Fifty-Six

I know what she's asking. Like Wendy, she never suppressed her opinion about how much she hated the idea of me leaving. She's asking if I'm going to fight death if it happens upon me. If I'm going to put myself first so that I have a better chance of coming home.
I smile at her but I'm looking at Wendy as I answer, "I have something I'm leaving behind. It wouldn't make sense if I didn't come home."
Dahab lets out a breath, relieved and I know she believes me. I try to believe it too, but I know myself well. I'm not selfish. Wendy's the only person I would act selfishly for. I feel guilty because I don't tell Dahab the truth. But I cling to this lie because at the moment it's all I have. My half-felt word that I come first. What I don't doubt is that I'll fight to get back to Wendy but at what cost?
"Promise," Sue says, running her hands over her thighs. Nervous. She has on a tight dress that leaves an angry rim on her upper thighs and heels that put emphasis on her skinny, long legs. "That's my sister you're leaving behind."
"I do," I say back.
But this does seem to ease my Aunt's worries and I hear a sigh of sadness escape her. She knows the danger I'm in and my Aunt has never been a woman who has much faith. Going to mosque is something she does because my Uncle is a devout Muslim. She still thinks there's science behind everything and if there isn't then it's not possible.
"I made this for you." Brooklyn hands me a large lunch box. "Sandwiches for the road."
Everyone in the room eyes the black container with scepticism. I let out the breath I've been holding and smile. "Thank you. Ma'am."
"Boy, been telling you to stop calling me ma'am. I may be old but I ain't spotting any grey hairs yet."
"Sorry Mrs. Sherman but it wouldn't feel right if I called you..." I trail off awkwardly.
"Brooklyn, boy. Go on now, you know my name."
"We should go," Dahab says and gets to her feet. She's shaking so bad that I worry about the car she'll be driving.
"Good luck, man," Ali says, and he hugs me for a long time.
Once everyone has said their goodbyes, I turn to Wendy and offer my hand. She takes it immediately. For a brief second the pain vanishes. But just for a second. It comes back with a crushing blow.
"Dahab, don't forget to drop my suit off to the dry cleaners," Ali says as he takes the last sip of his black coffee and grabs his car keys. I sigh in relief. Dahab won't be driving us to the airport.
They kiss goodbye and I look away, resisting the need to make gagging sounds.
Wendy's squeezing my hand too hard but I don't mind. I'm digging my nails into her palm, so...
I say to my Aunt, "Dahab come with us and on the way back get some cereal, cheese and we're running low on sugar. Oh and don't forget milk, we ran out yesterday. Take care of the electricity bill as well. There's a red meat special at —"
"Wait," Dahab interrupts me with an unimpressed frown. She digs in her red purse for a pen and paper. "Here..." She slides the paper across the table, the violent tremors are beginning to shake her whole body now. "Write it all down while Ali heats the car. Brooklyn will take me grocery shopping."
I am reminding her because I knows I won't be around anymore to take care of the house, and it is for this reason that I ram her to me before I leave. I hold on until Dahab breaks down. She tells me she loves me and her farewell message is, "Don't get yourself killed, son."
I smile and answer in a soft voice. "I love you too, Dahab."
I put one arm behind Wendy's back, not quite touching her, while the other carries a duffle bag over my shoulder, and walk with her from the porch down the slippery road to Ali's car.
I glance back at the house with a hint of uncertainty as the engine purrs to life, my thoughts, are on my Aunt. What will become of Dahab now? I wonder. How can I leave my Aunt to fend for herself? Who will remind her that she's forgotten to put on a skirt? Who will guilt her into eating when she hasn't eaten all day? The guilt clouds my eyes as the house disappears from sight.
We drive in silence to the airport. Wendy clutches my hands with a strength I didn't know she had. She always managed me with tenderness. We all know what can happen but neither of us voice our concerns. Maybe if we don't say it aloud, then it won't happen. It might seem silly but to us it makes sense.
Eventually we make it to Ex. 3 the airport is across an abandoned house. It is a big, Gothic Revival house that is different from most of Margate's Victorian style houses. The decorative patterns are gold, finials are blue, scalloping is butterscotch, lancet windows are dark and show the reflection of Ali's old Mazda.
We approached the airports sliding doors. Inside, there are young men and women, spotting the same navy uniform as me.
As soon as my luggage is in the wagon with the baggage of others in my plane, I take Wendy in my arms, and, for a moment, refuse to let her go or to think about the repercussions for my actions. I cling to her with desperate hands.
"Stay with me," she mouths. She has no strength.
She must see it in my eyes. I want to stay but can't. This is something I have to do. This is something I wish I didn't have to do. This is something I wish she could give me her unyielding support in.
"Be careful, John," Wendy says, she sounds as terrified as she looks.
She nods once and steps away from me. For a long minute, that last longer than it really is, I just stand there and look at my fiance, her eyes are glistening with tears she's fighting to hold back. I know it's only a matter of time before she will let them come down. She sniffs once. Looks at the ceiling, avoiding eye contact. This is hard for her too, I realise, harder than watching me watch my twin sister, Clara die. Before I know it my arms wind around her tightly again.
I don't want to make this harder for her than it already is. I just don't know how to let her go. I want to go back home with her. I want to make love to her again tonight. The way she's holding on tells me she feels the same way. I don't cry though. My throat is thick and my eyes sting but I know if I cry then the tears will blind my vision and I won't be able to see her clearly. God, I love this woman.
I want to remember this very moment. I want to remember her just like this. Smiling at me. Kissing my cheeks. My forehead. The tip of my nose.
There is an announcement, "Good afternoon passengers. This is the pre-boarding announcement for flight 67J to Kabul. We are now inviting those passengers with small children, and any passengers requiring special assistance, to begin boarding at this time. Please have your boarding pass and identification ready. Regular boarding will begin in approximately ten minutes time. Thank you." But I can't let go, I can't bring myself to turn my back on her and walk away. Her grip tightens around me. We hold each other, tighter and tighter. A whole hour passes or days. But in reality it's only just a few seconds.
Before we break apart, I manage a small whisper: "I'm coming back to you, I swear."
She kisses me... hard. I kiss her back until I feel she has forgotten where we are. I kiss her until her hunger for me strongly mirrors my own. Then she says, "I'll be right here, waiting for you."
I take a step away from her and I just know this isn't the last time I'm seeing her. There's something reassuring in her words. The conviction in her eyes is all I need to know everything will be fine. That this is just a year. Twelve months and then she'll be in my arms, right where she belongs.
I kiss her cheek and my lips linger there for a second longer than they normally would. I can't be sure but I think I hear her inhale against my neck. I sigh.
I walk to the boarding lane where other army troops in the same blue uniform as me have disappeared.
I'm unwell. I'm in pain. Unbearable pain. I feel like a thousand knives are piercing through my chest, puncturing it, leaving it with holes in it like swiss cheese. Nothing will mend my heart after such damage, I'm sure of it.