Dear Soldier Boy (7 page)

[email protected]
Sent: 2/14/16 3:18To:
[email protected]

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,

Matthew

Chapter Thirteen

[email protected]
Sent 2/14/16

[email protected]

Dear Soldier Boy,                                                                                     February 14
th
(Valentine ’s Day)

Wow, timing really is everything. Can you imagine my surprise when I saw your roses and chocolates? They are gorgeous by the way, thank you.

But back to timing. I've  been working on my self-control too. I had finally broken myself of checking my email as of February 12
th
. I woke up that morning and said to myself that it would be the first day I wouldn't  check my email. I'd been checking it so many times it’s embarrassing, and a waste of time, as it was always empty. And it’s not like I use that email for anything, really, so the only purpose is to correspond with you. Millie, Liz, and I text, and I still haven’t heard from my mom and step dad, but they were never big emailers anyway. So, checking my email was for you. Finally, I made it a whole day without checking it, and then I woke up the next day, February 13
th
, and I did it again. I told myself I could do it. I could make it through another day. I didn’t even go through and read any of your letters or the emails that I had printed from you. I was getting stronger, and I was proud of myself for my self-control. It didn’t take away from the hurt, but I was building upon the idea of being strong.

Fast forward to Valentine’s Day (today). I woke up again, forcing myself not to check my email, because that would really be a sad reality to see that you hadn’t sent me an email. I needed to be brave (and I know my bravery is nothing like what you face daily, but this was a small feat for me).

I made my way to the 5k Cupid Kiss Race. I was excited about this race. I wanted to beat my last time, which really would not take much effort, as I’m not a fast runner. Anyway, I walked down to the mall and prepped myself for the race. I had my headphones in, and my playlist cued up and ready. I scanned the crowd and Mark appeared in front of me. (Mark is the guy whom I work with on the project I have mentioned, in case you forgot). Anyway, this was a huge surprise. I had no idea he was going to be participating in the race. Apparently, he does every year. He likes to run. He had signed up for the 10k, but he stuck with me instead of finishing his own race. I’ve never run with anyone before, and it was an interesting experience, to say the least. Mark cheered me on and tried to help me pick up my pace to improve my finishing time. And I did. I dropped five minutes from my last race in November (the Turkey Trot). This was huge. I was so excited to make it to the end. Cupid rushed up and kissed me, and then Mark did too. It was nice. Sweet, even. He then asked if I had any plans and if he could walk me home, and I said, “Sure.”

Imagine my surprise when I saw your bouquet of twenty-four roses and chocolates waiting promptly for me on my doorstep. Mrs. McQueen said she had signed for them. She’s always been a lovely neighbor. She asked if Mark was the sender, and his face turned a light shade of red, probably matching my own. I’m sure Mrs. McQueen thinks I’m some sort of harlot for having another man walk me home and receiving flowers from someone else. But how was I to know? I hadn’t heard from you in weeks.

After Mrs. McQueen went back inside her house, Mark asked if I wanted to go to dinner “just as friends”. Again, I said, “Sure,” because why not? He's a nice guy, and I didn’t have any other plans for the day. The race had been it for me.

Mark left, and I went inside and smelled the roses. Literally, I stopped and smelled every single one of them. I was sick. I’ve never felt so nauseated in my life. No, it wasn’t from the race and over doing it. It was because of you. Everything about you rips at my heart. I know you’re close to 7,000 miles away from me and living eight hours in the future. Yet, somehow, you made it possible to have roses and chocolate sent to me on Valentine’s Day. I thought this whatever-it-is was over, and it’s not. I truly thought you had given up on the idea of us, and then you show up with this grand gesture, and my heart is aching. I wish I could reach through the computer to touch you and feel you. I want to run my hands through your hair, and I don’t even know what it really looks like. I’m assuming similar to the sandy blond hair you had as child. But I want to touch you. I want to smell you. And I want to hear you. I wish so much that you were here right now with me in my bed. I wouldn’t even try to do anything to you. I would just want to be in your arms. I’d even take being in the same room as you and listening to you breathe. I would be happy with the idea of watching you sleep. Even if it was some wild universe where I was only able to see you while you were sleeping, I would take it. Any of it. What you are to me is more than I’ve ever been able to contemplate or wrap my head around. I know the idea of us seems far-fetched, but the idea of not-us seems like a horrible place where I don’t want to be.

The moment with Mark at the race was fun, and maybe for that brief moment in time, it might have led to something else. But now it’s gone. There is no turning back. My heart will forever be with you, no matter what.

Now, to answer your question, as I did rush and check my email after Mark left tonight. We went to dinner at Founding Farmers. It’s casual, which was perfect for a “just friends” outing. Mark asked me about you and our relationship. I told him how it began and how much you mean to me. He wanted to know your last name and rank. He asked me several times but I didn’t want him to know. I’m not sure why. Was it because of my job? Or was it because I didn’t want the possibility of him being able to reach out to you and say something that would discourage you from communicating with me? Maybe it was just a harmless question. Maybe he was going to try and look out for you. I don’t know. But I didn’t tell him your last name.

Back to your question, can I handle the idea of being told that you no longer exist on this earth? That’s a horrible question to ask, by the way. How is someone supposed to answer it? Tell you that I’d be okay, that I’d move on with my life and find someone else? I can’t even comprehend that, Matthew. Not at all. I can’t answer your question and I won’t.

And I know there is that possibility. Despite my self-control of fifty hours from not checking my email, I haven’t stopped watching C-SPAN. The idea of anything happening to you frightens me. Anything. But it’s not so strong that it rules over the love. Yes, love that I have for you. I hadn’t said it before, because I didn’t want to. I loved that you said love to me as you closed your email. It made my heart dance for days. But I wasn’t ready to say it back. Not because I didn’t feel it, because I did. I think it’s obvious that I did, and if it wasn’t, then you weren’t paying attention. But I think you were, and I think you did know, and I’m guessing that’s why you didn’t question it. And I appreciate that. I wanted to be able to say it when I was ready, and I am.

Matthew, I love you. More than I have ever loved anyone. My love for you is stronger than my fear of losing you. And for the record, just because you are in a war zone, it doesn’t mean that I wouldn’t die first. That is a possibility; have you seen the drivers in DC? They are crazy. Horribly crazy. But enough about that.

I had no idea that you climbed mountains to overcome your fear of heights. That is incredible and interesting on so many levels. I want to go climbing with you. I imagine making it to the top and you kissing me. Really kissing me. Like a kiss that I would never forget.

I’m sorry to say, but you telling me that you imagined me while enjoying yourself doesn’t scare me away in the least. If anything, it excites me and makes me even more excited about actually being with you. IRL. Not just emails and letters. I want to really meet you and know you in real life. I want to know what your pet peeves are and if you’re messy. What are your favorite foods (besides peanut butter and Nutella)?

Now that we have gotten the idea of no us out of the way, let’s up the ante. Tell me when you are coming back because I know you know the date.

With Love, Your Civilian Girl,

Vivian

P.S. I’m attaching a photo of me and your roses. I hope you enjoy and promise not to share it with anyone else. XX

Chapter Fourteen

From:
[email protected]
Sent: 3/1/16 2:15
To:
[email protected]
Dear Civilian Girl,
You
are killing me. Really and truly, like the enemy could employ you as a secret
weapon. Is that your top-secret job? Honey-trapping horny soldiers? Cause I got
to say, you’re doing an amazing job. That picture. Damn, woman. Just. Damn.
I knew you were beautiful but, wow. Whole
new level. Next time, you might consider waterproofing it, so it can be wiped
clean you know, in case it gets, um, stuff on it.
Don’t worry, Civilian Girl. I’m not showing
anyone that picture. It’s just for me. And thank you for it. That picture stays
with me at all times.
Now, on to Mark. I need his full name, rank,
and number. No need for Ironics font this time. I’m going to check him out. Of
course I am, how can I not?
He
just happened to be at the race? I’m going to go ahead and call bullshit on
that one. He was there because he wants you. The guys at the gym, wanting to help
you with your hand position, they want you. Men are simple creatures that way. You’ve
seen you, right? Of course they want you.
Let me tell you how things will play out
with Mark. There will be another coincidence, where he just happens to be
there. And then another, and another. “This is your dry cleaner, mine too.
Crazy. Let’s get a drink.” “Really I didn’t know you got your nails done here. I
always come in here too. Crazy. And since we’re just friends, let’s get dinner.”
“This is your gynecologist? I always come here to read old copies of People
magazine. Crazy. Let’s go away for the weekend.”
The man has obviously done some serious
recon to know your schedule. The mission, “Bed Vivian,” is in full operation. Intelligence
gathering has indicated you’re a nice girl, so he has developed his strategy
to suit. The “just friends” thing is his current tactic. He is luring you into
a false sense of security before he executes his attack.
Yes, I sound like I’m a jealous idiot. Of
course I’m jealous. He gets to see you in person. He has heard your voice. He has touched you.
He has seen you smile. He has kissed you.
And the asshat works with you? What job do
you do, woman, where you need to play nice with soldiers? Please tell me you’re
a stripper, because that is preferable to the other option: civilian contractor.
That’s what you are, isn’t it? You may as well tell me. Shit, is it the
contractor that put in the bases with the showers that electrocuted soldiers? I
said I wouldn’t look and I haven’t, but please tell me if that is who you work
for.
Moving on. I’m not going to dwell on that possibility. Besides, you’re not your job any more than I’m mine. You’re
Vivian, the woman who makes me laugh when no one else does. That is what matters.
So,
Luke and Steven know about us, as you have gathered. My almost mute brother has
suddenly become very chatty, or whatever the email equivalent is. I have gotten
pages of questions, the majority of which I don’t know the answer to, but in my
defense, do I need to know what fictional character reminds you the most of
yourself? Literally, pages of these questions. I don’t know where he got them
from, or if he sat around with Steven thinking them up, but they’re pretty
obscure. Like, what is the weirdest thing you find attractive in a person? Page
after page of these. Do I need to know these things about you? Do you know
these things about you? I don’t know these things about me.
I get where they’re coming from. They want
to make sure I’m doing this right. I’m not sure if they’re more worried about
me or you; probably you. They’ve done some serious recon of their own, like if
they lived in DC they would be doing late night drive-bys and showing up at
your work to observe you in your natural habitat.
So, why are they so interested? Confession
time. And this one is going to make me sound like a complete ass. And maybe I
am, I don’t know.
I
don’t think I've ever jerked anyone around. I mean, I’m always straight up that
sex is just sex.
First of all I
have had more sex than I should admit—more partners, I mean. By the way, before you ask, I have always been safe. Hand on heart, I have never had sex without a condom. Even when I’m too drunk to stand, I always wear protection.
Shit. I was trying to make me sound like less of
an ass. It’s not working. But hell, we’re putting all our cards on the table
here.
OK back to me being an ass. At least I can
honestly say I’ve never lied or made promises. What I’m trying to say is that
up until now, my sex life has been more or less a series of one-night stands.
Well, not always one night, sometimes a week, maybe two.
The longest was three months during my second year
at West Point. There was a girl in my physics class. We studied together, hung
out, had sex, you know, the normal things people do in a relationship, except I
didn’t know we were in a relationship. We were just doing what people do,
having a good time until it was time to move on. My entire life, I've been prepared for the next move. I never linger
in one place or get nostalgic when I have to leave. I pack up and go, make a clean
break from everyone and everything. I never had any attachment to the people or
places we left behind. I enjoyed them when I was there, but when it was over, it
was over. Some people collect friends from every transfer. I never did. I didn’t
see the point. The way I saw it, if you keep looking back, you will never enjoy
what is right in front of you. So I lived in the moment, which was fine for me,
I was happy.
Anyway, Alison—that was her name—had a
different outlook, probably a far healthier one, if I’m being honest. It
was the end of the term, we'd just finished finals, and it was almost time to go home.
And then she told me she loved me.
Cue my shock. Had I not been a complete
moron, I would have realized that was where it was headed. But I was, and
probably remain, stupid when it comes to anything to do with relationships. I
had no idea what I was doing. So, I pretended not to hear her. She never said it
again. And just like that, it was over. When we got back from Christmas, it was
like we had never happened.
So, why am I telling you this? Because I’m a
moron, we’ve established that right? And because I want you to know that all of this—telling a woman things, wanting to spend time with you doing things other than sex, (though sex does feature very prominently on the wish list, really really high, like start limbering up now, woman, because we are going to hit this thing hard)—is
new to me.
Shit speaking of hard, just thinking about
you is like puberty all over again, never knowing when my body is going to go
rogue. Not great.
Sorry, off topic again. I think of you, and
then I think of sex with you. It just happens. Anyway, what I was trying to say
is that I have absolutely no idea what I’m doing when it comes to you, this,
us, our relationship. Yes, a relationship, that’s what this is. I’m in my first
proper relationship. And I have never even met you!
This is truly insane.
Am I doing it right? Is it too soon? What
is the next step? All these questions have been playing through my mind since I
got your email. I was waiting until I made sense of all of it to write you back, which is why it has been so long. Sorry about that. But today, I had to just give up and write to you, because there is no sense to be made of it. This is straight-up bat shit crazy and I don’t even care.
You said you love me. My heart stopped when
I read that. My hands went clammy and I couldn’t breathe. It was the same
reaction I had when Alison said it.
But this time, it was because I didn’t want
to fuck it up. You, beautiful, funny, smart, sexy you, love me. Me! How? Why?
And then I got scared, proper-chicken-shit-scared, because I knew you would
regret it. I was waiting for you to follow up with Ha! Ha!
But you never did. And so here we are. Do I
love you? What does it feel like? I don’t know. I’ve never done this before. I want you so much. Is that love? When I think
about you, I smile. Is that love? I can’t imagine a future that doesn’t include
you. Is that love? When I imagine a family, it is you as my wife, with three
kids, and two dogs, and all the cats you pretend not to have. Is that love? I
would want you even if you really gained those 200lbs and you started to bear
more than a passing resemblance to Danny Devito. Is that love?
Even this stupid man knows the answer.
But I won’t say it. Not yet. I want to be
holding you, touching you, smelling you, when I say it. I want to be able to
see your face, not this computer screen. I want it to be real.
Which brings me to when I’m coming home:
November 27th. We really do have shit timing. I had only just come
here when I got your letter. Want to hear the really crappy part? I was briefly in DC
last year, for a meeting at the Pentagon. But maybe it is best that we
didn’t meet before I left, because I can’t even imagine leaving you once I
really have you.
So, will you go out with me, Civilian Girl?
On a real date. I want to do this properly. Bring you flowers, take you to
dinner, hold your hand, kiss you in front of the Lincoln Memorial.
This will be on my third day home, because
the first two will be spent in bed.  A year is a very long time, Civilian
Girl.
So what do you say? Want to be my
girlfriend?
Love,
Your Soldier Boy
P.S I will continue to sign my letter with
love because if something happens and this is all we have, I need this, to
remember us by. You’re the first person, the first thing I want to take with
Dear
me forever.