Dear Soldier Boy

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 2
nd

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 2
nd
. 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.