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At the LT’s cough, I separate from her and lift my bag. I don’t look back because if I do I won’t ever be able to leave.
46
Dear Charlotte,
I can’t tell you where I am. I can’t tell you what I’m doing. I don’t even know if I can tell you who I’m doing it with, although you can probably guess. Looking back it’s possible that my letter writing never took off because I never had much to say. What I know is I miss you like mad. You said that these letters would make us feel more connected, but they only remind me how far away you are. The morning after we learned you had cancer, you woke before me. The sheets were cold, and I had this terrible fear that you were gone.
Fight hard for me baby. I can’t imagine this life without you.
Missing you,
Nate
* * *
Dear Nathan,
You were right. If you had told me when I was in Switzerland that you were going to enlist, I would have thrown myself at your feet and begged you to stay. I realize now why I got sent away. It was because I wasn’t strong enough to stand on my own two feet. At sixteen, though, few of us are, so I’m not going to beat myself up over it. But I leaned on you and Nick far too much.
In hindsight it is so obvious. With an ocean between us, I could concentrate on my sole mission of getting better. When I was near you, I wanted to pretend that I was a normal high school student who could keep doing all the things she had been doing. I’m sorry I placed the burden on you. And yes, it was a burden, even if you protest that you wanted to carry it. We were all too young for those kinds of expectations. And I was too fearful of everything.
Radiation and chemo are a lot easier this time around. I know what to expect. There’s no real uncertainty. It doesn’t hurt that I have such an amazing view. And your mother has been tremendous. Two days ago, she came in with her box of letters and read a couple that your dad had sent when he was deployed. He was so poetic! I think I made him blush with all my compliments about his mad correspondence skills.
I’m sleepy now. I need to be ready for surgery in a few weeks, so I’m going to put away my writing materials and get some rest. Learning to pay attention to my body is a lesson I’m still learning.
Love you,
Charlotte
* * *
Dear Charlotte,
I don’t know when you’ll receive these letters. The mail doesn’t go out on a regular basis. Although that’s probably more than I should be saying. Did I ever tell you that Cab reads poetry? His mom is a high school English teacher, and she got him hooked on Walt Whitman and E.E. Cummings. Whitman, if you aren’t familiar with his work, didn’t believe in rhyming. I told Cab that I was more of a Dr. Seuss man myself.
Not much makes Cab recoil in horror, but that was one of them. Since our first deployment, he’s been shoving Whitman down my throat. We’re bunking together, as we always do, and he’s reading it out loud. There’s a whole section in Leaves of Grass about love. I think we skipped that in American Lit at North Prep. The only poet I remember is Cummings because Nick and I laughed like the juveniles we were at his last name. Cummings. HA HA HA. Right?
I also remembered he’d written that poem about fog and a cat. Oh shit, apparently that’s not Cummings but Carl Sandberg. Your mom told me this in the kitchen after I snuck out of your room after spending the night. Our first night. Should I be proud that I know the names of more than one poet or ashamed that I’m messing them all up?
Cab says the perfect passage for you isn’t Whitman at all but from Alfred Tennyson.
Oh heart, are you great enough for love?
I have heard of thorns and briers.
Over the thorns and briers,
Over the meadows and stiles,
Over the world to the end of it.
Flash of a million miles.
Love your now learned husband,
Nathan
* * *
Dear Nathan,
You wrote me poetry.
You wrote me poetry!
Yes, I realize that you were transcribing someone else’s words but poetry? In a letter? I about orgasmed on the spot. Yes, orgasmed. ;)
