Dear Soldier Boy
Chapter One
Letter Post Date: December 1, 2015
Dear Soldier Boy, December 1, 2015
At least, I’m assuming you’re a man. If not, I apologize sister! So, here I am writing to you. You. I guess I’ll just use you until I find out your gender, and hopefully, I guessed right. I’m alone this holiday, and I thought it would be nice to write to someone else who is also alone. Again, another assumption on my part, but I’m guessing they give these letters to single soldiers. Not that I’m trying to hook up…though that would make for a long distance relationship if I ever knew one. I would hope you can provide some sizzle as well, as the miles between us are definitely going to need a lot of spark in order to make it across the ocean.
A bit about me. I’m working my way up the proverbial corporate ladder. The glass ceiling is, of course, in place, as a woman that is just one of those things. But I don’t let it stand in my way. I’ve got my rock and am chipping away at it.Little pieces drop down, and I know I’m getting somewhere. Oops. I probably shouldn’t talk about shards and things like that to a soldier. I apologize.
I don’t really know any soldiers, at least, not anymore.
So, I’m writing because, this season, I decided to think about someone other than myself and my job. Crazy right? Ha, not really. I know most people do think about others, but my whole life, I’ve been on this mission. I'm like a wild woman trying to reach the top, to show—to prove—that I could do it and that I was worth something. I want to be someone who makes a name for herself. And that’s what I’ve been doing. I’m coming to a crossroads in my career, where I will either make the next level of executive status or branch out on my own. I’m not sure which way to go, and that’s why I’m writing.
I guess I’m still being selfish, but I thought, if I wrote some of my feelings down to a stranger, then maybe I could be honest and not worry about what they think of me. It’s possible that you won’t even respond, so this might be one of those letters-in-the-wall kind of things.
Either way, I’m getting it out there.
Enough about me. I hope you'll write back and share something with me. Maybe what you’re going through or what you miss about being at home? What were your holidays like as a child?
For me, my family always had a nice, big dinner on Christmas Eve, followed by Midnight mass at church. Yes, I was raised a cradle Catholic, but I haven’t been in a long time. Not that I didn’t have the time. Just that I didn’t want to go.
I miss those family moments. I live in Washington D.C. now. I’m surrounded by soldiers bustling around, especially at the Pentagon. You see, I work for a company which provides services in Afghanistan. I probably shouldn’t mention which one or what we do. I wouldn’t want there to be a conflict of interest in me writing you or you responding, if that happens.
You should have seen the amount of paperwork I had to sign regarding non-disclosure agreements! I had to get a hand massage because my right one hurt so bad. Oops. I probably shouldn’t have said that. I bet a hand massage is the last comfort thing you would care to think about right now.
Earlier today, I was rushing into Starbucks to grab my regular, which is a double café latte. I almost asked for a triple, but the woman behind me in line had already cleared her throat four times during my order, and I didn’t want to imagine what would have happened with a change in my order. Anyway, I got my steaming cup of Joe, and as I was making my way through the crowd, I noticed a soldier. He was good-looking for a soldier in uniform, if you like that sort of thing. Anyway, I was going to offer to pay for his drink, the whole pay-it-forward idea. But I couldn’t ever catch his eye. He seemed distant and perhaps not interested at all in me, which is fine. But I had my business card in my hand, and as I passed him, I stuck it in his pocket. Can you believe that? I’ve never done anything like that in my life! It was a brave moment…well, probably nothing compared to what you encounter. But for me, it was. There was something about that guy. Anyway, I had hoped he would have called or sent me an email, but nothing.
Which is why I’m writing this letter, to say hello to a soldier. I should have written to someone a long time ago, and I didn’t, and I’m sorry for that.
I hope you’ll consider writing me back.
Truly,
Vivian Castello
Chapter Two
Letter Post Date: December 8th
Dear Civilian Girl,
Get it? You know, because you started your letter: Dear Soldier Boy. No, you don’t get it, because it is impossible to convey any attempt at wit in a letter without sounding like a complete jackass. I was trying—and failing—to be funny. I promise, in real life, I don’t present like a complete ass or a moron. Well most of the time.
Maybe I should start again.
Dear Vivian,
Of course I know your name, I’ve read your letter 20 times. Great, now I sound like a stalker. There isn't a lot to read around here, so, well, you know what I mean. On second thought, I will keep the rambling preamble at the start so you know exactly what you're getting into with me. If you decide never to write to me again, I won’t hold it against you. But something to bear in mind is, I am literally paid to shoot people. That was another attempt at a joke by the way. There should be some sort of special font reserved for times people are being sarcastic. Maybe call it Ironics. We could be on to something with this. We should patent it. Think of all the confusion and arguments that could be avoided with our simple font.
Anyway, now I really am rambling. Let me try again. Third time is a charm, right?
Dear Vivian,
Thank you for writing to me. My name is Matthew Jensen. If you want to write to me again (hope I am not being too presumptuous) you can address it to:
1st Lt. Matthew Jensen
C Company
3rd Brigade
14th Mechanized Infantry
APO
If you are still reading this, I suppose I should tell you about me. You know my name and rank, but what else is there to know, really? As you can tell, I am very bad at this. In my defense, this is only the second letter I have ever written. The first was in Mrs. Colley’s fifth grade class. She had us write letters to kids stationed in Japan. My dad was stationed in Germany at the time. I was an Army Brat. I should have mentioned that earlier. I think that's why your letter stuck out, because you said you didn’t know anyone in the military. Since I was born, I have only ever known people in the military or people with families in the military. I like that you have no connection to the military. I think I need a civilian in my life right now, or maybe just a new perspective. I don’t know. I’m rambling again.
OK, I will get to the point. Where were we? I remember now, Army Brat. I was born in North Carolina, but I never lived there because my dad was transferred to Fort Rucker when I was six months old. After that, it was Georgia, if I remember correctly. And then South Korea, and then Germany, and then...well, the list is long and boring. We moved around a lot. It would probably be easier to tell you the bases where I have not been. The longest I've lived anywhere was when I was at West Point, so I guess I could say New York is home. But I have not been back there since I graduated, so I can’t really say it's home. My brother Luke lives in San Francisco with his partner Steven, so that is where I would go if I were on leave at Christmas. But that isn’t really home either. I like San Francisco, especially the Pier and Golden Gate Park, but I never feel like I'm going home when I land at SFO. It feels like I'm visiting my brother’s home. He's an antiques dealer and the only non-military person in my life. Now you have me thinking that I need to come up with an answer to “where are you from?” I will be damned if I say Afghanistan is home. Get back to me on that one. I'll come
up with an answer.
Sorry to hear you're alone at Christmas. There are 50 men in my platoon, and 250 men in the company, so I am never alone, well, for anything really. That doesn’t mean I don’t feel alone. Sometimes, the worst loneliness comes when you are surrounded by people. Do you know what I mean? Maybe you don’t. I’m not sure I know what I mean. I've had too much time to think recently. That must be the problem.
As for Christmas plans, there will be Christmas dinner and we have decorations. Garcia’s mom sent him a little artificial tree and tinsel, so it looks pretty festive around here. Nothing is as beautiful as Afghanistan in the winter. I need that Ironics font, just in case you missed the sarcasm.
I don’t really get excited about Christmas or any holiday. I did when I was a kid. My mom always made Christmas special. She always made tamales. It took her all day. She was from Texas, and nobody outside Mexico could make carnitas like her. I miss her. And I miss Mexican food. But mostly, I miss her. I think she was the reason I didn’t mind moving around as a kid. As long as she was there, I was home.
And also, probably because it was all I knew. My dad was Army, his dad was Army, his dad was Army, and so on. It is just the way it was. I never thought to question it. In some ways, it was easy, because my life was planned-out. Grow up, go to West Point, serve, and then have a son (or a daughter, I’m all for equality) to repeat the cycle.
So far, I'm holding up my end of the bargain except for having a child to carry on the tradition. No wife or kids yet—or girlfriend—in case you were wondering. You never specified if you're single. I assume you are if you're spending the holidays alone. And as for the jerk in uniform who didn’t acknowledge you, please allow me to apologize on his behalf. Hopefully, he was just having an off day, but there is no excuse for rudeness. Had it been me, I would have happily had a cup of coffee with you. If we ever meet, I will get you that triple shot latte you were after.
I had best be off now. I fear I may have bored you to tears. My sincere apologies; I told you I was bad at this. Thank you again for writing to me, Vivian. I appreciate you taking the time. It was nice to get outside my own head for a little while. If you want to write back, I would love to hear about your job. No pressure. I understand if you don’t have time. For all I know, you may have sent the same letter to a hundred soldiers and are waiting for the best response. Sadly, that is not a war I would win. So if this is our last correspondence, allow me to say it was a pleasure meeting you. Merry Christmas, Civilian Girl. I hope it is a good one.
Sincerely,
Soldier Boy
Chapter Three
Letter Post Date: December 10th
Dear Soldier Boy (still hoping you are a man), December 2nd
Here I am writing to you again, even though you haven't written me back. I know I sound pathetic, especially given that my first letter was filled with so much I-am-woman-hear-me-roar mantra. That's probably why you haven't written me back.
Or maybe my first letter got lost. Hopeful thinking right? Well, it is the season. It's December 2nd. The city is filled with bright colors and warm thoughts. Thoughts, because I’m not warm. It’s cold here! I don’t know what the temperature is like right now in Afghanistan. I suppose I could look it up online. I’m going to be patient (for once) and not look.
But here, it's cold. We got our first snowfall this morning. I was rushing down the street, making my way to the Pentagon, as the snow began to fall on my head. In any other setting, it would seem magical; I'd want to revert back to childhood and make snow angels. But that was not on the agenda. I was in a hurry for one of those meetings. I suppose you don’t know what those meetings mean. But basically, it's a meeting that wasn’t on my schedule but became top priority. Anytime I’m called to the Pentagon, it is a top priority.
But enough about work. I ran to Starbucks during a break, and by the time I made it back, my toes were like tiny balls of ice you'd find at Sonic. Are you familiar with Sonic? I love their drinks, but most importantly, I love their ice. Weird right?
And I suppose it’s weird to compare my toes to the type of ice I like as well. So maybe I should scratch that? Or not. I want to be honest in my letters to you. Hoping that they will be letters and not just these two. Even when I haven’t heard back from you, I feel a connection. Do you hear a eee eee eee Psycho sound in the background? I promise that I’m not psycho. I’m actually really boring.
Probably shouldn’t tell you that either. It's not a good lead-in to woo you as my pen pal or whatever this will become. Why do I feel so comfortable writing to you? I’ve never even kept a diary. I’ve never really written much of anything other than reports. But that is truly boring. Well, for a soldier. Actually, given that you're a soldier, you might find them interesting or not. But anyway. I’m going to stop before I embarrass myself any further and hope that you might be writing me back.
Dear Matthew (so happy you turned out to be a man!), December 10th
Wow, you can imagine how thrilled and truly surprised I was to receive your letter. I never even contemplated how long it might take for me to receive a response from you via snail mail, given the post office and all their blunders. I apologize if your family is employed by the post office, though it seems like I might be safe, given the breakdown of your father (Hoo-rah! Army-is that the right phrase?) and brother’s employment. I went a completely different route than my family. My mom was a teacher who thought I should be one too. No idea why though. I’m not inclined to teach children. Not that I don’t want them. I do someday, hopefully, but I am getting up there in my years. I’m actually writing to you from my rocker. I just slipped a piece of grey hair behind my ear and adjusted my spectacles!
Ha, I’m horrible. I shouldn’t torture you to think you are writing an old woman. Why do I do this? I have no idea. I have a sick sense of humor. I hope you don’t mind. So, now that I’ve filled your mind with thoughts of Afghans and granny panties, I suppose I should say something about my appearance. I know men are visual creatures and things like that.
I’m edging up on thirty…I’ll let you guess the number. If you haven’t already figured it out, I like playing guessing games.
So, now you have an idea about my age, do you need anything more? Or should I remain a woman of mystery hidden in a dark scarf and sunglasses? Eep. I shouldn’t have said that either. You have probably seen enough of women hidden in scarves and such. I was trying to be Hollywoodesque, but alas, I failed. Now I suppose I should give you something to go off of. My eyes. They are the key to a person’s soul right? Well mine are hazel. So there you have it. Enjoy that image Matthew!
By the way, I love the idea of visiting San Francisco, I’ve never been. I’ve lived on the east coast my entire life. I even went to school here—William and Mary. Graduated with my Masters in Business Theory and Administration with a minor in accounting. Numbers, am I right? Ha! You probably don’t care about numbers. or maybe you do?
I love numbers, especially the number eight. It took eight days to hear back from you. And I agree, Ironics should definitely be a font. Maybe in your free time in Afghanistan, you can work on making that happen. ;)
(That was my attempt at a wink face with my handwriting, which by the way I’m glad you were able to read as printing is not my forte.)
I don’t have any personal connections to anyone in the military but I do meet with members of the military quite frequently. As I mentioned in my early letter, it is probably best that I not alert you to my company name in case that would cause a conflict of interest. And I really wouldn’t want that, especially given how much I already like you based off one letter. There I go again, sounding odd. Believe me, I’m not like Morello from OITNB. Have you watched that? Do you get a chance to watch shows over there?
I know exactly what you mean about being alone while you are surrounded by others. That is how Christmas would be for me this year. I could go home, but I don’t want to. Around my family, I would feel claustrophobic and alone, all mixed in
one. I gave them an excuse about my job having a major project going on right now, and I couldn’t make the trip. Which isn’t exactly a lie. I always have BIG projects going on. But technically, I could get away and drive up to Pennsylvania to see them. But like I said, I don’t want to. So yes, I’ll be entirely alone on Christmas…cue Elvis.
In case you are wondering, I do not own any cats. I just reread the last paragraph, and I thought I should mention this. I’m not even a cat person; they freak me out. For some reason, they are always clawing at me and—I just shuddered. You couldn’t see it, but I thought you should know. Anyway, I am a dog person. I love dogs. But I’m not home enough to care for one. So, it’s just me and my Ficus plant. (WOW, I sound so lame.)
Anyway, someday, I hope to get a dog. Maybe when work slows down. As if! (That was a shout out to one of my favorite movies as a child).
Your letter is making me hungry. Now I want to rush out for some Mexican food. I love quesadillas, fajitas, and enchiladas, which are all basically tacos rolled differently if you think about it. Your family sounds nice. Where are your mom and dad living? Does your brother send you care packages?
To answer your question, yes, I am single. I’ve had my share of “fun” dates but no lasting relationships. I tried dating a few politicians, and let’s just say, I will not ever make it to senator's wife status. The rest of DC well, I just haven’t met anyone. I have my job and my friends. Liz is married, so we mainly keep our outings to a happy hour or rare brunch on the weekends. And Millie just got engaged, so you can imagine how much free girl time she has. I suppose I could reach out and try to find new gal pals, but I’m not really interested in that.
Dear Soldier Boy Page 1