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APRIL 8, TUESDAY

Hot today. Heat dances on cartops. I
watch the mailman come and go, his bag weighing heavy. When he’s
rounded next door’s lilac bushes, I go down to check my box. Two
envelopes, one of them a letter from Jake. His name, rightward
slanting and angular, in the return address corner. The envelope is
fat—four pages, at least—and by the time I reach my door it’s torn
and the letter is out, fanned wide in my hands, and it’s not four
pages, no, but six. Six! I open the door and slam it shut behind me
and accidentally kick Chancey on the way to the chair, stuff myself
into a corner and read.

March 1

Mia, Mia,

I miss you crazy for only having
left yesterday.

I’m still on a plane. Or, I’m on
one again. We had a layover at an airport with a bar, but we
weren’t allowed to drink anything but water or Coke or whatever
because we were in uniform. Doesn’t war mean anything to anyone,
anymore?

We’ve been flying for five hours
this time and pretty much everyone is sleeping, except the guy next
to me. He’s reading a book,
The
Executioner’s Song.
I guess that’s
interesting.
I don’t want to say the title
works because I don’t want to give you the impression that I feel
like I’m heading for my death, but it does. It works. And part of
me does feel like I’m heading for my death, but not in a real way.
I can’t explain it. I suppose when you know you’re going to war,
you know there’s a chance you’ll get killed. I’ve heard people say
the chances of getting killed where I’m going are about the same as
they are at home, but at home I’m reasonably confident that people
aren’t trying to shoot me down while I fly the traffic pattern.
Which still makes me sound scared, but truthfully Mia, I’m not. I’m
sad, though. Leaving you was tough. I can’t believe I can still
count how many hours it’s been since I was holding you.

Twenty-eight.

We had to go back into the hangar
after we’d all gone outside to get on the plane, which turned out
to not be ours. I went out to the lot to see if you were still
there, and I saw you at the light at the end of the street, so I
was waving and jumping up and down like a crazy man, but I was too
late. If I’d come out just one minute sooner! Damn it!

Anyw

March 8

Well, we’re here. Sorry that last
bit ended so abruptly, but I got tired and passed out without even
knowing it. At least I finished the sentence. I woke up with Smythe
(the guy reading next to me) punching my arm because I guess my
head fell on his shoulder. He said I was snoring and that I drooled
on him. I didn’t, though—he was kidding. You know I only drool for
you, baby.

‘Here,’ by the way, is a place in
the dirt with some tents and stuff. Not much else. If you want to
know what I’ve been up to, I’ll tell you: a whole lot of
nothing.

March 18

Hey, you. We moved again. Looks the
same, though. Brown. I got to take a shower three days ago – that
was good. The water ran dirty. Have I mentioned we’re all a little
anxious? No one knows what’s going on or if this thing will even
start. I hope it doesn’t, but I think it will. Something needs to
happen one way or another, though.

March 21

Ask and ye shall
receive.

So, we still don’t know much, and
we weren’t part of it, but there’s been a ton of movement and we’ve
moved again, too. Supposedly, the next place (up north is all I can
say right now) is where we’ll be for the long haul. How long of a
haul? Don’t know. Wish I could tell you.

As you know by the time you get
this, the war is on and…the war is on.

We got here yesterday. It’s not
bad, geographically. Nice scenery. Big sky. All the textbook
components of a desert environment.

Ah, Mia. I could write
pages about where I am, what I’ll be eating, what I have in my
tent, when I think my tuff box will get here, how long I think
it’ll be before we go on a mission, but even thinking about sharing
all that feels like a waste of time. I don’t know if wasting time
is what I want to do.

I love you, M. I love you like I’ve
never loved anyone or anything else, and it feels like I’ve been
without you for months, already. What’s it been, three weeks? Every
day at mail call I hope for something from you, but I don’t count
on it. I don’t even know if they know where we are, yet (only
because we just got here), so they’re probably holding onto mail
for a while longer. If you’ve mailed anything, that is. But I don’t
think you have. I hope you know I understand. I hope you know a lot
of things, like…like, I know you lie to me. It was hard not to
laugh when you said you didn’t mind my mom coming to the hangar. I
know you hated it, but you have to understand I just couldn’t say
no. I hope you’re not still mad at me personally. And M, I’m sorry
she got the last hug. I didn’t think she’d come back in. She just
kind of ran at me, and what could I do? I guess maybe she shouldn’t
have come. No. You’re right. I know she shouldn’t have. But you
know how she can be.

It’s hard not to think of you at
night. It’s so flat you can see…well, as far as your eyes’ll let
you… and the sun goes down over this ocean of brown, the edges kind
of melting out onto the sand, and it makes me think of you because
I know you’d want to see it. I got a shot last night with William’s
camera (Denise made him take along about three disposables to last
until they buy a digital), and when he sends the roll home he said
he’ll add a note to make sure you get it. He’s already taken a ton
of pictures, so it should be done soon, and he writes Denise all
the time (he was even writing her in the hangar while we were
sitting around waiting to go), so who knows? You might see the
picture before you even get my letter. He took a couple of me, too,
so make sure you get those. Nothing special, just me standing
around. Smoking. (Thought I’d tell you before you saw it…I started
again, but only because of where I am. It makes no sense not to
smoke. I’ll quit when I get home. Don’t think you can use this as
an excuse to smoke, though—I’m at war and you’re not, you stealer
of reasons to smoke.)

Ah, but you have started
smoking again, haven’t you? I know it.

Have to go—meeting. More
later. Oh, yeah—could you put together a package? We have good
meals, but I’d like some snacks. Thanks! (You don’t have to include
a letter, but maybe a short note?)

March 22

—
0445— Oh, yes. It is. And
do you know why I’m writing you at o-friggin-dark-forty-five on
this…actually, pretty comfortable…morning? Because. As I’m learning
happens every morning, there is a noise. A thundering, ear
shattering noise that William somehow always manages to sleep
through. Now, I’ve only been here for a couple of days, but the
first morning it was a convoy. The second morning it was
Blackhawks. This morning, a convoy again. Rumble rumble rumble
right through camp. Right by my tent, and the Blackhawks flew not
near my tent, but, right
over
it. In fact, I think the pilots just decided to
hover on my head for no reason. You know, Mia, the one thing that
passes time faster than anything else is sleep. Word is, if you
take away sleeping time, we’re only gone for six months instead of
twelve. Or however long. Just cut the full length in half. How am I
supposed to sleep this deployment away with these pesky morning
noises?

March 24

So, it’s day three here,
and it may as well be day one. If these past few days are any
indication of what’s to come, then I can look forward to tomorrow
being just like today. And the day after tomorrow being just like
yesterday. Routi

March 26

An interesting thing
happened yesterday.

So, I was taking a shower and heard
this ZIP right by my ear. We have these windows in the shower
stalls, so to speak, so I looked outside to see what was going on,
then realized, “Hey. That actually kind of sounded like a bullet…”
I ducked and crawled out on my hands and knees (after grabbing a
towel, of course) to get everyone down and find out what the hell
was going on. Never found out, though. It just stopped. People
think it might have been a weapons cache exploding. No worries,
though! It was more funny than it was scary. Besides, those guys
have shitty aim. Their mortars are constantly being shot way over
our heads and exploding on the other side of camp. (Um, I don’t
really mean constantly. I just mean that any time they do fire a
mortar, they miss by a mile. That’s a good thing.)

I guess I’ll tell you why I
had to leave so abruptly before. No big deal—just a mission. Came
on all of a sudden-like. It was actually pretty cool, because we
left early the next morning (when I stopped writing it was to
plan), and the mornings here, much as I hate to say it, can be
pretty outstanding. Anyway, that morning, two days ago (it’s really
late at night, now, and I’m so tired I might have to end this
pretty soon), I stepped out of the tent and stood on this porch we
built with scrap wood. The clouds in the distance were really thin
and low, cutting the mountains in half, and the temperature was
perfect…cool, but warm, if that makes any sense. The sun was just
coming up over the mountaintop, but the sky directly above me was
still dark enough so that I could see the stars. I wish you could
have been there.

Have to go to sleep,
now.

(Next day…)

Feeling kind of sad, so
having this chance to write tonight is just what I needed. No
reason for the sadness. I mean, no reason that’s really unusual or
bad. Just miss you. So much. You’re everything to me, M, and though
I know I’m here for a good reason (
my
guys
) and wouldn’t come back early if I
could, I dream about coming back just to see you. The days are so
long, and I think about you more than you know. That it’s been a
month since I last saw you is unbelievable for two reasons. In a
way, time here has gone so fast that I can’t believe four weeks are
already in the past, but in another way, time has dragged so slow
and I miss your face so much that I can’t believe this foreverness
only just started. If I were going to be gone three or four months,
this would be nothing. But it’s different when one month is only
the first step on a much longer journey. (I still don’t know
anything for sure, but six months is looking less and less
likely.)

March 27

Sorry it’s taking me so
long to get this to you, but we’ve been really busy (nothing much
to talk about—going here and there, nothing really dangerous, so
don’t worry). This probably won’t be long, because I have to go
somewhere again and I’d like to get this out to you so you don’t
think I’m not writing. You hear a lot of guys out here saying that
they get letters from their wives and girlfriends who complain that
they don’t get enough mail. I don’t know what it is they think
we’re doing out here, but I can say from experience that if we’re
not writing, it’s probably because we’re damn busy. Not to be a
dick, but we have more important things to do than write letters.
(You know what I mean. But, while we’re on the subject, I hope you
know I write whenever I can.)

I don’t know why, but I
thought today about the earrings I gave you for Christmas. Did you
really like them? I never saw them on you again after New Year’s. I
was afraid you’d be disappointed because I know you wanted
something else. We’ve talked about it so much I almost don’t want
to bring it up again because that horse has been pulverized, but
it’s so important that you understand. M, It just didn’t seem
right. Before we found out about the deployment, we weren’t even
talking about it. Remember? Because we knew it felt too soon. And
then after we found out, it would have been like we were getting
married because of the deployment. And that’s just not a good
reason. I only want to get married when it’s because it’s what we
want. You have to try to believe me. Okay?

I’m not looking forward to
this next mission. Not because it’s more risky than any of the
others (which it’s not), but be

Mia. This is William. Jake
asked me to write that he’s okay and he loves you. He had to go on
a mission and he wanted me to get this mailed for him. Tell Denise
hi for me.

-
William

APRIL 9, WEDNESDAY

He fell. Right in the middle of
everything, he fell. Torn down, toppled and dragged by a rope. The
same scene plays over, over, over, and my cheeks hurt and I’m
wearing the earrings, and I’m dizzy-drunk from celebrating and
waiting for my phone call.

APRIL 14, MONDAY

“…
much of the city taken. Meanwhile,
the administration applying pressure to stop supporting
enemy…”

Major operations over, they say, but
still no phone call.

Cleanup and advancing might be all
that’s left. Air Force planes have been sent off, away, home, and
someone, somewhere, was captured. Someone big and important, they
said. Or was the someone killed?

I wonder if Jake has killed
anyone.
Killed
anyone, Jake,
killed,
and wonder if I would think it sexy or
sad.

I pull up the blankets and try to
sleep.