Letters To My Soldier

Letter Two

November 2018

It'd been a week since I mailed off the first letter to Captain Black. And every time I checked my mailbox, I got even more disappointed to find it void of any letter from him.

"Maybe he just hasn't received it yet...or he's just really busy, ya know?" Valerie shrugs as we walk side by side on the sidewalk. We would walk together during the winter when the roads were too icy, and according to Dean, we were still pretty new on the road-which meant no driving. Plus, it was only a few blocks down from my house.

"Or he has no interest in talking to a stranger," I feign nonchalance. Valerie is my best friend, though, and could easily tell when I'm down.

"We're doing something Friday night, all right? You've been moping too much," She rings her arm through mine.

"You know it's Thanksgiving on Thursday, right? And Friday is...Oh, hell no, Val! I'm not going shopping on Black Friday!" I moan, "I hate shopping as it is, and you want to take me on the worst day possible to do so?"

She stops walking and shoves her hands in her pockets, "You need to get out more and I need more girlfriends. But until that happens, I'm dragging your butt to the mall. Friday 4 A.M. on the dot."

"4 A.M? Are you crazy?" I ask and she laughs, skipping down the sidewalk again while dragging me behind.

"Nope, you just need a new wardrobe. Especially if this Health guy replies," she grins slyly.

I slap her arm in shock, "First of all, it's Heath," she rolls her eyes, "he hasn't replied nor given me the 'go ahead' to call him anything but," she scoffs and huffs, "Secondly, I don't know anything about him besides the fact that he hates raisins and listens to Post Malone."

"That's true. You could be talking to a 50 year-old man with a wife and three grandkids," she puts a finger to her chin, "Does the army even let fifty-year-olds into the army in active duty...?"

I snort and knock my backpack into her shoulder in hopes of her falling into the snow. No such luck.

She kicks my but and flips me off then proceeds to skip into the school building.

I need new friends.

"And thirdly!" I say once I've caught up to her, "It's not like we're ever going to meet...or that we'll ever see each other...So why the hell would I need a new wardrobe for him?"

Valerie stops by her locker, throwing things in as she says, "It's not just for him, it's for you too..." she waves to a group of guys walking by-one of them winks at her, "God, Preston is so hot," she fans herself.

"You were saying..." I wave in front of me for her to continue.

"Priscilla, don't stress about this. Just let be what will be. If he replies, ask him about what he does for a living, you know, the original reason you even wrote to the guy."

"You're right. Okay...but what if he doesn't reply!"

Valerie whips around and punches me in the arm, "Gosh, I need more girlfriends."

~X~X~X~X~X~X~

The only class remotely interesting today was U.S. History. I've always had a fascination for history and literature, which is why they were my Major and Minor on college applications.

I raced home after school, hoping for the mailman to have already arrived. When I reach the mailbox I have to brush off some fresh snow from last night and open the latch. I fish around for a minute before sighing in frustration and pulling out the whole bundle of letters.

I unlock the front door and walk into the silent house. Thankful that Jess is at the restaurant doing inventory today, I flip through the letters. The pile gets smaller and smaller as I rule out the magazines and advertisements. I gear myself up for more disappointment until I see it.

I rub the various stamps, showing its travels, with my fingertips. I hoist myself onto the countertop in the kitchen and rip open the envelope with shaky hands.

Dear Priscilla Marshall,

I was surprised to receive your letter.

I certainly don't know why you would choose me out of so many other Marines out here. My life and my duty are one in the same. I'm not interesting; I'm not significant from any other soldier.

It sounds like you have a nice life you're leading and that it's becoming more and more promising. So my question is, why are you wasting your last year of high school writing to a Captain in, yes, Afghanistan? Ever since I graduated high school five years ago, I've been training rigorously to get to the point where I am today: the youngest Captain of any U.S. military today.

I know things about war and our government that most my age don't-or shouldn't-know. My life is not the easiest to live, and my lifestyle is even harder. There are reasons why you are the first person to send me a letter out of the four other times I've been deployed.

I like it that way.

So this is why I ask you not to reply to this letter. Please impose your self pity on some other soldier. It's probably wrong of me to assume these things since I've never met you, but it as it happens, I don't care.

I appreciate your need to 'help' us out here, but unless you can bring world peace, you can't do much.

I wish you the best,

Captain Black U.S.S.M.C

I didn't know I was crying until I saw the fat wet splotches on the first letter I received from Captain Black.

I didn't get to feel relieved over the fact that my fears of him being an old man were false. My fears of him not wanting to talk to a stranger, like me, were very much true. I don't blame him.

He doesn't want or need my help. He thinks of me as a young and naïve little girl. I don't blame him.

Then why does it hurt so much?