“That’s not the way it happened…..” I start to reply.
“Damn it……” Do memory paths cause physical pain? I have no idea, I am no fucking neurosurgeon. What I can tell you is that whatever the fuck is happening this night, right now, it hurts like ever fucking hell.
When I feel a slightly clammy hand grasp mine across the table, one sense tells me clammy sweat and nervousness, and yet another yells safety, soothing balm, and I focus
on that.
“Are you ok?”
“Yes, yes, I……while you talked….I didn’t remember it that way, but its like a fog has cleared.” My eyes have to reflect the sadness of the day she ended our life together, and she flinches away, taking her soothing hand with her.
“Yes, well, that was just the beginning.”
September 22nd, 2005
They’d left Oecusse airbase at the crack of dawn that morning.
He’d been up all night before the flight, staring southwest from the beach out across the Timor Sea, towards the Indian Ocean, as if he could see all the way to Port Hedland. They’d rented a place there, not really much of one, a small bungalow. Just a permanent residence for when they both could get away. He’d sworn he’d never really return there, but for her, so she’d be by family. Since her parents were dead, that meant his family. For her, he’d do anything.
Anything except stop loving her, regardless of what she said. The rumors said one thing, but he knew, he knew, deep in his soul, in his heart, that she loved him. Because how else would it make sense for it to hurt so much, for his love to burn at the same time as his anger, his sadness.
He’d called again, one last time. It rang and rang. He’d know if she was hurt right? So…..so she must have just gone back to base, back to work, back to…..something.
Back on the plane, the new sergeant came by. Thirty minutes until landing. He was sitting there, rotating the phone in his hands, looking at the images he’d promised never to share.
“Anderson,” he barked.
“Sergeant,” he answered, snapping upright in his seat.
“No personal devices, son,” he said in a calmer manner.
“Aye, Sergeant,” and with one last glance at the name encoded in the speed dial, listed only as BOMBER. Then he pulled the back off, the phone collapsing into three pieces, then handed it to the NCO.
Present Day
I listen but I don’t say anything as the fiery rage settles into me, and I recognize then that I am going to kill him. How long and how painful it would be, that I don’t know, but it was going to happen, and fuck the consequences.
I move my chair next to her, and I don’t think she even saw me. But I am finally there to 
catch her as she collapses from telling the story, of how the trauma started, how the rapes began, of how she saved our child, saved my family, saved my world. Even while I was gone, “protecting” the ones I loved. When the biggest danger had always been those who had sworn to lead us, to protect us, those I had trusted.
As she sobs into my shoulder, I don’t know what to do. The strength she carries, to have born the repeated trauma for over fourteen years now. To be forced into a facade of a family, in order to protect Olivia, to be suffer his touch as he forced himself on her time and again. It rips through my heart, my soul. I want so much to say something, to do something, to fix something.
Her tears are ragged, tears of relief maybe, to finally share the burden, to finally tell someone. I don’t really know as it’s impossible for me to describe.
I hold this beautiful, strong woman, a soldier, a fighter, a protector, and, most importantly, our child’s mother. How can I not love her?
My love…..and my guilt both bear down as the highs and lows of the waves of a storm, slamming into me with each jagged sob wrenched from her as she clutches onto me with a strength no superhero could ever match.
Last Dreams 