Dear Soldier Boy (16 page)

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Post Date Letter: November 28th

Dear Luke,                                         

I’m sorry to be reaching out this way. My name is Vivian Castello. I had been corresponding with your brother Matthew for almost a year, and then he went silent. I’m not entirely sure why. I’ve been waiting over three months, and then November 27
th
came up, and I knew that was the date he was supposed to return. I had that date circled on every single one of my calendars. I had the entire week scheduled off from work. I’m sorry; that’s not important. But I couldn’t wait any longer. And I apologize for even asking, but I have to. I know they wouldn’t change his date. I don’t know why he stopped writing. I can only guess, but I’m not sure. I’m assuming there are two possibilities, and even if it’s the second one, the one where he chose not to write to me but is still alive, then that’s the one I want. That’s the one I need.

I don’t know what happened. I’ve checked all the reports, and I’ve never seen his name, but maybe I missed something? Maybe his name was missing? I don’t know. But I couldn’t wait any longer.

And again, I’m sorry for reaching out to you this way. I had hoped that the first time we communicated, whether in person or over the phone, would be on a happy note. Like maybe Face timing and seeing your daughter. Or something like that. I’m so sorry, I shouldn’t even have mentioned her. But Matthew had told me about your baby and how excited he was for you and Steven.

Again, I wouldn’t ever want to intrude, but there’s been so much on the news, and I saw his platoon was a part of…I’m sorry. I just need to know if he’s okay. If he doesn’t want to talk to me, I understand. I just need to know if he’s alive. I have to know. And I’m sorry. I’m assuming he figured out who I work for—who I worked for—and that’s why the communication stopped.  I don’t blame him. I just need to know if his silence is real or not.

Sincerely,

Vivian Castello

Chapter Thirty-Eight

Post Date Letter: November 29th

Dear Vivian,
This is Luke Jenson, Matthew’s brother. Thank
you for writing to me. Thank you for loving my brother. I know he loved you
too. I have seen Matthew, and he is physically fine. That was what you were
asking, wasn’t it, if he is alive? Yes, he is alive. I won’t comment on anything
beyond that. Matthew is a very proud man and very private. I know you can
appreciate that.
A few months ago, he sent me a letter to
send to you in the event of his death. I am sending it to you today because I
think it explains a lot. After you wrote
to me, I opened the letter from Matthew. I apologize for the invasion of your
privacy, but I needed to know what Matthew was going through. Usually, I am the
quiet one, but now, I am the only one talking. I don’t even know if he hears me.
He has changed. I can’t explain.
I had hoped we would meet in person.
Matthew said he wanted you to come out and meet Dizzy. I have included a
picture of her. We named her Delette Elizabeth after my mom, but Steven started
calling her D’Lizzy before she was born. This somehow morphed into Dizzy, and
unfortunately for her, it stuck. So now she
will probably always be our Dizzy Girl.
I think she looks just like Steven, but he
sees me, especially in her eyes. They are pale blue just like mine, and
Matthew’s.
I’m sorry we never got to meet in person. I
hope his letter gives you some closure. Take Care.
Sincerely,
Luke Jenson
Dear Civilian Girl,
My Sweet Vivian. I hope you never read this
letter. My plan is to have Luke burn it as soon as I get home. But if you are
reading this, I didn’t make it home. I’m so sorry, Civilian Girl, for not making
it back to you. You know I did everything to come back to you. Please know
that. I need you to know that. And I need you to know I love you. You are the
love of my life. I completely and totally love you and will for the rest of my
life, no matter how long or short that life turns out to be. I never told you because I wanted to look into
your eyes the first time I told you. Remember, you are my first—my only—love.
I thought I would have the rest of my life
to tell you. I hope I do. I hope you never get this letter. I want to run
marathons with you, and climb mountains with you, and hold your hand when you
deliver our babies. I want a lifetime with you. I know I am being greedy. You
have already given me a lifetime’s worth of joy. Your letters were everything
to me. They got me through. They gave me hope. Thank you. Thank you for your
love. I didn’t deserve it, but I appreciate it, and I cherish it the way I
cherish you.
As you can see I have included your
business card. Allow me to tell you a story of irony, and bad timing, and a
stupid soldier. A few months after I received your first letter, I was out on
patrol. By all accounts, it was a pretty crappy day, but I could not help but
smile because I kept thinking about you. I thought about the story you told me,
about hitting on a soldier and slipping your business card into his pocket. You
said he totally ignored you, and I thought, what an idiot. What a complete and
utter moron. A beautiful woman gives you her number, you call her. I was so
grateful that this stupid soldier didn’t give you the time of day. And I
thought, if it had been me, I would have bought you a cup of coffee and then
another, every day for the rest of our lives.
I got back to the firebase. I laid down on
my cot, and I remembered my dress uniform was folded under my bed. I shouldn’t
have had it, but I was called back directly from Washington. I thought about you
touching this man, brushing against him to put your business card in his pocket,
and I was jealous that he got to feel you. Maybe even smell you. And I could
not believe that any red-blooded man would have ignored you. He was a clearly
an idiot. I’m an idiot and even I would have spoken to you. There is no way I
would have not spoken to you and fallen in love with you directly on the spot.
I pulled out my jacket and I reached into the pocket to see where you would
have touched him, this nameless faceless idiot man.
And it was there. Your card was there. I am
that idiot. Your idiot. Your self-absorbed, unworthy, oblivious, idiot soldier. I
didn’t even see you. I was so sucked under by the shit storm that was my
existence, that I didn’t even see you. I hate myself for it. I cheated myself
out of an opportunity to hear your voice and see your smile in real life.
The theme of our relationship really was
bad timing and missed opportunities. Any other day, I would have seen you,
Civilian Girl. Any other day.
I am telling you this now for two reasons.
Well, three actually, the third being that I can’t tell you in person. That is
my plan, or was, if you are reading this. But the first reason is to tell you that I
know you are a civilian contractor. I know you work for JCI Logistics. I know
they are the ones who have the biggest maintenance and operational support contract for Afghanistan. I know they provide all the maintenance for all the vehicles. I know they cut
corners, and that personnel-carriers broke down because of them. I know
soldiers were stranded and left vulnerable because of them, and I know that
soldiers died. I even know all of their names. All seventeen men. I can tell
you their names. I won’t ever forget them.
I promised you I would never look you up,
and I never did, but I found out anyway. I know, and I have known for a while. I
knew before I loved you. Actually, no, I didn’t. I think I loved you from the
beginning, and I was just too stupid to see it. I am a stupid man, but yet, you
loved me. And God, how I love you.
The second reason I need to tell you is to
explain why I didn’t see you that day. I was stateside for a meeting. It was
the second worst day of my life. The first was the “incident”. That is what our
government called it. I call it a massacre and my colossal fuck up. I need you to know that I did not know this
part until it was too late. We were too far gone. I couldn’t tell you, but even
if I could, I don’t think I would have been able to bring myself to do it. I
couldn’t lose you.
Remember when I got the letter from Mark,
and I lost it, and talked about guilt and atonement? You didn’t understand and I
couldn’t explain. But he said something about knowing what had happened and not
even knowing who you are, or who your brother was. Remember, I asked you about your
brother? I needed to know his name. That is when I knew. That is when the last
piece of the puzzle clicked into place. I cried. I don’t remember ever crying
before, not as an adult. I must have as a kid, but I don’t remember. But I cried.
It was real. All the soldiers, all the names, they were real, they were loved,
and I could not ignore it anymore or pretend it was an incident. I cried for
them, and I cried for you and a selfish part of me that I hate.
The day I saw you, I had just been told
there would be no formal investigation. I would not face any disciplinary
action. I got off scot-free. It was like it had never happened. Seventeen people were gone, and nobody was
being held accountable because nobody was allowed to talk about it. That is why
I didn’t see you. I was too despondent to see anything past my own guilt. I
wanted to be punished. I needed it. The families needed it. But they will never
know because of money, and politics, and contracts.
That is what I meant about atonement. I
felt like I was finally being punished by losing you. It was incoherent and
rambling, but that is what I meant.
I never wanted to tell you the last part,
but you have to know for any of it to make sense, and because you deserve to
know who I am. Before I go on, please know I’m sorry. It is not enough, but it
is all I have.
The September before we met, I was out with
my men. We were coming back from Afghan National Army base. The personnel
carrier broke down. I almost expected it, there was an ongoing joke that
anything JCI Logistics touched would immediately turn to shit. We had to get
out and walk it, which wouldn’t have been a problem any other day, but we almost
immediately came under fire. We were
sitting ducks. We were dead men. Our one chance was to call on air support,
bomb the fuck out of the area, and then fight our way out.
I knew the movements of every platoon in
our company, of course I did. That was my God-damn job. I can still give you
their coordinates. I knew where they were. I called for an airstrike, but I gave
the wrong coordinates. I transposed the numbers. I have heard the audio a dozen
times, and every time, I wince. I wasn’t tired or more scared than usual, there
is no excuse or anything to blame it on. It was just me. I made a mistake. I
blew it. I fucked up.
I called for a strike on Alpha. That is
where I asked to be bombed, our own men. They didn’t stand a chance. I killed them, my mistake. I think you know, by now, who those men are. You knew one of
them. I killed your brother. I had no idea until Mark’s email.
I never got to apologize to any of the
families because no one could know. It was easier to lie to seventeen families than
explain the truth. But I’m telling you now, and I’m sorry. Sorry is such a pathetic word. It isn’t big
enough. It makes a mockery of the real emotion. I don’t know if there is a word
to encapsulate the grief and regret. That is the word, if you ever figure it
out; that is what I feel.
I will never get to tell the other
families. And maybe it is better for them not to know. It won’t bring their
soldiers back or make the loss any less.
There you have it, Vivian. All my secrets
are yours, every ugly truth. I won’t let myself think about you hating me, even
though I know you will. Right now, in this moment, when I am writing this, you
love me. I am loved. Thank you. Thank you for giving that to me. Thank you for healing
me. Thank you for making me smile again. I didn’t deserve any of the happiness
you gave me, but I relished every single moment of it. I knew love. How lucky
am I? For a short time, I had what everyone is looking for. I had it. This
stupid Soldier Boy had everything. Thank you. I love you, Vivian.
All my love, everything I am, is yours, now
and forever,
Your Soldier Boy