A Lover's Lament Read online

  I love these guys, and the bonds I’ve formed with them are like nothing I’ve ever felt. You know I was kind of a loner growing up. I had a few friends here and there, but I didn’t really feel like I could relate to any of them. And then to come over here, to fight and bleed next to these guys, to do something so much bigger than us … it means everything. No matter how this place changes me down the road, I will always be grateful for these friendships. These men are my brothers.

  It means even more when you’re seeing a real difference. When you know in your heart that you’re doing something good, something that changes the life of another human being for the better. That’s how it was in Afghanistan, but here … not so much.

  Like today, for example. Something happened during a mission—something that’s left my head spinning. I don’t even know how to make sense of it all. The absolute disregard for life by these animals perplexes me. To kill a child, to steal her from her parents without regard is something I will never understand. They call us murderers. They call for our heads even, and yet they kill each other with reckless abandon. I like to think I joined the Army and deployed to this hellhole to do some sort of good—to make a difference in the world—but it doesn’t feel like we’re making much headway.

  I don’t mean to pummel you with the depressing details of this place, because I know you’re dealing with your own grief. It’s just nice to have someone to talk to about it all, especially someone who’s not over here questioning the same things I am.

  Trust me, I won’t be complaining in a few months when my ass is boarding a plane back to the States, I can promise you that! I miss beer so damn much—oh, and pizza … can’t forget the pizza. Is that little pizza joint still in town, the one we used to eat at every Friday night after football games? God, I miss that place. I remember when Mom worked there for a couple of months and she would bring home leftover pizza from their buffet—okay, seriously, I can’t talk about food or it’ll drive me insane.

  Anyway, speaking of my mother … unfortunately—or fortunately, depending on how you look at it—she’s out of the picture. We spent the better part of my first two years in the Army faking the funk. I’d fly to Pennsylvania for a week or two of leave and stay at her house. She’d make dinner and play “mom.” Then she’d try to convince me she was sober, and she did look a little better, but I’m not a fucking idiot. I caught her a few times doing a line or key bump. In the weeks I spent with her, I’d meet twenty different versions of Josephine, each more psychotic than the last. She’d be nice only when she needed something from me—usually money—and I just grew tired of it.

  For a year or so, I felt this built-up resentment in the pit of my stomach and it was dragging me down. Ugh, you can’t judge me for this next part, okay? I spent about two hours one random night writing out how I felt … all of it. I mean, this thing ended up being like five pages long. I spent thirty minutes on the phone telling her what I’d written, pretty much chewing her ass out. She got pissed off and turned it around on me, blaming me for my dad leaving because she said he never wanted kids in the first place. We argued off and on, and then her last words to me were, “So what? It’s in the past.” I said ‘fuck you,’ hung up the phone and never called again. It’s been three years now since we last spoke, and I can’t say that I’ve missed her.

  As crazy as I’m sure all that sounds, I felt better after I did it, like a weight had been lifted. I wasn’t burdened anymore, because I’d laid it all out on the table and washed my hands clean of it. This is actually my first time thinking about her in a while, so thanks for that (and yes, I’m being a smartass).

  I did have a great two years with my grandma though. I worked odd jobs and took some classes at a community college nearby. With what free time I had, I read her books. Her favorite author was Nicholas Sparks. We’d often get to that dreaded last page of the book, and as the final words poured from my lips, she’d flip those eyes open wide, let out a long, satisfied sigh, and then start in on a story about grandpa and her falling in love. She said they fell in love with each other over and over and over again. She missed him terribly in the years she spent without him, and it seemed the closer she got to the end, the more excited she was to see him again. It may sound dumb, but it was just a really beautiful thing to be a part of.

  Sorry, I think I may be the one babbling today. And enough about me anyway. Tell me about you. It’s been a decade, so what have I missed? What does Miss (or Mrs?) Katie Devora do? You know I’m a soldier out here playing in the world’s largest sandbox. What are you doing with your life? Can I take three guesses? Teacher, nurse, or social worker. I know how big that heart of yours is, and you always said that you wanted to do something to help others.

  Well, it’s been a really long day and my eyeballs hate me right now so I’m going to hop off of here. But I want you to know that it’s been nice to talk to someone, particularly you. I’m glad we have a faster means of communication, because I don’t want to wait weeks in between hearing from you again—not after the last decade we’ve spent apart.

  PS. How is your mom and Bailey?

  Sincerely,

  Devin

  My body is a jumbled mix of emotions as I lean back against my headboard and take in everything he wrote. My heart aches for Devin and what he’s witnessed and endured both at war and at home. I don’t know how he does it, how he copes from day to day, but I could tell by his mad rush of words that he needed to get what happened today—or maybe it was yesterday—off his chest. He also mentioned that it was nice to have someone to talk to, and my stomach flutters at the thought that I’m that person. A sense of peace, belonging and friendship washes over me, and I squeeze my eyes shut because the feeling is so familiar that it physically hurts.

  And for the first time, it hits me—I miss him. I miss our friendship, the connection that we shared. I miss being able to talk to him without being judged, and I miss the way he used to support me without swaying any of my thoughts or actions.

  I miss Devin.

  Somewhere in the back of my head, there’s a tiny vision of me crying in the middle of his driveway after I found out that he’d left, but I push it away and focus on his words.

  How in the world can his words affect me this way? It took about a year after he left to face the facts that he wasn’t coming back, and another year to convince myself that whatever feelings he had for me weren’t real. About a year after that, I finally realized that I’d never be the same. So for him to be able to easily infiltrate my life this way after a decade of nothing … well, it’s scary really. Because if he hurt me once, he could do it again.

  That thought alone makes my stomach churn, but I take a deep, cleansing breath, pushing past the nausea. Because right now I want nothing more than to take all of this for what it is and go with it. I don’t want to live in fear. What I want is to move forward.

  Just as I’m about to reply to his email, my phone vibrates again.

  Wyatt: Please call me

  “Come on, Wy,” I mumble, to no one but myself. “Please don’t do this.” I sit for several minutes, trying to decide what to do, and when I blow out a breath and look to the side, my eye catches on a picture wedged into the side of my mirror. My first thought is how in the hell is that picture still up there? Then, as my eyes linger on the photo of Wyatt and me, arm in arm, the day after we got engaged, I instantly think of Devin.

  Why did he ask if I was a Miss or Mrs.? Is he curious because he thinks that this … whatever this is … is more than what it is? Or maybe he realizes he made a colossal fucking mistake and wants me back. If that’s the case, then no way, mister. You snooze, you lose, and Lord knows I’m not going down that path again. Right? Right! But what if …

  Maybe he’s engaged. Or, worse yet, married. Holy shit, what if he has a family?

  My chest tightens at the thought of building an emotional connection with him if he belongs to someone else, and for a split second I hesitate to respond. Emphasis on spl
it second, which is over when I hit ‘reply,’ all thoughts of Wyatt completely gone.

  To: Sergeant Devin U. Clay

  From: Katie Devora

  Subject: Are you married?

  Devin,

  I hope I’m not coming off too forward, but I feel like we moved past that a while ago … say, in the first grade ;). So, here goes nothing. Are you married? You don’t have a girlfriend, wife or family at home, do you? I’m going to be blatantly honest, and if I’m way off the mark, then, well … we’ll just pretend I never wrote this email.

  Your words have struck a chord with me. They hit me where it hurts, in the best way, and maybe it’s just nostalgia, but I feel a connection when I read your letters/emails. But I’m not going to lie, the thought of restarting our friendship—which I assume that’s what this is since we both continue to reply to each other—with someone that is already emotionally invested in another person doesn’t sit well with me. And considering our past, it wouldn’t be fair to your wife or girlfriend either.

  But it’s not just that, even though that’s huge. Whatever this is, it scares the shit out of me. Not just because of the way things ended between us, but because you have the power to hurt me. And frankly, I won’t survive being hurt again.

  My fingers tap nervously against the keys, my teeth chewing at my bottom lip as I reread what I wrote. Shit. I sound like an idiot. Who the hell writes that to someone they barely know anymore? It’s none of my business if he’s in a relationship. Right? And should I tell him about Wyatt? Does he have a right to know about that, even though it’s over?

  Damn it! Twisting a chunk of hair around my finger, I twirl it several times, deciding whether or not this connection we’re building is worth it. Only when I start to get an actual headache does it hit me that I don’t have a choice in the matter. The connection has already been established, whether I like it or not.

  So screw it … it’s not like I have much more to lose.

  Alrighty, now that I’ve gotten the awkward part out of the way, on to something else. HOLY SHIT. It kills me to know that these are the types of things you’re seeing and dealing with on a day-to-day basis over there, and my heart aches for the innocent children that seem to be getting caught in the crossfire. I know you probably feel helpless in those situations, and I’m not going to pretend I know anything about it, but I’m sure you’re doing everything you can. You have to remember you’re only one person in an army of soldiers fighting against evil. There are going to be days when you conquer and others when you capitulate. But don’t lose sight of why you chose to do this. I have no doubt that you will make an impact, big or small, and people’s lives will be better for it.

  I want you to know how proud I am that you took this path in life. You always were so incredibly strong, so I shouldn’t be surprised that you decided to go off to war and fight for our country. Thank you for that, by the way.

  And don’t ever feel like you’re pummeling me with too much. Do you remember all the shit I hit you with in that first letter? And let’s not forget all the stories I made you listen to growing up. Plus, I enjoy hearing about your life in the military, and we all need a place to vent. I’m glad that I can be that outlet for you. So as much as I appreciate the offer that I can come to you—and I do believe you when you say that—I want you to know that I’m here for you as well.

  Okay, now that the mushy stuff is out of the way, let me answer your question. I’m a nurse. I work at a local hospital, alongside my best friend, Maggie. We both work in labor and delivery, which I love. It’s so exciting to watch new life being brought into this world. These little, innocent people are so perfect, and seeing them open their eyes for the first time and take their first tiny breath warms my heart. And trust me, my heart needs all the warming it can get these days.

  I realize now that I’ve been working too much though, using it as an escape. I’ve been picking up as many shifts as the hospital will allow in an attempt to ignore the pain. And it helped—it really did—but I was hiding behind it. I was working myself into exhaustion, so that at the end of the day I couldn’t do much more than pass out.

  I’ve also been taking care of the horses. You remember Mac, right? Well, I still have him! Mom wants to get rid of the horses because she says they’re too expensive and too much work, but for me, they’re a way to keep my dad’s memory alive and I’m not ready to let go of them yet.

  But one of these days, I’ll get there. After my last letter to you, I vowed to try and do better. I think you’ll be proud to know that I haven’t been picking up as many shifts, and I hired a young high school boy to help out on the farm. I’ve definitely got more time on my hands, but I guess that isn’t always a bad thing. I think the fact that I can get through most days—emphasis on most—without spending every second stewing over the accident is a move in the right direction … don’t you?

  I’ve already started making amends with my mom and sister, who are doing great, by the way, thank you for asking. Mom was much, much more forgiving than Bailey, but you remember how stubborn she can be. I know it’ll take time with her though. Some of the things I said to her and the way I acted are inexcusable, but I’m confident that she’ll forgive me in time …

  And, who knows, maybe in time you’ll be able to patch things up with Josephine. I hate hearing how things went down between the two of you, although I can’t say that I’m surprised—not after the way she started acting after your dad left. But it isn’t your fault, so don’t think that. She is the mother; she should have handled things differently, both when you were growing up and as an adult. I don’t blame you for not staying in contact with her. No child should have to work that hard to have a relationship with their parent. But I digress—this is Josephine we’re talking about. I’d like to think that it will only make you stronger when the day arrives that you become a father. (Don’t freak out by that prospect LOL)

  Okay, enough with all the heavy stuff … tell me something about you that I don’t already know, something that’s happened in your life since we’ve been apart.

  I’ll talk to you soon … EMAIL IS GREAT!!

  Sincerely,

  Katie

  With a smile on my face, I hit send, then shut my computer down, place it on my nightstand and curl into bed. My eyes drift closed as my mind pulls forward visions of Devin as a young man. Just before I doze off, I start to wonder what he looks like as an adult. Are his green eyes as piercing as they once were? Does the dimple in his left cheek still stand out every time he smiles?

  If I saw him now, would my body have the same reaction to him that it once did?

  “Existentialism on Prom Night” – Straylight Run

  ANOTHER DAY HAS PASSED AND I still can’t get Katie out of my head. Visions of her dance in my head the moment my body hits the cot. She claims my dreams and then consumes every bit of my mind every second I’m awake. And not only has she infiltrated my brain, she’s reclaimed the empty spot in the center of my chest too.

  If I had a hard time sleeping before Katie came back into my life, then I’m a complete insomniac now. As of late, I’ve been finding myself at the communications center on nights like these—nights even a thousand sheep couldn’t cure. Katie’s emails have provided a link to my past life, to memories of childhood mischief and young love. Fuck, I miss those days … so much simpler.

  As my fingers settle against the keyboard, I think about the improbability of it all. Never in a million years did I want to join a fucking pen pal program, and I have absolutely no explanation for why I did. And for Katie to find me amongst the thousands of other names … I’m just one lucky son of a bitch.

  But I can’t help wonder whether luck played a hand in this at all, or if it was something more … something bigger than all of us. I never once believed in a God—not with the upbringing I endured. But when you see the delicacy of life and how quickly it can be snatched right up, you start to yearn for a higher power. You begin to feel His presence and see i
t in ways you can’t begin to understand: a dud mortar round landing undetonated just before you, a sniper’s bullet that pierces your body armor and travels its way around your back but leaves you unscathed, a piece of shrapnel lodged in the side of your helmet that could have been in your brain. A second chance at love …

  Not many people find what Katie and I once had, and even fewer get another shot at it. I know she isn’t thinking in terms of rekindling what we had before, but if she thinks that “restarting our friendship” is enough for me, she couldn’t be more wrong. Of course I want to be friends again, but I want it all. I want her back. Baby steps, I remind myself.

  To: Katie Devora

  From: Sergeant Devin U. Clay

  Subject: Nice subject line!

  Katie,

  Talk about coming right out of the gate … then again, I wouldn’t expect anything less from you. So to answer your question—no, I’m not married. There is no wife, girlfriend or family at home, so you can rest easy tonight. And I’m not gonna lie, I really like knowing that you’re becoming emotionally invested, because I’m already there. Your letters have the same effect on me, and this connection … it’s not just nostalgia. It’s real, and in case I haven’t already made it clear, I feel it too.

  You mentioned that this—the prospect of us—scares the shit out of you because I have the power to hurt you. Don’t let it scare you, Katie. I know that’s easy for me to say since I’m the one who walked away, but I didn’t just rip your heart out that night—mine was shredded as well. And knowing that I hurt you is something that I’ll have to live with every day for the rest of my life. So trust me when I say that I won’t hurt you—not now, not ever. Never again will I walk away from this or from you. My word means shit right now, as it should, but I’ll prove it to you. Just give me the chance.