Chapter 2 - Which Weighs More: A Ton of Feathers or A Ton of Bricks?

March 16th, 2031

Dear Jayne,

Your advice was a bit outrageous. In fact, it made me laugh. You have no idea what it is like out here. I will never miss these battlefields. I will never miss these lonely nights. I will never understand what act of fate brought me here and there is no way to confuse gunfire for fireworks. You haven’t changed one bit since we were kids. I wish we were both still that innocent.

 

I can’t get clean. There is never a place or time that I can remember having this much dirt and filth on me. I constantly reek of earth. I don’t smell human anymore, I smell like the ground just before a storm. Or maybe that’s how I feel? I can’t tell one sense from the other anymore; they’re all just running together to tell me when to duck and when to open my eyes and when to swallow.

 

I am constantly exhausted. I couldn’t sleep even if I wanted to. The ground is hard and unforgiving, noises jostle me awake, and my mind races a thousand thoughts per minute. We have coffee most mornings and that wakes me up until the adrenaline takes over. Adrenaline has become so potent in my blood that I doubt I will ever calm down, which is something I need. I have so many memories of times when I wished more of the chemical would run in my blood stream. It was ecstasy. It was feeling on top of the world and full of life. Now, I don’t want to feel my heart pounding in my ears. I don’t want to be aware of my heavy breathing and perspiration. I don’t want to feel the blood rushing in my veins.

 

Sensing the blood and knowing that it’s there makes me feel vulnerable. It’s the same blood that pours out of the bodies of soldiers. It’s what is caked on the surroundings, soaks into the soil, and fills the trash cans in the hospitals with gauze. I guess it is just another thing to get used to.

 

Jayne, I miss you so much. I wish there was a way for us to be together for a little while- just to talk. I miss talking to everyone back home. Will you keep writing to me, please? It’s something I try not to depend on, but I can’t help but look forward to another letter from you. I want to hear about everything that is going on without me. How are things there? How are you? I fight tirelessly for you all to make up for how much I’m missing you.

 

Sincerely,

Charlie

 

 

April 8th, 2031

Dear Charlie,

How am I doing? I’m hanging in there. We’re all praying for you, hanging our flags, and placing good luck charms under our pillows at night. The Knitters that used to sit outside the general store and gossip have vowed to find some sort of benediction that will bring you home. The Rocking Chairs down at the hardware store won’t admit it, but they say rosaries at night under their breath that you come home safely. I don’t know if religion will work, but if there is a god out there, then I hope he knows how to grant wishes. I wish everyday you were sitting at the bar in the diner and I was bringing you the usual.

 

I wish things were normal and everything was the way it used to be. I’ve never gotten good at coping with change, and I doubt I ever will. I’m sorry everything is the way it is. You never deserved to be sent over there. It should have been Tommy or Henry or Luis-someone this world could spare. You, Charlie, are this town’s greatest treasure, or at least mine.

 

I keep finding things here that remind me of you. The other day I was looking in my closet and found my dancing shoes thrown against the back wall, totally abandoned. What was I thinking when I took Salsa dancing? You were a good sport about it though, seeing as how no one else would be my partner. Mops and brooms can’t compare to your two left feet. I thought it was so important and so did you, so we even practiced dancing in my kitchen some nights. In spite of all our rehearsal, I don’t remember the steps anymore. Why does looking back on things that were so important then make them seem so insignificant now? Oh, the things we took for granted when our priorities were different.

 

I know I’m the one still safely at home, but it’s been so hard without you here, Charlie. It was the everyday things that I took for granted. I miss your smell- burying my face into your chest and breathing in your cologne. That was my favorite part about saying goodnight, being so close to you that I could inhale you. I’m sorry I never came to say goodbye to you before you left. I’m not good with goodbyes; I’d rather just send my farewell thoughts through the air and bury the pain in a place that I won’t find it. The pain of you leaving though never seems to be unfound. Here’s a late goodbye and every ounce of valediction I can muster. I’ll take it all back though soon enough, because you’ll be home before we all know it and things will all be back to normal. Until then, know that I’m missing you.

 

Truly yours,

Jayne

Reviews

[Coyote Poetry]

Two strong letters. Mail is what keep Soldiers sanity when they are far away. The letters were well written and from the heart. A excellent chapter.
Coyote