by J. B. McGee
Nodding, she replies, “Not much of an appetite.”
I kiss her head. “I know that feeling all too well.”
The door bell rings, startling me. The front door has a distinct sound, much different from the back. It’s been ringing a lot the past few days. People who don’t know us well use the front door: the postman, the florists, UPS, etc. Friends and family always come to the back door.
It’s late, though. So I furrow my brows as I walk to the door trying to figure out who it might be. I peek through the curtains, and I don’t see anyone. There are no cars parked on the street. I never felt scared in this house when Papa was here. Even though there had been a break-in when I was really young, I had always felt like I was safe.
Now that he’s gone¸ it feels empty and scary here. It’s something I’m definitely going to have to adjust to in the future. I grab the key hidden under the candy jar to unlock the deadbolt. When I open the door, the only thing in front of me is a stack of envelopes sitting on the mat.
I pick them up. The name in the corner is Stone Wilder, and I immediately know they are from him. They are wrapped in twine. They have dates on them, but no postmarks.
I close and lock the front door, and walk back to my room contemplating whether or not I want to open this proverbial can of worms tonight. I’m so tired, emotionally and physically. All I want to do is sleep because when I’m sleeping I can’t feel the pain of this loss.
I just sit on my bed and hold them, smell them, touch them. He sent me letters. Granted fifteen years too late, but he sent me letters. He came back for me. I’ve been so mean to him. So cold.
I trace my fingers across the writing. Stone Wilder. Will I ever get used to seeing or hearing that name? I shake my head. He lied to me, though. I didn’t even know his real name. Will I ever be able to trust him when I barely knew him?
I put them down and collapse backwards onto my bed. I hug the body pillow, closing my eyes to recall all the memories. I remember the times I begged God to bring him back. I swore that if he’d just send him to me again, I’d give him my heart forever. Who am I kidding? I gave him my heart in a month and never got it back. He took it when he left.
I’ve tried relationships, but they didn’t work because no one can ever live up to what he was to me, to how he was with me. Memaw and Papa used to tell me that there were so many fish in the sea, that we were young, and it was first love, first heartbreak. For so many fish in the sea, it’s funny how he’s the only one I’ve ever wanted. Perhaps it’s the grass being greener on the other side? Or maybe it’s that he’s the one person that was meant for me, and because fate and luck hate me, I was only allowed to have him for a brief period of time?
Then I realize that maybe it was only a brief period of time to make me fully appreciate forever, for the rest of our lives. Face it, fifteen years apart is a long time. I’ve wondered about him, wanted him. I curse myself for sending him away. The prospect of losing him with no closure for a second, well, really a third if we count the time he saved me in Afghanistan, is more than I can fathom. It literally is an extreme that my mind refuses to accept.
I spring from my bed, grabbing the letters. I have to read these. They were obviously important enough for him to send them. He came for me. I’m being absolutely ridiculous. Having him back is an answered prayer, even if it’s not in my timing.
I nearly run into Memaw, her hair in her little fabric hair net. “Oh, sorry,” I laugh.
“You look happy,” she smiles.
“I think I am.” I hold the letters up. “I have to read these. Ask me in the morning if that happiness lasted for more than five minutes.”
She looks at the envelopes. “Oh yeah, Stone Wilder. Who is he anyway?”
“Stone Wilder is...” Saying it out loud is so strange. “Stone is Drew. You remember Drew from when Mom and Dad died? Drew is Stone,” I mumble.
She squints her eyes, and I can see the wheels spinning in her mind. “How so?”
“I’m about to find out,” I whisper as I brace her shoulders, and give her a kiss goodnight. “I love you.”
“I love you, Alex. More than you know.”
I can’t help but grin. “That’s hard to imagine.”
“One day you’ll understand. When you have children...” She glances to the picture of my dad on the wall. “And grandchildren. You’ll understand the power of maternal love. It knows no bounds.”
I nod. How did we suddenly take this discussion of Drew...Stone...er whatever his name is and turn it into a sappy sentimental reflection. “I hope to one day know that kind of love.”
She hugs me. “You will. I’m glad you’re home. It’s good to see your beautiful smile again.”
When she releases me, I can’t help but smile a sad smile because this isn’t how I wanted to be back. “Good to be home.”
As she steps into her bedroom she glances back over her shoulder. “Alex?”
“Yeah?” I ask.
“Whatever the boy’s name is...”
“Drew. Stone. I’ve not decided what to call him yet.” That makes me laugh.
“He loves you...and he makes you smile.” Before I can say anything else she continues, “You’d be smart to make sure you don’t let him get away this time.”
I nod. “I know he does. I know.”
I watch her walk into her room and close the door. Once it’s closed, I finish making my way to the kitchen. I toss the letters onto the bar, put a pot of coffee on. One thing about living in the South is the radical change in weather. The days can be really warm, and the nights fairly nippy around this time of year. So I start the gas logs, thinking a fire might be nice. Growing up, my grandparents didn’t have a lot of money, but they were one of the first people I ever knew with gas logs. Best. Invention. Ever. Who wants to cut wood, haul it inside, and play around with lighting it when they get inside? Not me.
When I sit at the table, I know that everything rides on what’s inside of these letters. Or does it even matter? Arg. Why must everything be so complicated? Why couldn’t he be a normal guy? And why does he have to have this extra baggage? I have enough for the both of us.
The gargling noise of the coffee pot stops, and I hear the steam signaling the brewing is complete. I push them away as I get up and fix my cup. Then, I notice that I’m not sure of the order. So I decide to just open them start to finish, from top to bottom.
As I use the envelope opener to rip them open, it’s like taking a scalpel and opening my chest. I’m raw, exposed, and completely vulnerable to him. My life may not ride on what’s in these letters, but my heart surely does.
There are two pieces of paper. One has been ripped out of a notebook. The one on top is stationery, so I start with it.
My Dearest Alex,
I knew it was you before you even turned around. I recognized your mannerisms. I’d memorized them so many years ago, and just like your beautiful face, they didn’t change.
I wish I could go back to that day and have been able to talk to you before the mortar exploded. For whatever reason, karma keeps getting in our way. It’s for that reason that I had to send you these letters. I have come to the conclusion that fate has a way of beating karma. What were the chances we’d be deployed in the same place? It’s a small world, and we both know that life is too short. I’ve spent as many years away from you as I’m going to. I will find you because I never left, Alex. You held my heart in your hands the moment you picked up that first stone.
I don’t know where you are, so I thought the best way to get these to you is to send them to your house. Please write or call me as soon as you get them. They explain everything. Even fifteen years later, I love you. There have been other women, but none that are you.
There are already tears freely flowing from my eyes. I already want to run to him, to tell him it’s all okay, but I can’t. Trust is so important to me, and he breached that. So whatever else he’s sent needs to fix that for me, if it can even be fixed. Part of me f
eels like he’s the other part of my soul, like he’s a missing puzzle piece to me. The other part wonders why he’s always felt like a dream...always too good to be true. The only way I knew he was real was when he left. The aching from that was very real.
I put that page behind the one ripped from the notebook. It’s funny how even seeing his handwriting soothes me. His smooth, deep voice rings in my ear. It’s as if I can hear him speaking these words. It doesn’t help my tear problem.
Andrew Foster. Graniteville, SC. Day 93.
Today I was at the creek doing what I do every day, skipping stones, when she walked into my life. Well, more like stormed into my life. Alex Hart was able to capture my heart in an instant. I’ve had crushes on girls before, but nothing compares to what happened today. Maybe it’s lust, but I think I already care too much for her to call it that. My feelings aren’t sexually based. They are sympathy based.
I promised to teach her to skip stones. Really it was an excuse to be with her, to help her. Maybe it was also that being with her was therapy for me, too. It’s not natural or normal to move around the way we have. What seventeen year old boy has never had a girlfriend, or friends for that matter?
I’ve poured all of this anger and frustration that I have with my life into working out. If that didn’t work, I just skipped stones. Just tried to find calmness where I could, in the few things I could. Yet when I’m with her, I feel none of that. I’m happy when I’m with her. I had forgotten what that felt like, but I prefer it. I love it. My heart does these flutters when she’s near me.
So tonight I pray that things work out to make this house a home. To make this town more than a number to me. I’m so tired of running. Most of all, I finally have something worth sticking around for, worth holding onto. The thought of losing it already tears me up.
I drop the paper and bury my head into my hands. What in the world happened to him? I feel so guilty. He was always there for me. My own grief was so fresh, that I was completely self-absorbed, and I totally missed the fact that he was hurting, too.
My head is pounding from crying. My eyes are hurt and tired. I clench them closed while I massage my temples trying to ease the pain. Remembering that time together, I can picture him at the creek. Now I recognize the sadness in his eyes. If I could only go back to then, I would be there for him just like he was for me.
So I pick the next letter up and carefully open it, knowing that he’s not just sent me a letter. Instead, he’s opened a window into his soul, making trusting him a little easier.
It’s another sheet that’s been ripped from a spiral bound notebook.
Matt Torres. Kutztown, PA. Day 1.
I’m no longer Drew Foster. Today I’m Matt Torres. Where my mom comes up with these names I have no idea. I wish we didn’t have to run, more now than ever before. Twenty-two cities later, and amazingly, the moves haven’t had an effect on anyone other than me and Mom. This time was different.
This is precisely why I had made it my mission to be a loner, to not make friends. Or girlfriends for that matter. This time was different. The moment I saw her, I knew I’d have trouble letting her go. I knew I couldn’t tell her the truth without putting us in jeopardy, so I kept it from her with the hopes we were safe. And maybe because if I pretended it didn’t exist, it’d go away. For the first time in my life, I felt normal.
What rips my heart from my chest is knowing that she’s suffering another loss right now. When she left this morning, I had no idea this would happen, or I would have told her everything. But just a note, just a hint, as to who I am would have put her in jeopardy. She’s so innocent. I didn’t want her to be burdened with the evil in this world. I would have held her tighter. I would have kissed her deeper. I would have given her everything I had. Even without making love to her, I had already given her the one thing I had guarded the most, my heart. It’s like a puzzle with the most important piece in the middle missing, forever lost. It will never be complete or whole again, of that I am sure.
My tears have stained the page. I push it away. What he’s been through is unbelievable. While he’s answered so many of my questions, for each one that is resolved, another arises. But I’m not finished yet, so maybe when I’m done I won’t have any left. Will I even be able to finish them? They are ripping my heart out of my chest. I’ve been so mean to him. I feel awful.
Stephan Loomis. Lake Isabella, CA. Day 43.
I thought that each day things would get easier, but they haven’t. I can’t get her off my mind. I’ve tried. I don’t ask for much, but my mom knows that the one thing I need is to be near water. She’s always made sure that our next stop is near a creek, a lake, or a river. So when I go there and look for stones, I can see her face when I glance up. I can hear her call me Drew, and that name seems so long ago. I’m Stephan now.
When I see a pasture or a field, I hear her laugh. Flowers of any kind make me want to pick them and put them in her hair. I want to be able to watch her inhale their scent, or blow the wispy spores from a dandelion. Poison Ivy and poison oak are even reminders of her innocence.
Up until now, I’ve never really resented my father. I was always regretful. A small ounce of me felt sorry for the monster. At the end of the day, he’s still my father. He never hurt me. It was always my mother. And even though I hate him for what he did to her, I’ve mourned the loss of a father.
I’ve watched other kids have that relationship. I’ve seen the dads helping to coach Little League. That’s just one more experience I missed out on. Since I didn’t have the documents necessary to register, I never played on a team, just with other kids after school.
So mourning the loss of the things the other kids had that I didn’t, and then feeling robbed of any sort of normalcy are the only things I’ve felt. Until now. Well, I still feel robbed, but now my thoughts turn into a bitter anger of which I’m not familiar.
Hatred. I hate him. I hate what he did to Mom. I hate that because of him, I have this life of running. Hatred for him making me leave the one girl who gave me something to finally live for.
I know now that he may very well have not killed either of us, but he ended our lives, our ability to live freely and happily. He took that from us. It’s something I’ll never be able to regain. The loss is tremendous, and I am not sure what to do with the aggression and rage this revelation provokes.
I hate him, too. Oh how I hate him, and I don’t think I’ve ever loathed someone so much in my life. My heart breaks for him. I’m tempted to stop reading and go find him, except I still have no idea where to even begin to look. So I keep reading. My eyes are tired, I’m physically exhausted, but I can’t stop. It’s like reading a page turning novel. The suspense grips me. I have to know what happens next.
Stephan Loomis. Lake Isabella, CA. Day 330.
This is the longest we’ve ever been able to stay anywhere. I can’t help but wish that we could have stayed this long in Graniteville. My mind wonders often about what my life would be like if I had been able to stay there.
The fact he hasn’t found us yet, has Mom checking the obituaries in his hometown all the time. The town where I was born. The town with the family we left behind for this. Sometimes it makes me sad that we actually pray for the day we see his name on the list. The reality is, that to me, he died a long time ago along with all of the other people that we loved when we left. Except he’s still haunting us...chasing us. So today when she ran into my room because she saw his name on the list of deaths, it causes a myriad of emotions.
Our running has finally come to an end. The fear is gone. The false identities are a thing of the past. Instead of feeling like I have a new beginning, it is now that I can see in this process I’ve lost myself. I don’t know who I am anymore. I’ve become so many different people, so many different personas, I’ve forgotten who Stone Wilder really is and how to just be him.
So I went to the mall because I just needed some time to think. It’s more like a hall than it is a mall. Most of th
e stores have closed. It’s one story. There’s not even really a food court.
What caught my attention more than anything ever has was one of those recruiting places for the military. I’ve seen them thousands of times, but today it stopped me in my tracks.
I desperately want to escape this past. I want to reconnect with who I am. I’ve spent the better part of my life helping my mother. Being strong for her. I don’t know what to do now that the roles of protector and companion are over.
The recruiter quickly saw me, and invited me in. Before I knew it I was signing those enlistment papers. It sounded like just what I needed. The Army would give me a way to channel the anger and frustration that had built up inside of me. I wanted to forget the opportunities my father stole from me with every blow, every hit, every hurtful thing he did to us.
I thought of Alex and Mom for a minute. I knew Mom would be upset initially, but she needs time to find who she is again, too. Ultimately, I felt like it would be good for both of us. Then I thought about Alex. Briefly, I considered going back to find her. It’s only been a year. There was a part of me that wants to go back and tell her everything, but I feel like such a coward for leaving the way I did.
Then, sitting in that chair right before I signed the papers, I thought about the fact that she had probably moved on with someone else. Or the fact that she still is a minor. We really teetered on a dangerous line. Even if I wanted to go back for her, I’d be opening myself up to trouble because I don’t know that I have enough self-control to keep my hands off of her. That is if she’d still let me touch her. I couldn’t even let my mind think about her for long without feeling like I wanted to punch someone or something for robbing me of loving her.
So I signed. I made a decision today that I would make my career the military. I need more time to get over Alex. I need friends. I’ve never even tried to have another girlfriend. So I’m going to live my life, and try to put all of this in the past. Because right now, my heart doesn’t know what else to do.