Bridges: Chapter 6

Chapter 6

Sam…

The guys stay with me as Constable Mitchell calls the tow truck. The guys get ready too Eli is going to stay here with his boys and look after our places and Brandon and the rest of the guys go and get their stuff on and Their motorbikes to come into town with us. I catch a ride in the cruiser with the Constable as he orders the tow truck to be taken right to Armstrong insurance. He does smirk at the guys following us through town seven big guys in leather and denim on big motorcycles rumbling through town.

We definitely draw a few eyes and stuff as we drive kind of convoy like through town eventually stopping at the insurance company. I get out of the cruiser and so does the Constable as well as Brandon gets off his Bike and comes in with me.

We get to the counter. The Constable looks at the secretary. “We have an appointment with Mr. Murray and Mrs. Armstrong, I’m Constable Mitchell and the young lady with me is Ms. Sam Chase.” She looks at him then at me then does the whole thing again. She picks up her phone and says. “Mrs. Armstrong your one o’clock is here.” She looks at us. “She said she will be right out as soon as possible.” I’m getting looked at by her, stared at and studied looking at the flaws in my presentation to the world. I’m used to it.

I feel like I’m being weighed and found wanting. Brandon leans against the counter like he’s… Brandon and fixes the girl with a stare. “Why don’t you go pour us three coffee’s Miss since we’re here to see Mrs. Armstrong, I’m sure she’d be impressed with your professionalism.” The secretary slips off to get us three coffees. I shake my head as he just kind of got her to get away from me and fetch coffee and she didn’t even get the dig he threw in about her being a professional. He gives me a flash of a smile and I can’t help but smile back. We’re just taking the first sips of our coffees when a smartly dressed 40-50 something woman comes out. She shakes each of our hands firmly introducing herself. “Good morning, I’m Catherine Armstrong and just what problem is happening that you needed to talk directly to me?” There’s a 30 something man with a thick mustache with her in a ugly brown polyester suit. This is the agent for this claim Arthur Murray.

Constable Mitchell looks directly at the woman. “This young lady (He gestured to me.) is a customer of yours. She has had some damage done to her windshield by vandals in the commission of a hate crime.” Several heads rose when he mentioned that phrase. Vandalism is a very different thing to most people than a hate crime. Most decent people get upset about such stuff in their towns. He continued. “When she contacted your offices she was put into contact with a one Mr. Murray who had told her bluntly that she hadn’t a right to a claim to the damages as she Incited the event in her choice of life style.” That’s when Mr. Murray spoke up. “Here now, I never said any such thing about or to …them (he indicated me with a dismissive wave of his hand.) Catherine this kid’s just out of the academy and he’s just looking to cause some drama to get brownie points with his bosses.” The Constable just sipped away at his coffee and waited then continued like the guy hadn’t said a word. “I had taken over the call at this point when she was from what I could see clearly upset. At that point Mr. Murray told me.” He holds up a single finger in a wait gesture then replays his hand recorder. We all hear Mr. Murray’s voice start saying.

“Look Constable I’m going to make this easy for you. They’re a trouble maker, and they’ll drag you down if you don’t let this go kid. They’ve been told they aren’t wanted in this town and have been given lots of very good offers to get out of here. Let it go and you’ll get the right co-operation from the right people.”

Mr. Murray blanches and Mrs. Armstrong looks like someone shoved an unwanted hand up her skirt. You know first shock and then anger. Brandon says in this very cuttingly dry way. “Hell of a way to treat a armed forces Vet, especially a combat medic.” There’s a pregnant silence in the office and instead of me getting stared at like a freak. They’re looking at me with this different look. They look like He shamed them. Somebody I couldn’t see muttered. “Fucking douche-bag.” It took several moments for Mrs. Armstrong’s reaction to coalesce into that fine point rage that older women in positions of authority seem to get. “Mr. Murray, you are fired as of immediately, since you have handled all of MISS Chase’s insurance claims we’ll be looking all of your cases over to see if you’ve been defrauding MY company.”

He goes from white to red and almost purple. Then pushes past us storming out and he takes a chance to try to clip me with an elbow as he goes past. I’m swept out of the way by Brandon and he takes it in the face…I barely saw Andrew Mitchell move that fast and in a violent crash Mr. Murray is on the floor through the coffee table in the waiting area with Constable Mitchell on his back cuffing him. “Mr. Arthur Murray I’m placing you under arrest for attempted assault and assault causing bodily harm. You have the following rights…” He goes on as he hauls the guy out to the back of the police cruiser then gets on his radio.

Mrs. Armstrong looks at me. “Miss Chase, I’m so sorry about everything that’s been happening and I’ll have your truck repaired immediately as well as I said that we’ll be looking into all your past claims and other things to see if he’s committed other acts of fraud.”

I look at her. “Thank you…I…I never wanted to come home and cause trouble. I just, I just wanted to be myself, who I know I am…” I can’t really finish, I’m too upset and just tap/gesture at myself. Brandon wraps an arm around my shoulder and turns me so I can cry on his shoulder…Brandon…He took a hit for me. Only a few people have ever done that for me, all of it in the service. But this is the first time anyone has protected me as the girl I am. I look at him and there’s a bit of a bruise and a line of blood coming down a little from the corner of his mouth. The bleedings stopped and there’s some swelling but he did that..took that for me.

Now my tears are for the first knight in shining armor I’ve ever met in my life. Even if he wears dusty leathers and denim and drives a Harley instead of riding a horse.

My life’s been full of a great deal of suck in the last five years with being at war and transitioning. I was sinking into depression and becoming a recluse…All of this was turning around since Brandon showed up.

There’s another Mountie that shows up and he comes in and starts to ask questions and taking statements from all of us. He leaves with Constable Mitchell who did check to see if I was okay and to see if Brandon was going to press charges for assault. Brandon nods. “Absolutely.”

He takes me outside and the guys come around and ask what happened. Brandon gave them a recap and I’m getting these beautiful hugs from the guys and I’m tearing up from these guys just being so giving and supportive for me. Mrs. Armstrong and a few others come out and walk up to us. She extends a hand to me. I take it and we share a handshake. “Miss Chase I’m so sorry about the things that happened and we just want you to know that…That Man…does not speak for the rest of us and that we’re deeply sorry but we’re also deeply thankful for the sacrifices you’ve made for us.”

I smile at her and the others a bit shyly as they come and shake my hand and thank me and say they’re sorry for having to go the things I have. It’s a bit, no very overwhelming but in a good way. My tears keep coming as I’m feeling like I’ve just been given a reprieve and that it’s okay to be myself. I’m not used to having the pressure off and thanks to my hormones I’m able to cry this out. I’m even hugged a couple of times. I’m worn out by the time I’m done. Brandon talks to Mrs. Armstrong and she’s nodding a few times and then she talks to the tow truck driver who pulls away with dad’s truck. She comes forward and passes me a sheet of paper and a card. “I’ve sent your truck to Porter’s Auto body here’s the paper’s you’ll need and they said they’ll call you when it’s ready, and here’s a voucher for Budget car rentals until you get the truck back.”

“Thank you, This is more than kind of you.”

“Nonsense it’s the least we can do literally.”

We part ways and Brandon passes me a helmet. “We’ll go and get you a car, then something to wind down?”

“God yes, please…I know you’ve got stuff to do but..”

“It’s okay Sam, I get it.”

“Yeah, I know you do thanks for that Brandon.”…. “Brandon?”

“Yeah.”

“Thanks for being there, being here, protecting me.”

“Like I said It’s all part of my master plan to seduce you.”

“Brandon…I think it’s working…”

I put on the helmet and lean forward to press my breasts against his back and hold onto him tightly and smile. I’m really starting to like him….It hurts a little that I’m not right yet as much as it feels good the he doesn’t care about that.

I enjoy the feeling of holding onto him as we drive through the streets of town. There’s a close personal feeling of having him in charge of the safety of both of us. A very nice warm feeling coupled with the feelings I’m getting from being on a machine with this kind of power. It’s my first time on a motorcycle and I’m really enjoying it. I almost don’t want the ride to end by the time we get to the car rental place. The entire ride I rested my head against his broad back just under his neck.

I rent a nice if kind of girly new model Volkswagen bug in a nice blue color. I like it more that the Saturn’s or Hondas or Toyotas they had there. They gave me no hassle and I didn’t get any weird looks except at my name on my ID. And that was just that the young twenty something had never seen anyone named Samaritan before. It was a bit of a relief not having the whole gender thing come up.

Brandon’s leaning on his handlebars as I get into my car. “So, where to now?”

I sigh. “I don’t know…”

“How about the beer store then some take out and we’ll go home.”

“Okay I guess.”

We still kind of drive through town as a group and I’m kind of down, drug out by everything that’s happened today. I’m crying quietly at the lights and we make our stops at the closest beer store and the guys get a bunch of stuff at KFC. There drive home is just as tiring for me. I pull into my place instead of his and go inside. I just toss my keys on the coffee table and fall sideways onto the couch. I’m kinda out of tears and just stare for awhile off into space before closing my eyes and taking one of the big cushions and pressing it to my stomach in a death grip of a hug and rollover so I can bury my face into the back of the couch. I cry without any tears happening and I’m just swamped by hurt until I’m just shaking and crying out anguished sobs, little tortured screams at just life.

I never asked to be born like this.

Nobody in their right mind would.

I knew something was wrong with me all my life but never knew what.

I became a nurse because I wanted to help people, heal them.

I went into the armed forces to pay for it. To get away from home and see if some new places would’ve shaken me loose of feeling different.

I never wanted to see people dying from IED’s or chopped to burger from gunfire, or taking lives, shooting children…holding the hands of kids my own age that I knew from base, played baseball with ate with…I watched them die as I held their hands. I’ve gone out with the team that you’re supposed to be tighter than tight with and have been the only one to come back from that desert hell-hole alive…sort of…

You get back from there and there’s people who don’t fucking understand what it was like. What it is like. There’s those that don’t get it and they don’t want to. They look at you like you’re a monster just for getting through it alive. They call you shit like a government thug, puppet and baby killer. It’s enough to kill what’s left of you inside when you come back from getting shot at for your country, for them, because you swore an oath.

Then you come home fighting your own war inside your head, your heart and your soul filled till you’re crazy with PTSD and they’re taking they’re shots at you. They’re not using guns but Y’know there’s times I’d take the bullet over the feeling of betrayal. I get those older Vets, the guys who fought in places no-one should’ve. Somalia for a lot of Canadians, The Middle East, Yugoslavia…for my guys and girls in the states shithole like Vietnam, Kuwait, Iraq…

We fought, killed, left parts of our souls fighting in those places. We seen kids die, we shot people who just…we get to see some kid or fellow soldier with their legs blown off and for what? For those people we fought for to take verbal shots at us and spit on us so they can shop at fucking Cost co. so their kids can run around without a care…

And they bitch about us being fucked up…They treat us like it’s our fault…and they wonder why we freak out. Why so many of us end up just not being able to take the pain inside anymore.

It all comes out in this crying screaming fit. All those pent up feelings and today becoming this soul and gut wrenching perfect storm inside of myself. Unless you know this pain you can’t get it and as much as I hate it. As much as any one us who know it hate it. I’d take another bullet to keep someone who hasn’t felt this from going through this. There’s a lot of us that would.

It’s the hand on my side rubbing gently that does it. I can hear Brandon making soothing sounds as I’m crying. My body did an involuntary jump at the first touch…then I’m not alone…It’s the first time I’ve never been alone when I get hit by these times. I lose it. I cry so hard my voice cracks on me, I cry so hard I want to die. I don’t I did hyperventilate and end up passing out from that…a blessing really.

………..I wake up and it’s dark out and I can smell KFC in the air and there’s candles lit lighting up my living room. Chris is playing idly on one of the guitars and Brandon’s got his back to the foot of my couch and my arm’s draped down hanging off the couch. I must’ve rolled over while I was out. He’s holding my hand…then my eyes kind of adjust to the candle light and they’re all here. In the dark, in the candlelight sitting a vigil for me.

All of them, here…for me?

All of them here for me…It means…There are no words for this, the heart these guys are sharing with me…Being my bridge to feeling and maybe even being human again.