A Lover's Lament

The letter falls to my lap and my eyes close tightly. I think of Katie, fighting for consciousness in the passenger seat, watching her father die before her eyes, and I can’t help but feel more connected to her in that moment, having been through the same with Jax. I ache for her, too. I imagine her lying in bed some nights, the pillow collecting tears beneath that beautiful masterpiece of a face. In my mind, she’s clutching a silver frame, her father’s picture staring back at her. I have to take her pain away.

I don’t know how you do it; how you cope with everything that you’ve had to witness or do. Unless you’re like me and you aren’t really coping with it at all. My guess is that you’re living one day—one second—at a time, just getting by. That’s what I’ve been doing. But I want to change that. I want to stop existing. I want to live again, and your letter did that for me. So if you don’t mind, I’m going to very gently throw your words back at you.

Don’t treat your grief as I do. Don’t let it simmer until it’s boiling over the edge. Live your life, not just for yourself but also for your friends who have lost their lives. Take them with you wherever you go and do all the thi

ngs that they’ll never get to do.

I’ve read your letter several times now, and each time I get to the part where you think you’ve done more harm than good and I have to smile because you have absolutely no idea how much good you’ve actually done. I made a huge change in my life today, one that left me with a flicker of hope, and then I read your letter and that flicker exploded. I can’t explain it—I wish I could—but in the words of my father, “some things aren’t meant to be explained, they just are.”

So, I’m not going to think about it too much. I’m just going to be grateful that things happened the way they did, and I’m going to work toward making changes. I know it won’t be easy, but I want to forgive Mr. Drexler because I know that’s the only way I’ll move past all of this. Or maybe not forgive him … maybe that wasn’t the right word. How about make peace? That sounds better, don’t you think? I want to make peace within myself toward Andrew Drexler. I think I’ll work on myself first though. It seems appropriate that I get comfortable in my own skin again before I try making amends with anyone else.

Anyway, I’m sure you’re tired of hearing me babble on and on. I’ll bet when you wrote that you hoped you’d hear back from me, you probably weren’t expecting all of this, were you?

I really do hope that you’re doing well. And from the tiny snippet of your letter, it seems like you had a rough go of it in Pennsylvania, but I’d like to hear more about that … about your time there. How is your mom? I hope she’s managed to clean herself up, but I have a feeling you’re rolling your eyes right about now.

I’m so sorry to hear about your grandmother. I know how much she meant to you and how much you enjoyed spending your vacations there as a child. I bet it was nice getting to see her more after you moved though, wasn’t it?

Well, I could probably go on and on with any number of the questions running through my head, but right about now I’m thinking that baby steps are in order. I noticed your email address on the last letter you sent and I contemplated emailing this letter to you, but I didn’t want to do that. Seems silly, I know, but emailing you rather than writing felt like I was making a first move toward something—what that something is, I have no idea. I just know that I’m not ready to make any first moves, not when it comes to you. I will, however, put the ball in your court.

I hope to hear back from you.

Sincerely,

Katie

[email protected]

I’m taken aback for a moment when I realize that she just might be okay with the idea of opening her life back up to me. All I want is the chance to know her again, to learn about the new Katie, and the road she took to get here. I want her to learn about me too, and how different I’ve become. How much better I’ve become. Or have I?

I read it over three more times, and the smile that I’m sure is plastered on my face could light my way through the desert night. I haven’t felt this in a while, and it feels really damn good.

Six hours have passed since we took up our position and a whole lot of nothing has happened. Radio chatter from the hundreds of units involved in the mission act as ice picks buried in my eardrums. I’ve read the letter basically a hundred more times, and I still can’t wipe the big, goofy smile off my face.

I know that woman like the back of my hand, and when I’m reading her words, I can hear her saying them just as she would have back then, hand gestures and all. She’d put her hand on her hip and give me the cutest little I’m-trying-really-really-hard-to-look-pissed-off faces. I’d place my hand on her hip, just where the pelvis frames her ridiculously sexy stomach, and I’d slip my other hand to the small of her back, lightly running my fingers back and forth, effectively rendering her body useless. Or that’s how it used to be at least.

"Fuck! I'm so fuckin’ bored!" Navas whines. "Why have you been so quiet today, man? Both of you fuckers." I quickly fold up the letter and place it beside me, readjusting the bulge that’s developed.

“Well, Thomas is still passed the fuck out." Thomas's head is now lodged between the steering wheel and the door. “He's going to be hurting tomorrow…me, I'm just in my own little universe, man. This shit is mind numbing."

"Yeah, man, it’s gonna be the death of me. Two more weeks of this and you're gonna have to pull the barrel outta my mouth," Navas says with a laugh.

"I know, I almost wish something would happen just to break up the boredom." I immediately feel unclean. The words ring in my ears as the thought of a Humvee blown to smithereens owns my thoughts. "I mean, within reason."

"I know what you mean, man. I wouldn't mind putting a couple rounds into some unlucky insurgent," Navas says. "Fuck, is that sick or what? I think I need a vacation."

"You and me both, brother." I check my watch and it's as if the second hand has stalled, moving ever so slowly around the watch face. "Six more fucking hours." I throw my head back against the headrest, tilting my eyes toward the window.

The noise from the neighborhood has died down, which tells me the squads have moved on to the next block of homes. Iraqi civilians have now gathered in packs, conversing in the street with agitated looks on their faces. Some peer out toward us before turning back to the others and pointing.

I let out a loud sigh, my palms squeezed tightly to my sides. I need to get the fuck out of this Humvee. Just then I feel movement and turn around to see Navas out of the turret and crouched just behind me, smiling. His perfectly white teeth glow against his tan skin, and as always, it gets me to smile too. "What?" I ask.

"What’s eating you, pumpkin?" His smile grows impossibly wider, and he slaps the back of his fingers against my arm. "Spill it, man."

"It's nothing." I pretend to play with the navigation. “Really, I’m just tired.”

“Dude, I’m the only one awake. Talk to me.” I try my best to stealthily slide an elbow over the envelope lying beside me, but I’m too late.

“Oh shit, man! Katie?” he asks, the smile returning to his face. I slip the letter into the envelope and shove it in the side door compartment. I can feel Navas’s smile burning a hole through the back of my head, but I refuse to turn around.