Undeclared (The Woodlands) - By Jen Frederick Page 0,18

fingers into the thick strands. She looked expensive, like the china Bo’s mother used for company. Totally above my pay grade.

I was right to have waited and gotten everything in order before coming here. Grace had sent me The Odyssey once during deployment, writing that we could experience her English lit class together. As Odysseus fought his way back to Penelope, his faithful wife, he had to overcome obstacles from sirens to monsters.

Homer never said whether the obstacles were all in Odysseus’s mind, created from too much war, too much time at sea, too much time away from reality. But they could have been.

It’s a cliché among fighters that they are all trying to beat back their shithole childhoods. The military is full of guys whose dads were deadbeats at best and abusive monsters at worse. My own old man fell in between. He never raised a hand to me. Too lazy. His preferred method of punishment was making sure I understood that I had ruined his life.

My dad was mad at the world and had been since I killed my mom by being born. He hadn’t called me Noah since I was probably eight or nine. Shithead was his preferred name for me. Worthless was his favorite adjective. When he was drunk, which was often as his measly paycheck allowed, he liked to string them together with a few curse words. Noah, you worthless shithead, you’re not going to amount to anything more than knocking up some trailer park trash.

The Marines may have made me a man, but Grace made me human. No matter what I told her in my letters, she accepted it and wrote me back something funny or sweet. She made me realize I could have more if I wanted it. And I wanted more bad.

Chapter Four

Dear Grace,

I don’t think you’ll ever see me on YouTube, but there is shit-all to do around here, so guys will memorize songs and videotape each other performing. I have zero twerking ability. I guess if there’s ever some music video involving marching, I could participate in that.

I think the higher-ups like these videos because they make A’stan look fun, which it isn’t. But it’s good PR.

Some guys from MMA were here to entertain the troops. I talked to one of the managers, who said that a guy could earn six figures a year for beating someone else up in the ring. It’s not really boxing skills that matter, either, because a lot of the skills are kicking and hand-to-hand combat, which is something that we’re taught here.

It’s kind of a cool idea. Yeah, there are worries about concussions, but I think the pros outweigh the cons. Bo isn’t interested, but he doesn’t need to be either. He’s got plenty of family money. He told me that we both should go to college after we get out and that I could use the GI Bill to pay for everything.

What college did you say you were going to? Central? Mail me something about it the next time you send a care package. I think I should check it out.

Yours,

Noah

Grace

Noah navigated us to my apartment without asking for directions once. He parked in the small drive behind the house, and, before I could open my own door, he jumped out and came around to help me out.

“How about I carry them in?” Noah asked, opening the back seat of the cab.

“We live on the third floor, Mr. Macho.” I wondered for the millionth time why we didn’t live on the first floor. Lana always said it was good exercise, but she never had to practically drag my drunken body up two flights of stairs.

He looked at the girls dubiously. “I don’t think you’re rousing them. I’ve carried heavier things over longer and rougher terrain, so I think I can manage two girls who each weigh about the same as a feed sack.”

Even with some heavy jostling and the promise of comfortable beds, I could not manage to wake Lana or Amy. Noah gently pushed me aside. “Keys?” I pulled out my apartment key and handed it to Noah. He hefted Amy in his arms and disappeared inside the house.

“Lana, I think I’m in trouble,” I whispered to her passed-out form. “I don’t know how much longer I can resist him. He’s going to be in our apartment. I’m afraid I’m going to attack him or something. I wish you were awake to protect me from myself.” Lana moaned in response, and I