Dear Soldier Boy
Page 5
I had no right to ask you about the guy in the tux. Yes, I'm jealous. But I have no right to be. I have no claim on you, and I would be a selfish bastard to ask you to wait for me. Because you would not be waiting for my tour to end. You would be waiting for me to be the person I was before, and that just isn’t going to happen.
Vivian, you are amazing. I want you to be happy, and I know that will never be with me. I want to keep writing to you. I don’t want to give that up. Your letters have become everything to me. But we can only keep doing this if we both acknowledge where we are at. We need some ground rules. First, I don’t want to talk about the incident. Talking about it doesn’t help, and I don’t want that part of my life bleeding onto this and ruining the only good thing I have at the moment.
Second, I need you to promise to start dating. I don’t want to hold you back. What we have is fun, but it isn’t real. I am happy to flirt with you to the point of sexual harassment, but only if we both know it will only ever be a fantasy.
When the time comes, and you have a man in your life, a serious relationship, I will step aside. God knows I would not want my woman speaking to another man the way we speak to each other. I’m not just talking about the innuendos, I'm talking about the secrets we tell each other. Your secrets won’t always belong to me. At some point, they will belong to him. I don’t even know who this hypothetical “him” is, but if I met him, I would punch him, and then punch him again. I really hate the asshole, so thank God I will never actually meet him.
OK, enough ranting from me. Good night, Civilian Girl. I totally understand if you don’t write back. If I were a better man, I would advise you not to. But when it comes to you, I am selfish.
Shit. I’ve said too much.
Matthew
Chapter Eleven
Vivian.castello@gmail.com Sent 1/30/16
Matthew.Jensen7267@us.army..mil
Dear Matthew,
Yes, I took ten days to write you. Ten days. I’ve done a lot of thinking over the last week and a half, and I’ve done a lot of things too. I’m sure you have as well. I was driving, and I saw a mere second difference that could have cost a lot of people their lives. Car crashes happen every day, and usually, they don’t affect me like that moment, but for some reason, it did. Because, I thought, that is probably what you deal with every day. It really shook me up thinking about it, and you, and the reality of your situation. I know I joke about a lot of things, but your safety is not one of them. I wish you weren’t there. Not only so that you could maybe be here with me, but I wish you weren’t in harm’s way. It hurts knowing about the possibilities of you being injured. I can’t—and won’t—imagine anything worse than just an injury. I mentioned before how I don’t like to follow the news. But now I am. Every day, I check the reports hoping that I don’t hear your name. It’s like I have an addiction to C-SPAN.
I won’t ask about the incident, and this will be the only mention of it. If you ever want to talk about it, I’m here, always.
Now, on to timing. You’re right, timing can often be everything or it can be nothing. Sometimes, you might find the right person, but because of “timing,” it seems like it can’t work. But that theory is for those people who really don’t care enough to want it to work. To make it work. And yes, relationships, no matter what, are work. I’m not a naïve child who has no idea about the real world or even love.
So, you aren’t the only person who has been suggesting I date. Millie and Liz know that I’ve been writing you and apparently are also on Team-Not-Going-To-Happen, which, by the way, seems to be a little top-heavy, if you ask me. But that’s fine. I don’t mind being alone on Team Maybe.
Anyway, after another major meeting at the Pentagon last week, one of the guys in the meeting asked if I wanted to grab something to eat. I thought he wanted to talk about our project and things like that. But then he suggested sushi and asked if he could pick me up. I hesitated for a minute, because I’m sure you know why. But, then I said sure. After all, I do like sushi, and my social life has definitely been lacking. I could use a fun night out if that was what it was to be.
And it was fun. This guy, Mark is his name. He’s good looking, and even in our tense and difficult meetings, he always seems to lighten the mood and make some sort of joke, which breaks the tension in the room. I like him. Honestly, I’m not sure what could even be possible to not like about him. On paper and in person, he has all the makings for a great guy. A catch even. We’ve been in these meetings for months now, but this is the first time he’s asked me out.
I was a little nervous about going. But I poured myself a glass of wine as I got ready and put on some music to help my nerves. Sushi requires some effort for an outfit, so I wore my navy cocktail-esqe dress. If you want to see a picture, I took a selfie and posted for my Facebook profile. I actually posted the pic for you. Isn’t that silly? But anyway, I did.
Mark was on time and took me to one of my favorite Sushi restaurants, Momiji. We sat on the deck, and it was a bit chilly. Mark offered his jacket, which was sweet. But the heat lamps were on, and with the added sake, I didn’t need it. Besides, how cute is it to be wearing a man’s jacket on a date? Exactly, not. Instead, I opted for the sake and the laughs to warm me up. We laughed and laughed, and I had so much fun. And I was glad I went. I was. Really.
As we were saying good night, he asked if he could come in, and I said no. Not because I didn’t want to, because believe me my bed has been empty for a looooooooong time. But that’s just not something I do. Despite my never-ending jokes, I’m not a one-night-stand or hook-up kind of girl, which is why my bed has been empty for a long time.
Anyway, Mark walked me up to my door and leaned in to kiss me. And I let him. His lips were nice, and he must have used a breath mint, as his taste was refreshing. I closed my eyes as we kissed and then I had to pull away. Why? Why would I pull away from this good-looking guy whom I just had a fun date with?
Because even with my eyes closed, I knew it wasn’t you, and I couldn’t continue on. Mark looked a little despondent when I pulled away. He probably could sense that something wasn’t right. I said good night and that was it.
So, let me ask you something, Matthew, you want me to continue falling for you and also be open to the idea of another man? I’m sorry, but that just isn’t possible.
You can end our letters and I will be sad. Heartbroken even. But I can’t write to you and keep my eyes open for the possibility of someone else. That’s not the way I work. It’s not a part of my genetic make-up.
I’ll leave this up to you. I think I’ve stated my feelings enough for you to make the decision. There you go Soldier Boy…that’s your mission.
Truly,
Vivian
P.S. I get that you aren’t the person you were before you went to war. How could you be? But, perhaps you should realize that I “met” the guy you are right now. I know we each show each other our best sides via emails, but that doesn’t mean I’m not aware of the possibility that you might have faults, because guess what, I do too. I’m not perfect, and I know despite how amazing you sound, that you aren’t either. And that’s okay. In fact that is perfect.
Care Package 3
Dear Matthew, January 21st,
I decided that, even if you didn’t write me back anymore, I wanted to send you something for Valentine’s Day. I’ll just pretend in my mind at this moment you will be writing me back, that way I don’t sound sad and pathetic.
I’m not sure what I’ll be doing on Valentine’s this year. Maybe I’ll buy a dozen roses for myself and pick off the petals to the tune of “he loves me he loves me not.” I sure hope I end on a “he loves me,” as it would be really depressing to be alone with a “he loves me not” ending.
Maybe I’ll buy one of those ridiculously large boxes of chocolate, take a bite out of each one, and fill myself with chocolate. Then I’ll top off a bottle of wine and sing “All By Myself” like Bridget Jones. That would truly be classic.
Anyway, enclosed are some more chap sticks, because I’m guessing you need more. I varied the flavors this time. One is as close to Nutella as possible, but remember, it’s not really edible, it just smells good.
The cliff bars are because you like to climb mountains, which is obviously why you chose to go to Afghanistan.
And I know it’s silly, but I traced my hand on the red paper for your actual valentine. That way, you could technically hold my hand. And yes, I kissed the paper with lipstick on.
You never guessed what the third picture was that I sent you. So, I decided to have it enlarged and made into a puzzle. Here is the first piece.
And finally, I’m not sure what your music listening situation is like, so I’ve enclosed an iPod with its charger and a special soundtrack just for you. I hope you enjoy.
Happy Valentine’s Day, Matthew,
Vivian
Chapter Twelve
From: Matthew.Jensen7267@us.army.mil
Sent: 2/13/16 22:59
To: Vivian.Castello@gmail.com
Dear Civilian Girl,
You are killing me.
Damn it. What am I going to do with you?
I tried not writing to you after your last letter because, you’re right, just writing to you is stringing you along. That is not what I want to do. At all. I don’t want to mess with your head or your life. This can’t work between us, so I decided to not write you back. I knew if I wrote back, you would write back and you would be you and I would have to write back again because you’re you and I have developed an addiction to you, which is better than your C-SPAN addiction but my detox is going to be a hell of a lot harder. The more we write, the harder it gets. So, I decided not to write. Clean break. Cold Turkey. Just like a drug.
But damn if I can stop thinking about you. Do you have any idea how frustrating that is? I have amazing willpower (despite the incident with the Nutella). When I say I’m going to do something, I do it. I just do. Whatever it takes, no matter how gut-ripping the experience, I do it. Damn it, I once ran 50 miles just to prove I could do it. Not writing to you was going to be easy. I wish I could express how easy it was supposed to be. Damn it. Can you tell I’m still pissed? At myself, by the way, not at you. I mean, I would prefer you were not as sexy and funny and smart. Damn you're smart. Who knew that was a turn on? I certainly didn’t. But there you are. Smart is sexy—spread the word.
Did I ever tell you why I go mountain climbing? I probably didn’t, because it’s not something I’m proud of. It’s because I hate heights, but I won’t let fear win. I didn’t realize I was scared of heights until Ranger School. I mean, I knew I wasn’t a fan, because no sane person is, but I didn’t know I was piss-your-pants scared until the first week in Georgia. On the third day, there is a water confidence test. You have all your equipment on, your backpack, your rifle, everything. You have to climb 35 feet in the air with no safety harness and make your way along a log. There is nothing to stop you falling—a lot of people do. But if you fall, you fail, and I don’t fail. Once you make your way to the middle, you work your way down a rope. It rips your hands, but you don’t let go until you reach the Rangers plaque over the lake and you are given permission to drop. And then, the fun part starts (Ironics font needed). Your equipment makes you heavy. It drags you straight to the bottom. It is dark and you can’t see what you are doing, but you act on instinct. You get everything off you so you don’t die.
Well, I was standing at the bottom, waiting for my turn to start. My heart was slamming against my ribs. I couldn’t breathe. I thought I might pass out, but I just kept my eyes straight ahead, waiting for my name to be called. Then I heard a splash, and then screams, and my RI shouting. His face was white. He dropped the megaphone and ran to the water. Everyone stopped what they were doing. Panic like you have never felt, the kind that freezes you in place and makes you fight against it just to move, took over. Skinner, I think his name was—I can’t remember anymore, I never saw him again—had fallen into the water. We had been briefed on how to fall if we lost our balance, but when it happens, you forget your training—well, he did, at least. He hit the water wrong and broke his neck. We heard later that he lived, but he was paralyzed.
Anyway, they pulled him out of the water, strapped him to a board, and loaded him up. As soon as the medic pulled away, my RI called my name. I didn’t know if this guy was dead or alive at that point, but it was my turn to do the same thing that just took him down.
Bear in mind, if you hesitate, you’ve failed. You can’t stop to psyche yourself up in a warzone. You just go. So what did I do? I bent over and threw up. Vomit everywhere—on me, my shoes, in the water. It was over. I felt my chance slipping away. I was either going to pass out or throw up again. My heart was beating too fast. I was dizzy. My vision started to go black around the edges. I closed my eyes and I saw the board with the names of the soldiers who'd died in Ranger School—27 men in total.
And then I remembered the beginning of training, the promise I made to myself—I would either die or I would pass, those were my only two choices. 75% of men drop out or fail during those nine weeks, but I was not going to be one of them. So, I wiped the vomit off my mouth and I did it. I did not look down. I just did it.
So, why am I telling you this? Certainly not to impress you, because nothing kills the illusion of bravery more than a grown man throwing up on himself. I'm telling you so you understand that I don’t give in. If I set my mind to something, I do it. Always.
Until you.
So what happened?
Allow me to tell you another story that will paint me in an equally unflattering light. I was doing a pretty good job at not thinking about you. I stopped reading your letters. They were in a box, under my cot, not in my pocket anymore. Well, I might as well say it, I finally had some alone time to use the lotion you sent me. And you were there. You were all I thought about. You in that dress. You smiling. You saying outrageous things. It was you touching me. You were with me. And yes, I should be freaking you out now, because who in the hell admits this to a complete stranger?
Turns out, I was doing a piss poor job at forgetting you. There is no forgetting you. Trust me, I have tried. So, there you have it. I can’t stop writing to you, so you need to stop writing to me, because this isn’t right. This isn’t going anywhere.
If I haven’t given you ample reason to end this right now, and possibly take out a restraining order, let me break it down for you further—you are right to be scared.
I might not come back from this tour or the next. There is every possibility that someone would knock on your door to tell you I’m dead. That is the reality. I won’t sugar coat it. Can you live with that? Never knowing if this is the day?
I told my brother about you after I decided to stop writing. Told him everything I know about you. You want to know why? Because if I die, I want him to be able to let you know. I need you to know that. I can’t bear to think about you not knowing.
While we are on the subject of my brother, I asked him to find your home address for me. I knew if I Googled you, I would learn where you worked and who your partner is, and I promised you I wouldn’t. Tomorrow is Valentine’s Day. I couldn't stand the idea of you having another shitty holiday, so I asked him to send you chocolate (Sees) and roses. I spent 20 minutes researching what every color of rose means because I didn’t want to give you the wrong message. I didn’t even know different colored roses mean different things. Luke explained they did and asked me which color to send. I decided to play it safe and send a dozen yellow, because those represent friendshi
p. But then I thought, “Screw it,” and I sent another dozen-orange. Any guesses what orange represents? Desire.
Yellow and orange. That pretty much sums up what I feel about you—friendship and desire.
So, there you have it, Vivian. This is going absolutely nowhere, but I can’t let you go. Where does that leave us? I really have no idea. Anyway, I hope you have a nice Valentine’s Day. And again, I've said too much.
Love,
Matthew
Matthew.Jensen7267@us.army.mil Sent: 2/14/16 3:18To: Vivian.Castello@gmail.com
Dear Civilian Girl,
Great minds. I just got your package, and it actually arrived on Valentine's Day. That never happens. Getting mail in a timely manner, I mean. I love it. You have to know I have already eaten 3 Cliff bars. Thank you so much. I loved the care package. The playlist on the iPod is perfect. Again, thank you. It's great. My favorite part—your hands. They are so small. Or maybe mine are just really big. I'm sending a cutout of my hand. It only seems fair that you get a piece of me too. And I'm sending you the watch I wore at Ranger School. It is a crappy old watch, but it has a compass on it so you can see where I am. Well, at least the general direction. I don't know if you got my last email and are ignoring me. If you are, you're even smarter than I thought. We both know you can do better than me. I keep waiting for you to figure that out. I'm punching above my weight, as they say.
Anyway, Happy Valentine's Day, Civilian Girl.
Love,