long weekend. I’d be scrolling through photos of house parties and beach bonfires—everything normal twenty-two-year-olds do—and then head over to the ready room to put together charges for that night’s mission, which might be some piece of shit mud brick building full of bearded assholes who wipe their asses with their bare hands. The cognitive divide was massive, and it started really playing with my head.
What I was looking at, I realize now, was the other half of that cliché about the senior year of high school I talked about earlier. At some point, you bump into guys who graduated a year or two ahead of you and they let you in on a little secret: There’s more after high school, and it’s way better. Dominating high school is cool and all, but college? Working for yourself? Not having to do anything if you want to be a bum for a while? That’s real. That’s freedom. And it’s fucking awesome.
MySpace put a mirror in my face and forced me to look into it, and what I found was someone whose decisions had taken one hell of a mental and physical toll, no matter how much he wanted to deny it.
Then another question crept into my head: Would I ever be able to transition back into the real world and assimilate? It seemed to me that going from hunting humans with lasers to hunting for a “normal job” in the private sector would be virtually impossible. The idea of going on a civilian job interview was weirdly terrifying:
Interviewer: Do you have any management experience?
Mat: I was a team leader.
Interviewer: Great. Tell me, how did you normally handle conflict?
Mat: Usually a short-barrel M4 carbine. But sometimes, also helicopters.
Interviewer: Thanks…We’ll be in touch.
This was more than a passing concern for me, because the deadline for reenlistment was coming up fast. Until very recently, my mind had been set. I was going to sign those papers and keep doing what we were doing: living the dream. But suddenly the decision wasn’t so clear anymore. With only two days left to decide, a message popped up from one of my best friends back home who knew that my deployment was about to end.
Hey Mat, when you get back, why don’t you come live with us? We’re moving to Los Angeles, there’s like three of us who are going in on renting a house together. We’re going to fuck shit up. Miss you bro, we’d love to have you.
I remember sitting there, staring at the screen, unsure how to respond. After careful thought I typed back:
What are you guys going to do for jobs?
I checked my messages the next day and found this response:
What are you, a fucking dad? Dude, we’re 22. Who gives a shit? We’re going to party and fuck hot chicks all summer. We’ll figure it out when we get there. You in? Need to know soon so we can fill in your room if you don’t want to come.
The words “What are you, a fucking dad?” stung me, because it was true. Damn. Why did I care what they were doing for jobs? Forget about assimilating into the workforce, could I even be a normal kid and have fun again? Had I seen too much to live the life of a typical twenty-two-year-old? If his offer sounded appealing to me—and it did—my only concern should have been partying and hooking up all summer, not how we were going to keep the lights on while we did it. Was I going to age too rapidly and burn myself out over here and miss all of my twenties if I stayed? Probably. Would it be more rewarding to stay? Maybe. Would I regret not giving the carefree twenties a shot? I didn’t know.
After a grueling mental back and forth over the next forty-eight hours, I decided not to reenlist. After chasing my military dreams since I was sixteen years old, after fighting for my country through five deployments, through many narrow misses and several tragic deaths, I decided to go home and try to be a kid again. I quit war cold turkey. For now at least….
Chapter 12
Snowflakes in Los Angeles?
The day I got out of the Army, September 13, 2008, I stood there and watched as my platoon headed out on a training exercise. For four years, I’d joined them on exercises just like this, to places just like where they were going. It was old hat. No big deal.