I suggest reading the first chapter before beginning this one. This chapter involves Sam and his first wife, but provides the background for what is to come.
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My name is Samuel Walker but everyone calls me Sam. I was born in North Carolina, and lived there until I graduated from high school. I immediately joined the Marine Corps, and soon found myself serving a tour in Iraq.
After completing that tour, I took 30 days' vacation and returned to North Carolina. With Boot Camp, Advanced Infantry Training, and a 15-month tour, I had been gone for nearly two years. My only break was a quick two-week leave before flying to Iraq. Now I was back and had 30 days to meet up with old friends and try to renew acquaintances.
I had been back home for about a week when my mother just casually remarked one evening, after dinner, "Sam, Debbie is back home from college for the summer. She got in very late last night."
I felt the blood drain out of my face and actually felt light-headed for a minute. I didn't even answer her. I just walked out of the kitchen and went to my room.
Debbie! To tell you the truth, Debbie is one of the main reasons I joined the Marines. To get away from memories of her.
From the time I met Debbie in Kindergarten we were inseparable. And since she only lived one block from me, as we got older one of us was always seemingly at the other's house. Since Debbie now had a brother and sister (twins) who were six years younger than she was, usually we were at Debbie's house so we could help watch them.
Debbie and I went through periods when we got mad at each other or fought like cats and dogs, but first and foremost, we were BEST FRIENDS. No matter how mad we might have gotten with each other (and I have to be honest here and say it was usually my fault), within just a day or two we would make up and start playing together again.
One thing that Debbie and I had in common was the fact that we were both nearly a year older than anyone else in our Kindergarten class. I had been diagnosed with mononucleosis just before starting what would have been my Kindergarten year, so my parents withheld me from school for that year. Debbie was so tiny, her parents had also held her back for a year. Being teachers themselves, they had seen first-hand how some especially small children tended to be "picked on" in school.
Debbie was the first girl I ever kissed. And I was the first boy she ever kissed. That was shortly before the start of our freshman year in high school. I mean we had hugged and kissed each other on the cheek before, and even quick kisses on the lips, but I mean the first "real" lip-to-lip, tongue-in-mouth kiss!
We didn't go any further during our entire freshman year -- just kissing -- but I and everyone else knew she was now "My Girl." Just as Debbie and everyone else at school knew I was "Her Guy."
During our sophomore and junior years, the kissing evolved into something more, with a lot of touching. There was still that line we both knew not to cross, but we discovered there were lots of wonderful things we could do to each other that didn't involve actual penetration.
As corny and as old-fashioned as it may sound, we wanted to save that final act for our honeymoon.
Everywhere we walked, it was either hand-in-hand or arm-in-arm, and we started talking about the future. We talked about getting married, having kids, where we were going to college (hopefully together), what we wanted to do for a living, and what kind of house we wanted to buy. Everything!
Everyone at school knew that one day, Debbie and I would be married.
Debbie's parents were both teachers, and usually they always took a month-long vacation in the summer. It was always the longest month of my life.
But when Debbie came back from her vacation between our junior and senior years, something changed.
Debbie ALWAYS called me within minutes of arriving back home, but this time she didn't call.
And when I walked over to her house, her Mom told me she was sick and couldn't see me. She wouldn't talk to me on the phone, and did not respond to any emails or letters I sent to her.
That continued for two weeks, until one day I heard an ambulance drive by our house, and saw it stop at Debbie's house.
Yes, I suppose you could say that she had been sick. If you consider the word "sick" to mean getting pregnant while on your California vacation, then coming home and having a miscarriage . . . then I guess she was sick.
Debbie moved to another city for her senior year, living with one of her mom's younger sisters.
For weeks I called, I wrote, I e-mailed and I sent texts to Debbie, begging her to meet with me, talk to me, or get together with me. When I called her aunt's house Debbie refused to come to the phone, and would not answer any of my other messages.
When school started back in the fall, just after my 18th birthday, I found out that I wasn't the only one Debbie refused to talk to either. She completely ignored all her old friends, even girls we had both gone to school with since kindergarten.
Everyone at our school knew that she had gotten pregnant while on vacation and then abandoned all her old friends; everyone who had ever meant anything to her.
I found out that there were a number of attractive young ladies, most of whom had been friends with Debbie at one time, who were eager to comfort me. I don't doubt some of it was also revenge on their part, since Debbie had apparently forgotten about them as well.
In fact, I lost my virginity to one of Debbie's former best friends.
During my senior year I pretty much slept with anyone who seemed remotely interested in me. I might not have been the best athlete in school, but I was still good enough that a lot of ladies were interested. I had always been popular, and was (or at least had been) a straight "A" student, and parlayed that into a sexual frenzy during my senior year.
My academic standing slipped from all "As" to mostly "Bs" and "Cs" but I really didn't care. In fact, without Debbie nothing really seemed to matter anymore.
I did enough in the classroom to get by, but started spending hours in the gym working out. Most of my senior year passed in a blur of sex, working out, and sports.
At this point in my life, I had lost all interest in attending college so right after graduation I joined the Marines.
Now, I was back in town . . . and so was Debbie.
For two years in the Marines, and for my senior year before that I kept telling myself how much I hated Debbie for what she had done. For her betrayal. For giving her virginity to someone else. For getting knocked up, and refusing to see me. Refusing to even talk to me.
Refusing to explain WHY?
I had not even spoken her name out loud in three years.
I knew I could avoid her for the three weeks remaining of my leave. Even drive up to the mountains and spend a few days or a week or more if I had to.
The next day, after my mom's announcement that "Debbie was back," I was mowing grass in my Dad's back yard when I looked up . . . and there stood Debbie.
I again could feel the blood drain out of my face, and actually felt dizzy for a moment or two.
For a brief instant, I almost felt like two different people. There was "me" watching Debbie, and there was another "me" watching me and Debbie.
I can't tell you how many times I had prepared for this moment, and even practiced what I would say to Debbie. I was going to tell her she was a slut. And that was just for starters.
But then I looked at her; I had not seen Debbie in three years. If I thought she had been pretty before (and she was), she was absolutely beautiful now.
Debbie was such a tiny little thing. Only about 5 feet, two inches. Very slim and trim. Long red hair, incredible green eyes. I doubt that she weighed even a hundred pounds.
I let go of the handle of the mower, and it died automatically. I had once read a book that had a line in it about a "deafening silence," and thought that was really stupid. How could silence be deafening? Now, I understood. Those few minutes were absolutely silent . . . and the silence was deafening.
We both stood still, just looking at each other.
