So Many Kinds of Love

"But you'll hear about so many terrible things. Abuse. Heartbreak. Death. How can you not be affected by that?"

She gave a gentle smile. "I look at it this way: No one gets through this life without pain and sorrow. And some of us experience dreadful, horrible things. But if I can help someone who has survived a great trauma, if I can help them process and move through those experiences and go on to live a good life, then I've done some good in this world. And that's what I want, more than anything. I want my life to matter. I want to make a difference."

Our pace had slowed as she spoke, and she stopped. I turned to face her. "Do you understand what I'm trying to say, Gary?"

Her brown eyes looked sad, as if she expected me not to understand. I moved a half-step closer to her and put one arm around her shoulders.

"I think so," I replied, searching for the right words. "You feel a powerful sense of purpose in helping others. You want to leave the world better than you found it."

I felt her relax under my arm. "That's right. And I want to serve my community, my people."

"Your people?"

"Yes. My family is from Mexico. A lot of Mexicans, and other Latinos too, don't feel comfortable seeing a mental health specialist."

"Why not?"

"It's part cultural, part language, but a lot of it is not feeling understood. I want to be a person they can go to and feel comfortable with."

"I didn't know that, but it makes sense. When you're part of a minority group, it's easy to close yourself off and feel like no one gets you."

She stepped back as if to see me better. "What do you know about being a minority?"

"The military is the same way. A lot of service members don't go for therapy, partly because of the whole macho culture thing, but partly because they don't feel like civilians understand them, and therefore can't help them. I mean, civilians thank you for your service and everything, but they don't know what it's really like." I broke off, thinking about how best to say what I meant. "I think that's one reason behind the high suicide rate. Guys -- and women too -- get to feeling like they're beyond help, or maybe they don't know how to ask for help, and they can't live with the pain. So they end it the only way they know how."

"I guess that makes sense."

I took a deep breath. "I knew a guy."

Again, her deep, dark eyes drank me in. "Tell me."

"We were at Great Lakes together. That's where we have basic training in the navy. Well, we got all the way through it, and we were all set to get our first assignments. We went out for drinks that night, a pub crawl, and this guy Nate came along. We were a little surprised -- he had always kept to himself. None of us had ever even seen him do anything but study, do pushups and read his Bible -- his family was into some heavy church back home. But he wanted to come, and we were glad to have him -- but the rest of us did that thing where the group silently agrees to keep an eye on someone. So one of us always stayed with him during the pub crawl."

Gabriela nodded approvingly, and I went on.

"Nate was a little guy, about an inch shorter than me, and skinny, maybe a hundred and forty pounds soaking wet. It didn't take long for him to get completely shit-faced. Looking back, I don't think he had ever tried alcohol before. At first, it was kind of hilarious. Guys were buying him shots and he kept slamming them back, and we were all in the moment together." I gave a short laugh. "We were every stereotype of sailors drinking on leave! But we were young and dumb and full of -- uh, fun."

Her eyes laughed at me as if she knew I had made a last-second course correction to that phrase, and I felt my face get hot.

"And we thought Nate was finally loosening up and becoming part of the group. He just kept laughing and saying how he was going to show everyone who he really was, how he wasn't going to hide anymore."

My heart thudded and I felt my palms prickle with nervous sweat. I hated the next part of the story, but I found myself wanting to share it with Gabriela anyway.

"Well, after he said that, we should have seen what was coming, but all of us were pretty drunk, and we just thought we were out having a good time. Nate was stumbling around at this point, and he almost fell over, except Smitty -- he's my best friend -- caught him."

Pausing, I smiled a little at the thought of my buddy. "Now Smitty looks like the love child of Samuel L. Jackson and Dwayne 'The Rock' Johnson. He's really tall and strong -- absolutely solid. I mean, oak trees look at Smitty and say, 'Damn!' His 'Smitty Special' punches feel like a wrecking ball smashing into your flesh. And he has incredible reflexes. So when Nate fell, Smitty just plucked him out of the air before he hit the ground and pulled him in."

She laughed. "I wish I had seen that! Sounds like quite a save."

I nodded. "It was amazing. We were all laughing and marveling at it when Nate laid his head on Smitty's shoulder and kissed his cheek and said, 'I love you, man.' Then he started to cry."

Gabriela stiffened. "Oh, no."

"Oh, yeah. The funny thing was, no one said a word. You would think one drunken sailor would have smarted off, but we all just kind of stared as all the pieces about Nate fell into place. After a couple of seconds, Smitty just set him down on the sidewalk and patted him on the shoulder and said, 'I love you too, man,' in that deep voice of his, and Nate somehow pulled himself together. Smitty started walking to the next bar. We all followed, and the party got started again, and somehow, somewhere, we lost Nate."

I could see from her expression that Gabriela was already two steps ahead of me, but I kept talking anyway. "We stayed out for just one more drink, and someone asked where Nate was, and the consensus was that he had needed time to himself and walked back without us." Pausing, I sighed. "They found him early that morning. He'd used his belt and a tree branch."

"Oh, God," she breathed. "I'm sorry, Gary."

"We all blamed ourselves for a long time. You never leave a man unaccounted for, and we did. But we were drunk, and young, and it was easier that night to think that he was fine than to face that maybe he wasn't."

She shook her head. "If he meant to do it, you couldn't have stopped him."

"But what if we had gotten him back to the barracks and he had sobered up and realized it was going to be OK? Nobody judged him that night. It's not like when our parents were kids. He could have gone on and found himself a great husband and had a great life."

"None of you judged him, but it sounds like maybe his family had already judged him. And maybe he had already judged himself."

"Judge, jury, and executioner?"

"Yes. Poor man." A shiver ran down her back, and she crossed herself.

We stood there for a long moment, thinking, then she took my hand once more as we resumed walking. "That was brave of you to tell me that story."

I made a dismissive noise and she nearly crushed my hand. "Don't minimize! It was. And you made me see things in a new way. Thank you for trusting me with it -- and teaching me about your world."

"Thank you for listening. You know, I don't trust easily. But with you, everything is different."

We scuffed through a pile of leaves on the sidewalk, making us both giggle like children, and my heart lightened. "You know, it's funny," I began, and stopped.

"Could you give me a little more to go on?"

I gave her hand a squeeze. "Since you asked, sure. What's funny is that most military types would say that they discover who they really are in the service."

She considered that. "Well, most people enter the military between eighteen and twenty-four, right? Prime time for starting to figure out who you really are, regardless of where you are. But I interrupted you. Sorry."

"That's OK. I never thought of it like that. I was going in a different direction."

"Which one?"

"Just that, I'm the opposite. I didn't find out who I was in the navy. I found out who I wasn't. And now I'm here, still trying to figure it all out."

She snorted. "You and me and everyone else!"

"Really?"

"Yes!" She chuckled. "People seem to think they become who they are at twenty, or maybe thirty, and that's it. Chiseled in stone, never to change again. But, and excuse my English, that's a big steaming pile of bullshit. We spend our whole lives figuring it out. Some people never do. It's a process. So don't beat yourself up for not having all the answers right now. You're not supposed to. You're exactly where you should be."

A slight breeze riffled the last stubborn oak leaves above us, and I smiled. "You know what I think?"

"What?"

"I think you're about the most extraordinary woman I've ever met."

She let out a snort. "You're easy to impress."

"Not really, despite what Layla might have said to you about my taste in women! But I wanted to tell you what I thought. You know, part of that whole 'you should talk to someone' program you laid out earlier."

"I'm glad you feel comfortable talking to me, but I meant that you should see a professional."

"I gotta say, it makes me uncomfortable to even think about it."

"Which means it's probably exactly what you need! But let me put it this way: I have a girlfriend who refuses to date anyone who hasn't gone through at least some therapy. And the older I get, the more I agree with her."

Well. I knew an ultimatum when it landed in front of me. "So you won't date me unless I see a shrink?"

She shook her head. "Oh, I'd date you. I would just never allow myself to get serious about you."

At least I knew where she stood. "I'll make an appointment Monday if it's that important. I should probably talk more anyway. My communication skills aren't very sharp, at least not in a relationship. Most of mine have been short and sweet. I'm not used to being with someone like you."

"Like me? What do you mean?"

"Brilliant. Beautiful. Sane. You know -- the whole package."

We both laughed, and kept walking, enjoying the crisp, cool air and each other.

"Do you want to be in a relationship?" she asked at last.

"Hypothetically, or with you specifically?"

"Either. Both."

I pondered for a moment. "Hypothetically, I'm not sure. I just got out of the service, my life is one big transition, as you put it, and I want and need to get my shit together before I get in a relationship."

"Oh."

"But with you specifically? That's an unqualified yes. Absolutely I want to be in a relationship with you. Please send me the application."

She smiled. "I have enough forms in my life! Anyway, you don't apply for that position."

"Then what do I have to do to get it?"

"Oh, that's simple," she said brightly. "All you have to do is be someone I would want to be with."

"Is that all? Easy-peasy!" I riposted, matching her tone. "Could you maybe give me one or two hints on what qualities you're looking for?"

She let go of my hand to tick off the points on her fingers as she spoke. "One, I need a guy who knows how to think and use his brain."

"If I only had a brain!" I sang in my best scarecrow-from-Oz voice.

She rolled her eyes. "Two, he needs to know how to feel and use his heart."

I didn't have a joke for that one, and she swept on. "Three, I require a good sense of humor. I love to laugh and I'm smart, and I don't want to spend all my time explaining the joke. Four, he has to have a commitment to a higher purpose in his life. I'm not interested in someone who's in it just to grab as much money or power as he can. I need someone who cares."

"OK: feelings, fun, faith. Check."

Shooting me a quelling look, she continued. "Five, he needs to be supportive and empathetic. I'm a high-octane kind of woman, and I expect to have an intense career. I need someone to balance that and take care of me as much as I take care of him. And six, he needs to fit in with my family, and respect how important they are to me."

She stopped to think, then nodded as if reaching a decision. "And seven, the therapy thing."

"That's quite a list. You have high standards."

"I guess I do." She looked thoughtful. "That was interesting to do. I've never made a formal list before."

"Anything else on your list?"

She shrugged. "Just some homey things. I'd like a guy I can cook with, and talk to about anything and everything. And while I don't go in for most gender stereotypes, I firmly believe it's the man's job to kill any and all insects in our home."

"If selected, my shoe would always be at your service," I assured her.

"And finally..." She paused, and I saw a faint flush color her skin. "I'd like a man who makes me eager to get to bed early."

"You mean a good lover?"

The blush deepened. "Yes. A good lover."

"Dare I ask what constitutes a good lover?"

She straightened her back. "You may. But not tonight. I'm not ready to discuss that with you."

"Fair enough."

We arrived at the door of the home she shared with her two sisters, and she turned to face me. "It's been a wonderful evening. Thank you for sharing it, and yourself, with me. It was so good to get to know you better."

"The pleasure was mine." I cocked my head, trying to see if she wanted a good-night kiss. Gabriela looked lovely in the evening light, but I couldn't read her expression.

"May I kiss you?" I finally asked.

She smiled. "I'd like that."

I moved in slowly, stopping when my lips were just a few millimeters from hers. We could each feel the heat of the other and I searched her eyes, hoping to spot a sign of how she really felt. Although the moment lasted just a few seconds, I thought I saw the answer I was looking for.

Giving a little sigh, she slid her hands up my arms to my shoulders and leaned in. Just as her hand felt almost electric the first time I had touched it, her full lips seemed to hum with current now. Her mouth felt soft and warm and pliant against mine, and I caught a whiff of beer and the faint taste of queso under her natural sweet flavor. A tremor ran though me as our kiss went on, and on, and my knees threatened to buckle if we did this much longer.

I wanted more -- much more -- but I knew Gabriela wouldn't welcome a wrestling match on her doorstep. Instead, I hugged her to me. She nestled her head into my chest and shoulder and sighed. It felt so right to hold her, and I stood there for several seconds, enjoying the feel of her in my arms, before I felt her gently disengage.

"Good night, Gary."

"Good night, Gabriela."

Her eyes gleamed, and I watched her step over the threshold into her dark house. I sighed as she closed the door.

**

Layla beat me to the kitchen the following morning, all working woman in a suit and polished black boots. She looked fantastic -- like most men, I'm a huge fan of the skirt-and-boots look.

"How'd it go last night?"

"How'd what go?"

She grabbed the toaster tongs and smacked me lightly. "Your date, silly."

"Date?" I scratched my head as if trying to recall it and she raised the tongs once more. "Oh, that. It went great. We had a good a time and a good conversation. I like Gabriela a lot. Oh -- she said you had a great therapist, and I should get his number."

Looking at me sharply, she reached for her phone. "OK. I'll text it to you."

The toaster dinged and I pulled out the hot crispy bread and buttered it, handing it to her before putting in another couple of slices for myself. "Are you OK if I go out with her again? I mean, she's your friend. I don't want to make things weird between you."

Shaking her head, she dismissed that notion. "I'm great with it, actually. She's one of the best people I know, so that satisfies your 'I'm going to date only quality women' clause from the other day. It makes me happy to know you weren't bullshitting me."

I smirked. "Yeah, yeah. Hey, she said you went out with her brother a few times."

Gulping her coffee too fast, she grimaced. "That was at least a year ago. Sweet guy, but not for me."

"What was wrong with him?"

"Nothing that a few years out in the real world won't fix. Their mom babies him, in my opinion."

"Oh, really?"

She bobbed her head. "He said he didn't know how to use a washing machine and he never wanted to learn! That pretty much killed any desire I might have had for him. I want a boyfriend, not a barnacle."

Laughing, I buttered my own toast. "Barnacle? Now who's slinging the naval jargon?"

She made a face at me and I couldn't resist kissing her forehead. "I've missed you, sweetie. I never know what's going to come out of your mouth, and I kind of love that. And you too."

She set her mug on the counter and slid over to hug me. "I love you too, bro. You're the best." She stepped back, assessing me. "You're looking good. I think you're gonna crush the interview today."

I gave her a fond grin. "You've always been my biggest cheerleader."

She shrugged. "Ditto. We were always there for each other. And we always will be."

Glancing at the clock on the stove, she jumped. "Damn, it's later than I thought. Gotta run. Knock 'em dead today!"

"Have a good day at work!" I called after her. The door slammed and I smiled at her energy, so different from the lethargic teen I remembered.

Cleaning up the kitchen, I decided to do a little vacuuming to earn my keep, then go for a quick run to clear my head. I'd need it for the interview. But first, I thought, fumbling for my phone, I needed to call the therapy guy.

**

Sitting on a nondescript couch in a bland room a couple of days later, I wondered if the lean man behind the desk could hear my heart racing. Telling myself not to be ridiculous, I watched him rustling the papers. Perhaps making me wait in front of him was some sort of test. I straightened my spine and took a deep breath. The government had taught me well. I could wait with the best of them.

As if my sigh had been the cue for him to speak, he put the papers aside, swiveled in his chair and looked directly at me.

"Sorry to keep you on ice," he said in a firm baritone voice, his eyes the deep blue of slightly faded denim. His manner reminded me of my favorite chief petty officer and I relaxed a little, liking him despite the waiting game. "I'm glad you're here. I'm Dr. Harrison. We're going to cover a lot of ground today, so strap in."

I grinned despite my nerves, and his own smile mirrored mine.

"I see here you're a sailor. I was army myself, but don't hold that against me."

"No offense taken, doc. Where'd you serve?"

"Germany, then Desert Storm. It didn't last long, but I lost a whole planeload of buddies, and I got out as soon as I could afterwards. It wasn't the career for me. How about you?"

"No combat, just support functions. Pacific ops, mostly. And yeah, I never meant to retire out of the service. I just wanted to see the world and maybe have an adventure or two."

He nodded and wrote something down. "Hope you don't mind, but since this is our first meeting, I need to take a lot of notes. Don't take lack of eye contact as lack of interest. I'm listening."

"Got it."

"So what brings you here today?"

"I'm not really sure."

"Come on. You wouldn't be here if you didn't have something on your mind."

I looked up and into his kind eyes, and the words tumbled out in a rush. "I met a woman. She's studying to be a psychiatrist, and we went out last Sunday night and she told me I needed to see someone about some stuff, and suggested you. So that's why I'm here."

Regarding me from under those bushy gray eyebrows, he leaned back. "You're doing this for a girl?"

"Um, I guess so."

"She sounds important. Guess you'd better tell me about her."

"Her name's Gabriela. She's a friend of my sister, Layla..."

Dr. Harrison sat straight up. "You're Layla's brother? How did I miss that?"