantly received his death date:

December second, two thousand and eighty.

"Thanks, Ms. Wright," he said, handing the card back. I slammed on the gas and wound my way through the base. Fully aware the regular parking lots would already be filled with visitors bidding their goodbyes, I pulled into the Navy Exchange, parked, threw open my door, and bolted down the road towards the Carl Vinson.

A sea of people assembled around the ship. Fear pricked my neck, but I pushed it away. I was here for one reason, and the fear I had worked so hard to quash wasn't going to derail my plan. Sucking down a breath and leaving the ugly feeling behind me, I plunged into the mass and worked my way towards the ship. Death dates circulated all around me; my skin was electrified the entire length of the journey – a journey I wasn't even sure would pan out, but one I had to make.

March eighth, two thousand and forty-five, January twenty-first, two thousand and sixty-six, October eleventh, two thousand and thirty-two.

On and on they went. My ears buzzed and skin tingled, but I kept moving. One step at a time, skirting past people waving and kissing loved ones goodbye, I made my way to the edge of the base. The Carl Vinson towered above and hid the sun behind its mass. I didn't know how I was going to find Warner. With matching uniforms, everyone looked the same; Warner could very well be aboard already.