A Lover's Lament

As my fingers settle against the keyboard, I think about the improbability of it all. Never in a million years did I want to join a fucking pen pal program, and I have absolutely no explanation for why I did. And for Katie to find me amongst the thousands of other names … I’m just one lucky son of a bitch.

But I can’t help wonder whether luck played a hand in this at all, or if it was something more … something bigger than all of us. I never once believed in a God—not with the upbringing I endured. But when you see the delicacy of life and how quickly it can be snatched right up, you start to yearn for a higher power. You begin to feel His presence and see i

t in ways you can’t begin to understand: a dud mortar round landing undetonated just before you, a sniper’s bullet that pierces your body armor and travels its way around your back but leaves you unscathed, a piece of shrapnel lodged in the side of your helmet that could have been in your brain. A second chance at love …

Not many people find what Katie and I once had, and even fewer get another shot at it. I know she isn’t thinking in terms of rekindling what we had before, but if she thinks that “restarting our friendship” is enough for me, she couldn’t be more wrong. Of course I want to be friends again, but I want it all. I want her back. Baby steps, I remind myself.

To: Katie Devora

From: Sergeant Devin U. Clay

Subject: Nice subject line!

Katie,

Talk about coming right out of the gate … then again, I wouldn’t expect anything less from you. So to answer your question—no, I’m not married. There is no wife, girlfriend or family at home, so you can rest easy tonight. And I’m not gonna lie, I really like knowing that you’re becoming emotionally invested, because I’m already there. Your letters have the same effect on me, and this connection … it’s not just nostalgia. It’s real, and in case I haven’t already made it clear, I feel it too.

You mentioned that this—the prospect of us—scares the shit out of you because I have the power to hurt you. Don’t let it scare you, Katie. I know that’s easy for me to say since I’m the one who walked away, but I didn’t just rip your heart out that night—mine was shredded as well. And knowing that I hurt you is something that I’ll have to live with every day for the rest of my life. So trust me when I say that I won’t hurt you—not now, not ever. Never again will I walk away from this or from you. My word means shit right now, as it should, but I’ll prove it to you. Just give me the chance.

Now, since you managed to completely avoid my not-so-subtle way of asking you what I don’t really want to know but I need to … are you seeing anyone? Married? Boyfriend? Little ones? This works both ways, you know ;).

Okay, enough with the … what did you call it, awkward stuff? Hahahaha yesssss! A nurse! How good am I, huh? I can’t even imagine what kind of challenges that sort of profession presents, but it sounds like you have an amazing job. Every day you get to see the instant bond between child and parent, and that must be pretty incredible.

I am so damn proud of you, Katie. And I think it’s okay that you used work as an escape for a while because that’s who you are. You’ve always been one to bury yourself in some form of work when you get stressed out or pissed off. Hell, I can still remember you getting in fights with your mom or Bailey, and what’s the first thing you’d do? Stomp your tight little ass—yes, I was always looking, and no, I’m not sorry—straight out to the barn and start mucking stalls. You’d crank up that song I hated … what the hell was it? Oh yeah! That “Bye Bye Bye” song by the Backstreet Boys, right? I knew as soon as that song came on that it was my cue to leave. And from the sounds of it, you haven’t changed all that much. But I have to ask … do you still listen to that song? No, really, I want to know!

Now, if my memory serves me correctly, you’d always walk away from the barn refreshed and ready to face your mom or Bailey head-on … hopefully that hasn’t changed. And speaking of your mom, I’m so glad you’re not listening to her about getting rid of the horses, especially knowing how special they were to your dad. You should never be sorry for wanting to hold on to that. But I do think it was a good idea to get some help on the farm, and it sounds like you could use a little time to yourself.

Maybe you should think about a vacation … say, to Maui, when I come home on leave? I mean, I’m cool with the Bahamas too (that wasn’t subtle at all, was it?). So you just mull it over, and we’ll come back to it later. How about that?

My fingers pause as I decide which part of her letter to address next. I don’t want to talk about the fucking military right now any more than I have to. Living it day in and day out is enough. And I sure as hell don’t want to talk about my mom. What I really want to talk about is Katie. With a smile on my face, I decide to answer her last question.

So you want to know something about me that you don’t already know … hmmm … you realize that’s going to be hard, right? Okay, got one! Before my first deployment, I bought an acoustic guitar to bring with me because Jax played. He was crazy good and I begged him to teach me. He finally relented and we used to practice together every chance we got. Well, you spend a year playing with a guitarist as amazing as Jax, and you get pretty damn good yourself. Grace—that’s the name I gave my Fender—is with me on this deployment as well.

So what about you? Tell me something I don’t know. And while we’re at it—getting to know each other again and all—how about you tell me your biggest fear in life. I don’t recall that we ever talked about that.

Okay, it’s late as hell here and I have an early mission tomorrow. I hope you have a great day and I can’t wait to hear back from you.

Always,

Dev

Tired as all fuck, I shut down the computer, push away from the table, and make my way toward the porta-shitters to take one final piss before passing out. As I get closer, I hear muffled cries coming from inside one of them. I tiptoe until I’m just outside the door, where I hear a loud snort accompanied by more stifled weeping. I lightly tap on the door and the crying immediately stops.

“I’ll be out in a minute.” I recognize Thomas’s voice as it bounces against the plastic walls.

“Thomas, it’s Clay. You alright, man?”

“Yeah. I, uh … I just need a minute.”

“I got ya.” I take a leak in the shitter next to his and then walk around the corner to wait for him to exit. When the door squeaks open, I see Thomas slink out, his eyes fixed on the ground. “Hey,” I call out without moving, “come have a smoke with me.”

He doesn’t face me and continues in the opposite direction. “I’m good, Sarge,” he says, waving me off.

Taking a step toward him, I reach out with a cigarette and lighter. “That wasn’t a request, Thomas. Get your fucking ass over here.”

Thomas stops and slowly faces me. Without making eye contact, he takes the cigarette and lighter from my hand. He flicks the Zippo twice before it sparks to life, and then he lights the cancer stick and tosses my lighter back to me.

“You need to talk to me because I know this shit is eating away at you.” I take a drag. Thomas doesn’t look at me or touch his own cigarette, but I don’t miss the quiver in his chin or the tick in his jaw. He’s fighting to hold something back, and I need to get him to open up.