On Your Left

 

On Your Left

A retired special forces amputee meets a beautiful and intelligent woman in a relay race. He struggles to remember how to talk to a woman rather than anticipating getting shot by one.

            The Ragnar Relay Race in Southern Utah is not that different from trekking through the desert outside of Mosul. I’m packing lighter gear today, but the scenery is similar. It makes it that much harder not to be suspicious of every clump of weeds piled close to the road. People make a big deal about an amputee in a race, but I didn’t lose twenty pounds of leg in one day just to gain it in my gut the first couple years I’m back.

            This new brace is jamming into the bone. I should have gone with the other one. Ah well, suck it up buttercup.

            “On your left!”

            Jeez! They came out of nowhere. Pay attention man! Here comes someone again. Don’t panic. Don’t panic. Don’t panic.

            This time the soft crunch of gravel warns me and I don’t jump when I hear a nearby voice call out.

            “On your left!”

            I give a two-finger wave and let them pass. Running relaxes me even with a metal leg and the constant fear of someone sneaking up on me. It’s been hard to let go of that tense readiness but the more clumps of weeds I pass that don’t blow up, the more I trust the next clump of weeds. Part of me thinks it’s crazy to try to be normal again. Paranoia kept me alive on two tours in Iraq and one tour in, let’s say, an undisclosed location.

            “On your left!”

            Ah Jeez! Ruck up man! Oh great, she saw me jump and feels sorry for me. Move along Barbie.

            “Sorry, I didn’t mean to startle you.”

            “Don’t worry about it. I’m good.”

            “Do you, maybe, want to run together for a bit?”

            “I don’t know if we’ll be on the same pace. I’m operating with some heavy equipment.”

            Her blue eyes twinkle with laughter as she responds, “I see that. That’s pretty cool. Where did you get it?”

            “Courtesy of some friends I met at work.”

            “Military?”

            “Army.”

            There’s a respect in her eyes that I respect. Too many people see veterans as problems once they’re home instead of damn brave men and women. I look down at her hot pink running shoes and try to think of something charming to say.

            “You’ve got nice legs yourself. Where did you get yours?”

            “Heh, thanks. My mom, I guess.”

            I sound almost normal. I didn’t know I could be normal anymore.

            She continues with a tone of defiant mischief, “My mom says I got my brains from her too but I wasted them. She wanted me to be an engineer. She wasn’t too happy when I used my degree to go into waste management.”

            “People buy crap every day and then pay to haul it away when they realize what it is. Who’s the real dummy?”

            “I’m not hauling away trash cans with an engineering degree. More like, making something new with the trash afterwards. I work at a metal recycling plant. Like your prosthetic, maybe it used to be a toy car or a watermelon knife but now it’s a part of you.”

            “I think it actually is made of recycled material.”

            “I thought so. We make that model in our plant. It’s pretty cool to see it in its new life.”

            We run together until the hand off point where our teammates await. She smiles at me and almost looks like she is going to stick around to talk but just waves and jumps in her team van. I look for the Red Team Vets van. Veterans get the name. A Red Team, in the military, is supposed to research alternative methods regarding a planned course of action. We’re an organization that helps vets with alternative ways of coping with the transition to retirement. A runner’s high instead of alcohol, that sort of thing. They helped me a lot after an IED pushed up my retirement.

            My van is full of scruffy meat heads who clearly weren’t expecting me yet. They quickly toss chip bags and discarded sweatshirts into the backseat. Parker is driving the van and helping the rest of us keep on schedule. He barks orders like he’s still in command.

            “Stein, pack it up! Jake’s back. Hey brother, you made good time. Chasing cute blondes really speeds you up.”

            “I have to chase them. If they were chasing me, I’d already be caught.”

            “That’s the truth. Hey, why don’t you sit next to Stein? He’s not doing too good. Maybe you could talk to him.”

            “Heard, brother.”

            Stein has only been home six weeks. He’s still more used to being surrounded by people who fear and hate him than people who smile and wave at him. Civilians don’t know what it’s like. On assignment, you see an average family walking down the street, buying dinner, holding hands, and ready to kill you if they get the chance. Now he’s home and it’s hard to tell what average people will do. I sit down next to him as he’s looking out the window. We both examine a pile of trash outside that someone left behind. I fight the urge to go check it for explosives. Instead, I try to start a friendly conversation.

            “Hey brother, you ready for the next leg? What is it, 3.4 miles?”

            “4.3 miles mostly uphill but yeah, I’m ready. Hooah!”

            Stein’s eyes stray back to the pile of abandoned trash outside.

            “You know, brother, I remember this time in basic training. Some private left a piece of trash on the floor in the mess hall. I think it was a napkin. Anyway, his drill sergeant saw him do it and gave him an Alpha Charlie. He ordered him to sweep all the sunshine off the steps outside the mess hall.”

            Stein slowly responds, “You’re messing with me.”

            “No, true story. Poor guy was at it all day!”

            Stein finally cracks a smile as the van starts to move. He thinks about it for a minute and chuckles a little. His smile fades as he speaks to me.

            “I wish I could chew out whoever left that pile of trash.”

            “I know, brother. It was just some idiot. There’s plenty of ‘em.”

            “Did he really have to sweep those steps all day?”

            “I swear brother. I’ve never had to not laugh at a funnier thing in my life!”

            Stein chuckles again and asks Parker to pass the chips.

            When Stein gets out to run his leg of the race, we sleep in a field. I can’t help looking for Barbie. She’s not here. Maybe she’s running. Parker has the next stretch and then I have the last leg of the race. 6.2 miles ending in town. The sidewalks are going to be lined with average people watching the race. I try to not panic or at least let the panic settle down in my gut where I can ignore it.

            I meet Parker at the last hand off and set out a pretty good clip. Though, a few people are passing me again soon enough. I listen closely for the warning crunch of gravel.

            “On your left.”

            Not too bad, soldier. That was practically casual.

            I wonder if Barbie’s team has already finished. Maybe I’ll ask her real name if I see her at the Ragnar tent. She looked like she’s probably pretty fast when she’s not running next to a guy with one leg.

            “On your left!”

            What the-

            Startled, my robo leg twists out from under me and down I go. A good amount of gravel gets embedded in my forearm and my other leg is bleeding. I look up at the apologetic moron while clenching my fist.

            “Oh, I’m so sorry! Are you okay?”

            Deep breaths. Don’t get kinetic with this guy.

            He’s waiting for me to say something but words aren’t on my mind. Body parts are.

            I could sweep his leg and see how gracefully he lands in that cactus behind him.

            “I’m fine, man. We’re good. Just go.”

            Something about the look on my face tips him off that he better not try to help me up. He leaves with one more apology and I start to get up. The soft crunch of gravel stops next to me and I see hot pink running shoes.

            “Hi again. Need a hand?”

            “No, but I could use a leg if you’ve got one lying around.”

            I stand up as smoothly as I can and check the damage.

            “Ha, how about some water to clean that out?”

            “Sure, thanks. I forgot to get your name before.”

            “It’s Maggie. Margot but call me Maggie.”

            “Maggie. I’m Jake. Most of me. I call this leg Cliff cause it’s a Cluster F--.”

            “Give it some credit. It’s the only part of you that isn’t bleeding. There’s a little blood on your chin too.”

            We laugh so hard it takes me a minute to see the snake sliding out from behind the cactus. When Maggie sees it, she grabs my arm and tugs on me with panicked pleas.

            “Watch out! Back up. Back up!”

            I reach down and unhook my running blade. The curved metal is about fifteen inches long and will probably give the snake enough room to feel comfortable about me handling it. I lean forward but Maggie tugs me back.

            “What are you doing? Are you going to crush it’s head or something?”

            “No, I’m going to take him off the path so nobody steps on him.”

            “What? No way! What if he bites you? Let’s kill it or run for it.”

            “How about we gauge the threat level of this situation on a scale of one to ten? If we don’t agree then we compromise and split the difference. Anything below eight gets treated with non-violence, okay?”

            “Okay, well I think this snake is a ten.”

            “I’m pretty sure he’s a two. So, we split the difference and call him a six. I’ll just gently guide him over here off the path.”

            The snake watches me as I gently hook the front third of its body under the curve in my prosthetic. I twist my back slowly until he’s off the path and facing the other direction and set him down. He settles into the sand and slithers away while I reattach my running blade. Maggie is still breathing heavy and I notice we have a silent crowd watching a few feet back. I haven’t been this calm the entire race. Maggie’s hand is soft as a kitten on my arm as she exclaims, “That was kind of amazing!”

            “He was harmless. Not even venomous. I guess Cliff is good for something.”

            People are starting to cautiously pass us as I take one more handful of water to clean the blood off of my chin. Their fearful glances toward the side of the road start to make me nervous. Average people who are afraid do dangerous things. Maggie is smiling at me but looks hesitant to say something. I don’t want to hold her up, so I give her back her water bottle and tell her I’m fine if she wants to go.

            “Well, I was thinking. Where there’s one snake, there’s more.”

            “Sometimes, but he really wasn’t venomous.”

            “Maybe we could run together. You can watch out for snakes in front and I’ll watch out for passing morons like that guy.”

            “You’re going to watch my six?”

            She winks at me before saying, “I’d call it a ten, but yeah.”

            I melt into the knowledge that this beautiful, normal girl is actually hitting on me.

            “Well, alright. Let’s go.”

            After the race Maggie introduces me and my team to her team, The Hottie Hot Pants. I chuckle at the name as I say, “That sounds like a team that I could get behind.”

            “Why don’t you? We’re going to dinner after this. You boys could meet us at TGIF across town.”

            “What d’you say boys?”

            Even Stein knows to reply enthusiastically, “Hooah!”