Avalanche

Roses

         Little One -Highly Suspect

I stepped off the plane and grabbed my issued pack that weighed a hundred pound. I straightened my dress uniform consisting of a blue jacket,white pants and polished black shoes.

As I walked out of the airport people would stop and salute me and I would do the same. They would state their branch and class or the war. Some people would smile and thank me. On my way past the waiting area, there was an older gentle men who had a knee brace and cane. When he saw me coming he struggled to his feet and stood at attention.

I stopped and stood at attention waiting for him to salute me.

"Joe Walker. Private First Class.United States Marines. Third Marine Regiment. Vietnam," he says as if he were talking to a superior officer.

My hand was at eye-level still saluting him. "Corporal. Lydia Steavens. United States Marines. Special Operations. Afghanistan."

He saluted me and I saluted him. I continued on my way outside and hailed a cab.

It was cold outside as November had just rolled in and the trees surrounding the airport had lost all their leaves. I try to honk back to the last time I saw Scranton.

It had been May and the sun was shining brightly.The Scranton summer heat had not yet set in and it was a mild seventy-five degrees. Ricky had brought us to the airport. He'd walked me and bade me goodbye. After my plane had gone he remained to board one to Europe.

Ricky is my boyfriend and he is in a band. You probably know him under the pseudonym Ricky Horror.

I met him working at Altpress as an interviewer. I work there when I'm not deployed. There I met most of my friends and without it I think I'd be lost.

The taxi pulls up to a Ricky's quaint little house.  It was useless for I to own a house. I would only be there for half the year or less before I was deployed again.

Once I payed the taxi driver I made my way to the house and opening it with my key. The whole foyer was crowded with boxes.

I sat my bag down and called out for Ricky. A loud thumping noise echoed down from the staircase. Ricky followed and when he looked at me it wasn't the same. It was a foreign look; one he never gave me.

"Ricky?" I questioned frowning. What was he doing?

He shook his head and hesitated.

I raised an eyebrow. "Are you moving?"

His eyes connected with mine and I began to feel naive. "I'm sorry," he says to me.

I shake my head and hold my breath. My heart was beating wildly and I felt lightheaded. I grabbed a table for support.

I looked away from him and down at the table. There was a dozen red roses and I frowned at them. He was a rose. Beautiful but painful.

" I just can't take it anymore. You're gone for months and I need someone for when I get home. To touch to feel. You're over five-thousand miles away."

Tears drop down my cheeks and I feel like I did when I took a bullet to the ribs.

"No," I mutter as if I had anyway to control this. I clearly didn't.

His are sad and his face is cold. He drags the suitcase the rest of the way down the stairs. I jump a little every-time it thumps. It sounds like a far off car bomb exploding.

He looks at me again and pulls my phone from my pocket. I always left it here when I was deployed. It was a bother to keep up with it in Afghanistan.There was no service over there anyways.

"How long?" My voice broke the silence.

"Before you left."

Another tear falls as I realize his motive. He'd let me go thinking I was loved because I loved him more than anything. He hoped I would die over there in that God forsaken country still thinking he loved me.

I stood myself up and wiped my tears. I was a marine and I was strong. With my back straight and my head high I walked to the door.

"Send my stuff to London ," I say. "You know to where. My phone please."

He held it out and I snatched it. On my out I slammed the door hoping to break down the emotional wall he'd built up.

I turned my phone on and called for a taxi. The thousand notifications I had kept coming but I ignored them.

Before I knew it I was back on a plane heading across states.