How do I feel about moving vehicles? I wouldn’t know…I’ve never been in a boat leading to my doom in 16 days. Everyone in my division watched as a small group of men readied the boat. My heart was racing. I was about to go to Germany. The heart of the war. Front and center. I jumped as I felt a hand on my shoulder. Once I turned around I saw Art with a compassionate look.
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- - Is everything alright? He asked.
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I shook my head. Everything’s the opposite of alright. I thought that I had come to terms with the fact that I wasn’t coming back from the war…but to tell you the truth, I’m terrified. Absolutely terrified. I don’t know what to do. There’s nothing I can do. I swallowed hard as I stared into the dark sky. The water looked like something you would read in a horror novel. Dark, moving back and forth and somehow evil. Like a sea of death. It knows where we are going. Art exhaled.
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- - It’s okay, James…it’ll be okay.
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I felt like I was about to throw up. There was a lump in my throat. I wanted to cry. Nothing could lift my mood, in this moment. Not even Art’s radiant smile. I was just sad, and I didn’t know when I would stop being sad. I also felt like I couldn’t be sad…Like I wasn’t allowed to be sad. There are people having much worse times in this war than me. I know I should consider myself lucky. I just wish I was someone-anyone-else.
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- - You know… Started Art.
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I looked at him. He stared at the sky, sort of sad smile on his face.
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- - I believe in the universe…I think we’ll survive. And if we don’t, it’s because the universe didn’t want us to survive. Everything happens for a reason. Even bad things are supposed to happen. If mistakes don’t happen, how would we learn anything? The world can’t change if it’s perfect. It can’t evolve. We can’t learn new things about the world while trying to improve it if there’s nothing to improve. It might seem sad…but it’s just part of the universe’s plan. It wants us to do this…to learn…to grow… This is a huge chapter of our lives. It’s going to be at least relatively good.
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That didn’t lift up my mood, but it did make me smile.
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- - The universe? That’s rich. Said a New-York accent coming from my right side, followed by a scoff.
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Art rolled his eyes.
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- - And who do you think you are? Said Art in the most passive-aggressive tone I’ve ever heard.
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I turned toward the same tall, lightly muscular man I spotted earlier in the division.
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- - Marty McAllen.
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He put his hand out.
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- - And you, Mr. Universe? He asked with a sly smirk.
- - That’s Art. Art Johnson.
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Art narrowed his eyes. I decided to intervene before Art blew up all over Marty, probably saying something snarky about his wannabe action hero personality and body.
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- - A-And I’m James…James Baxter.
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Marty shook my hand.
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- - Nice to meet ya.
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Suddenly, the same black-haired frantic boy showed up, sweat on his brow, frantically playing with his fingers.
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- - Marty, what are you doing? He asked.
- And this is Jo Peterson, my best friend since childhood.
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I smiled with warmth, hoping to calm him down. Art simply nodded, slight smile on his lips. Jo stopped his panicking for one moment to wave at us shyly. He then immediately went back to talking to Marty with a frantic tone.
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- - The boat leaves s-soon, and we-…a-and we haven’t-
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Marty placed his hand on his friends shoulder.
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- - Calm down, Jo…It’ll all work out. S’all in the universe’s plan, right? Said Marty, smirking at Art, who narrowed his eyes even more.
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Jo threw a confused expression to his friend. I laughed in my head. Suddenly, the blond, pale-skinned man I saw earlier showed up. He ran a hand through his hair with a serious expression. He turned to me and Art and attempted a friendly expression, still not smiling. He just raised his eyebrows.
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- - Excuse me, can you tell me where division six is? He asked with the slightest bit of an accent that I couldn’t quite detect where exactly it was from.
- - That would be right here. Said Art, smile finally returning.
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The man’s face was overcome with a monotone version of realization. He then just stared ahead at the boat and the ocean. I could tell that he was going to be a man of very few words. He wasn’t like everyone else. Everyone had a specific thing about them. This guy just seemed…I don’t know… oddly competent. Like one of those military guys who think it’s their entire life purpose to destroy.
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- - You’re with us, I’m guessing? I said trying to break the cold, cold ice.
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He just nodded.
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- - James, uh, James Baxter. I said, putting my hand out.
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He looked at me, eyes slightly squinting in confusion. He looked into my eyes, then at my hand, then back at my eyes, then side to side. He then shook my hand with some sort of…caution. Just then, Marty and Jo returned from their separate conversation.
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- - Who’s this? Asked Marty with a casual smile.
- My name is Simon Weisz. Said the man, still not smiling or showing the slightest bit of warmth.
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Weisz…? Is that Russian? I wasn’t sure…it definitely sounded foreign. Was he Hungarian? Or maybe-
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- - You a Kraut? Asked Marty (I assumed playfully), smile melting into the smallest smirk.
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Simon clenched his jaw and pursed his lips. Marty used an offensive term for Germans…maybe that’s why Simon’s upset. Maybe he’s German.
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- - I was born and raised in the United States. Said Simon with narrowed eyes.
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Marty still wasn’t convinced.
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- - My father is German. He’s not a Nazi if that’s what you’re thinking. Neither am I, for that matter. I am an American citizen and so is my mother. I was raised with the same American experiences as all of you. I believe the same American beliefs as all of you. I breathe the same American air as all of you. I am not responsible for what is happening in Germany. I would not even call Germany my country. It is not my country. America is my country. I am not a spy, I’m not an antisemite, I am not a Kraut or a Nazi. I am an American soldier. Just like all of you.
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Marty exhaled and shrugged.
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- - Alright. He said almost in a cheerful tone.
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Art went close to Simon and lowered his voice.
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- - Thank you for serving. No one here thinks any of those things…or at least, I don’t think any of those things. You’re a soldier. Said Art, placing his hand on Simon’s shoulder.
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Simon made an approving nod with the slightest smile. Marty laughed. We all turned to him.
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- - God, Johnson. You’re corny as hell.
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Art narrowed his eyes and pursed his lips.
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- - You really trust him that much? Well, riddle me this, genius; If Kraut was born and raised in America with an American mother, how come he has a German accent? Marty smirked.
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Simon exhaled.
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- - I was raised around the German-American community. My father knew of some Germans who lived here. All my close friends were German, all my family, all of my town…That’s why I have a small accent. And by the way…
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Simon went in very close proximity to Marty’s face. I assumed as a method of intimidation. His expression was very serious with a decent amount of anger.
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- - Don’t ever call me Kraut again, you ass-kissing all-American greaseball. He said through gritted teeth.
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Marty’s eyes widened for a second before he began laughing and pulled Simon toward him, arm around his shoulder.
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- - I like this guy. He said with a huge smile.
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I sighed with relief, happy that there wasn’t going to be another war in our division. Simon did not seem impressed at all, and Art rolled his eyes.
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- - Aw, come on Johnson…I like ya too! I like all of ya! This is gonna be great!
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I made eye contact with Jo. Jo looked sad. The kind of sad that you really feel sorry for. You know when you’re just walking on the street, and you see a family or a child who seems to be homeless? They look at you with that look that isn’t exactly sad, but it reads “I’m not thriving, but at least I’m surviving.”? You know that one? That’s how Jo was looking at me, right now. Poor kid. He looked younger than me. Simon and Marty looked a bit older, but not that much. Maybe maximum 2 years. Marty finally let go of Simon.
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- - Guys! Let’s all get to know each other! He said with enthusiasm.
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Everyone eyed each other.
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- - Something to do while they ready our boat. Marty shrugged.
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Soon, we all sat in a circle, like grade-school children. Marty cleared his throat.
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- - I will begin. He said.
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Everyone just nodded, feeling a little ridiculous in this moment.
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- - My name is Martin McAllen. I go by Marty. I’m 23, I was born and raised in New York city, my dog’s name is Charlotte, my dad left when I was 15, I went to boarding school in Nebraska as my mom went to rehab, I live with my uncle on weekdays, I’m recently single and my favourite colour is pink. He said, smile never leaving his face.
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Everyone stared, mouth slightly agape.
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- - Okay, who’s next? He asked.
- - I-I’ll go next… Said Art, a little shell-shocked.
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Everyone watched and waited. I just smiled. Art. Art Johnson. Is there anyone more perfect than he? Everything about him from his looks to his personality made my heart melt. His laugh made my knees weak, and just the thought of us spending 16 full days on a small boat together made me sweat out of places I didn’t know I could sweat out of. I wasn’t even sure if he felt the same way, but I didn’t care. I knew that even if he didn’t love me back, I would continue to feel this heart-aching feeling. That night at the bar on December 1st, I think we had a connection. Although does he care? Was he drunk? Does he even remember that I-…That I kissed him? Twice? I mean, it’s pretty hard to forget, but I don’t know. Maybe he has a memory problem. Maybe it was so awful that his brain blocked it out…like trauma. Oh, come on James. I’m sure that Art doesn’t think your kiss was traumatic. Or does he? He hasn’t talked about it…I mean, neither have I, but that’s because I don’t want to bring it up…Does…doe he not want to bring it up? Is he also scared? Is he having the exact same train of thought as me, right now? Oh, God. I still can’t tell if love is a blessing or a curse. Maybe loving Art Johnson is a curse. I couldn’t see the time fly by, but Art was done. Everyone was looking at me.
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- - Well? Said Marty, expecting an answer to some question I didn’t hear.
- - Well, what? I asked.
- - Your turn, dingus!
- - Oh, sorry. I laughed a bit.
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I stole another glance at Art, who was smiling at me with the utter most adorable expression I had ever seen on any living, breathing human being I had ever seen.
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- - Well, um, my name is James Baxter, I’m 23, I lived in New York since I was born…My dad is a businessman, my mom is a housewife, and I am nothing. I laughed a bit.
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Marty squinted.
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- - Nothing? He asked.
- - Kinda. I said.
- - No job, no girl, nothing? He asked.
- - Not really into that kind of stuff. I said followed by a miniature breathless laugh.
- - Jobs or girls? Joked Marty.
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A bit of both. I knew I couldn’t say that out loud, but it was true.
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- - Jobs…I also dislike drama surrounding love and girls and all that.
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As I said this, I gave an absentminded glance to Art. Much to my dismay, Art was looking. I immediately slipped up, blushed, and avoided eye contact with him. Did he understand what I was implying? Did he take it the wrong way and consider “love drama” something to do with him? Good God. No one has ever made me ask this many questions.
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- - You’re boring. Said Marty.
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This made the group (except for Simon) giggle.
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- - A little bit, yeah. I said, running my hand through the hair on the back of my head.
- - Who’s next? Asked Art.
- - I-I’ll go. Said Jo.
- - I’m Joseph Peterson, but I go by Jo. I have two parents…I used to take jazz lessons because I play the saxophone…I’m smart, I guess…I don’t really know what else to say-
- - You should hear Jo play the sax! He’s amazing! Said Marty with wide eyes.
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Jo’s cheeks turned pink.
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- - No, no…I’m barely intermediate…
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Marty rolled his eyes. Suddenly, two men that none of us had ever seen before showed up, same outfit as the general.
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- - Division six? Asked the of the men.
- - Yes. We all replied.
- - The boat is ready for you all.
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I swallowed hard. I wasn’t ready. Not yet. Not ever, I don’t think. You know that feeling where your heart sinks down to your wrist, feeling like your body is empty and dizzy? I can only remember a few times where I felt like that… Now, show and tell in grade two and that one time when I was 13 years old, and my uncle asked me my political views. I didn’t know what to say and choked…then I-…I shuddered at the memory. Luckily, I didn’t have to pick up the throw up off the floor. I felt like that again. I felt sick and scared. I felt helpless. I felt like there was no soul in my body…like a moving car with no driver. Empty. Useless. Everyone started walking toward the doc. I lingered behind everyone as they walked forward. Art stopped in a dry way and turned his head back to check on me. He gave a sad smile that read: “are you okay?”. I smiled back and nodded my head slightly. He nodded back and continued walking. I inhaled my last breath of American air before squeezing my eyes shut and taking a step forward.
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Goodbye. An exclamation often used when departing. Synonyms; farewell, adieu, ciao.
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I think goodbye was the right word in that particular moment. I was leaving. Who was I saying goodbye to, exactly? My country? My house? Everything I’ve ever known? A normal life?
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Maybe that’s one of those things I’ll put off until I’m in my thirties…
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If I make it.
ns 172.70.126.79da2
and then Add to home screen.