My First Love Passed Away

Jason was a 6’3″ linebacker, the kind of guy who could have gone pro if he wanted, but he was set on joining the Marines. He was on his way too, until the accident happened.

My memories bring me to the three weeks into Navy boot camp in Great Lakes, Chicago. It was a freezing. A cold that seeped right through your bones, the kind of cold that makes you wonder if you’ll ever be warm again.

We marched constantly while in training, and the potholes across the base were merciless. I’d twist my ankle without noticing because my mind always drifted back to Jason.

…

Why does everything crazy happen when you’re seventeen?

That was the year I met him. Jason pulled up in a white Eclipse, you know, the only model with a bump on the hood.

I know nothing about cars, but his was hard to miss, all sleek lines and glowing under the streetlights. It was like slow motion, watching him get out, round the car, and head toward my friends and me sitting at the park.

He walked right up to us, but his gaze locked with mine.

He wasn’t shy. Those eyes…beautiful. I still get goosies thinking of him.

I sat there, spaced out, couldn’t breath, and nervous as all hell. I felt my heart practically ricochet out of my chest.

My cheeks burned red, and I was a goner. There was one problem: Jason was twenty-one, and I wasn’t supposed to even think about dating.

…

Jason was going to be my secret. He was my silent rebellion, my hidden thrill.

It was easy to get away with it, too, since my mother worked long hours, and Dad was a trucker.

I could slip out under the pretense of “going to work.” It worked for a while.

He’d pick me up, and we’d escape, anywhere and everywhere, rolling down the windows to let the air in. For the first time, I tasted real freedom.

Jason and I had the same dream — to get out, to make something of ourselves. He was supposed to go to Marine boot camp; I even saw the paperwork the recruiter gave him. He had a ship-out date and everything.

But he never went.

His mother died of breast cancer days before he graduated high school. His extended family was there for the funeral, but once it was over, they left, and at eighteen, he was on his own.

…

Three weeks into Navy boot camp. November 23, 1998.

Chief was watching me as I entered the chaplain’s room. My stomach churned. I didn’t know what to expect. I thought maybe something had happened with my parents. Then he spoke, each word like a knife, calm and deliberate.

“I’m sorry to inform you that your fiancé, Jason, has passed away in a car accident.” Jason’s uncle, a chaplain in the U.S. Army, had sent a Red Cross letter.

Jason fell asleep driving home from a twelve-hour shift, and took on overtime before he went home at 2am.

I wasn’t allowed to go to Jason’s funeral. It was against the rules unless we were married. Jason’s uncle tried to help, telling them I was his fiancée, but even that wasn’t enough. In my heart, I already was — I’d planned to marry him.

I sat in the hard metal chair, letting the words hit me, trying to make sense of them. The chaplain went on, “His aunt said he fell asleep at the wheel after a long shift.” He paused. “I’m sorry for your loss. Let me know if you need someone to talk to.”

I sat there, numb, and then Chief barked, “Alright, Murray, let’s go.”

I stood up on autopilot, my stomach filled with acid. I walked toward the double doors, but suddenly it hit me .

I collapsed at Chief’s feet, my body wracked with sobs I couldn’t control. Chief leaned down, put his hands on my shoulders, and said quietly, “I know. Come on, get up honey. I’m going to take you to call someone.”

I rose, my legs weak beneath me, my heart aching in my chest.

Back at the barracks, I couldn’t stand the curious stares, the pitying looks, so I slipped away, down to the bathroom, where I found a dark corner by the laundry room — the same place where others had come when life got too hard to bear.

I felt their presence in that cold, lonely corner, the sailors who had ended it there. It was quiet, it was hidden. I lay there curled up, resting my cheek on the cold concrete as it soaked up the puddles of tears.