Curtis (10 page)

chapter THIRTEEN

WEDNESDAY DECEMBER 2, 1964

I’m writing this through the tears that are still streaming down my face.

I saw Curtis off today. Mrs. Walker drove us to the location where Curtis got on a bus. I couldn’t stop crying, but luckily she was with me, holding my hand after Curtis stepped out of sight. He has officially left for the Army. He said he’ll be in training for almost ten weeks, but I don’t know what that means. He doesn’t know if he’ll be back after that or if they’ll send him somewhere right away. He seems to think that he’ll be shipped off without the chance to come home. Sometimes I think that’s what he wants. He said they are already talking about sending them to Germany. I don’t want him to go that far away. I don’t want him to go anywhere, actually. I want him to stay right here with me. That might make me a selfish person, but I don’t care; it’s how I feel. I love him. Please, God, keep him safe.

Oh, and Kathy told me today that Momma is pregnant again. They are going to have another baby. That makes nine. That means that Momma and Daddy will have more kids than Mrs. Walker does. She’s got eight. One day, I hope to have that many kids. Sometimes I think about what it’ll be like to have a baby with Curtis. It scares me a little, but it’s the hope I’m going to cling to.

chapter FOURTEEN

~ 1965 ~

SATURDAY, JANUARY 23, 1965

Sometimes I don’t know how I make it through the day. It isn’t easy without Curtis. I miss him terribly. I haven’t heard from him at all, but he warned me that would happen. He said during training he didn’t think he’d be able to make any phone calls, but he would try to send a letter. I haven’t received anything yet.

I dream about him all the time, worry about him, but I know he’s being careful. He promised to come back to me, and I have to keep believing that he will. I keep waiting for a letter from him. I’m desperate to hear from him.

In order to pass the time, I’ve been spending a lot of time with Mrs. Walker. She seems to be getting better every day and even goes some days without drinking at all. I’m trying to help Carol with the little kids when I’m not at school. Daphne helps a lot, too. She’s twelve, but she acts like she’s twenty. At least I have them to talk to. I have to keep myself occupied or I’ll go stir crazy. Sometimes I wish I had let Curtis buy us a television. At least I’d have something to do.

And every night, before I go to bed, I get down on my knees, and I pray that God will keep Curtis safe (and Gerald). I’m trying to be positive all the time. Mrs. Walker told me it isn’t necessary, but it is. Really it is.

Letter from Curtis:

January 28, 1965

Lorrie,

Hello, honey. God, I miss you. It hasn’t been long since I’ve seen you, but even that short period of time feels like eternity.

It’s been eight weeks since I got here. Eight weeks that I’ve spent getting my ass kicked into high gear by men who don’t care that I’m tired or sore. The best part by far has been marksmanship, because I happen to be pretty damn handy with a gun. I won’t lie, it has been hell, but it gets a little easier with every passing day. Easier in the sense that I’m actually being trained to do as I’m told. (Not easy for a Walker, most would say.)

I know you don’t understand why I’m doing what I’m doing, and I get it. I do. Now that I’m in, unable to go home, unable to spend my days with you, I realize what a horrible mistake I’ve made. I thought about it for a whole year, and I kept trying to talk myself into it. I wish I would’ve listened to my true feelings.

Even though I doubt myself all the time, I know in the long run, it’s the right thing to do. I have to believe that, and that’s the only thing I continue to tell myself. It’s my responsibility to ensure that you and our future children are safe.

I haven’t spoken to Gerald, but I know he still believes in this, believes it is right. I still don’t understand how he went back to work, as though he was never shot. Based on what I’ve heard, he could’ve gone home for good if he wanted to. Apparently he doesn’t. I’m not sure what he finds so fascinating about military life, but I don’t see it. Regardless, I’m here, and I will continue to be here until it’s time for me to come home.

Just know that I love you and I think about you every minute of every day.

Curtis

Letter from Lorrie:

March 3, 1965

Dear Curtis,

I received your letter today. I can’t even begin to tell you how great it was to finally hear from you. Not quite the same as if I could hear your voice or see your face, but it was better than nothing.

I wish I could tell you that it didn’t make me cry, but I would be lying. I cried. I cried like a baby. I miss you so much. My heart sometimes feels like it will explode because I miss you so much. I know I promised you that I wouldn’t cry all the time, and hopefully I’ll get to that point, but I’m not there yet.

School is good. At least it gives me something to do. And your brothers are trying to do all the chores, but they like to complain a lot. It makes me proud to think about how you handled everything on your own, without complaint. It proves how strong a man you are, and I love that about you.

Your mother has been great. She’s very nice, always checking on me, making sure I have what I need. She asked me if I wanted to move into the big house with her and the kids. I told her I couldn’t right now. I don’t want to leave our little house. I can still picture you sitting on the couch, staring at the wall because there isn’t a television for you to watch. It makes me smile.

Please write me back soon. I’m looking forward to the letters.

I love you!

Lorrie

TUESDAY, MARCH 30, 1965

Kathy called today to let me know that Momma had the baby. I now have another brother. They named him Owen. I can’t wait to see him, but I don’t know when that might happen. I still haven’t seen Momma or Daddy since I got married. They haven’t come to see me or called me, either. Not even on my birthday or on Christmas. I know they have a phone now, because Kathy told me they did. Apparently, right after I got married, Daddy bought quite a few things. I think they’ve written me off completely, but I don’t know why. If I’m honest, I try not to think about it too much.

FRIDAY, MAY 7, 1965

Kathy and Celeste came over today after school to hang out. The only thing they wanted to talk about was the Beatles. The only thing I wanted to talk about was Curtis. They won. Mainly because Celeste has a bigger mouth than I do apparently.

SATURDAY, JUNE 5, 1965

Mrs. Walker came to the house today. She said we needed to have a talk. I didn’t know what it was about, but I couldn’t tell her no. She told me that I needed to live my life as though Curtis was coming back tomorrow. Now that school is out for the summer, she said I can’t mope around the house all the time, that I need to hang out with my friends or do something constructive. I don’t want to do that, but I didn’t tell her that. She also told me that it would be best if I moved into the main house with her. When she first asked months ago, I didn’t want to. Now, I do. So I told her I would like that. I’m getting really lonely, and I know Curtis would be upset if he knew.

Letter from Curtis:

June 15, 1965

Lorrie,

Hey, baby, I miss you so much! Thank you for the letters you have sent me over the last few months. I’m sorry that it has taken me so long to write back this time. There are a lot of things happening right now. We’ve been in Germany for nearly a month now. It’s not as terrible as I thought it would be, but I still wish I was home with you. I never wanted to be a traveling man, so it takes a little getting used to. Me and a couple of guys have even left the base to check things out. I feel like a tourist, completely out of place, but it’s a way to pass the time.

I talked to Momma the other day, and I wanted to hear your voice, but you weren’t there to come to the phone. That’s when Momma told me that she was gonna get you to move into the big house with her and the kids. I think this is a great idea. It means when I call, you’ll be there so I can hear your voice. I don’t like thinking about you sitting in that little house all by yourself. Unless, of course, I’m thinking about what we would be doing if I were there with you.

I miss you, baby. I miss you with every breath that I take, and I can’t wait till I get to see your beautiful face again. When I get home, I plan to hold you in my arms and never let you go.

Hopefully this will make it to you by your birthday. I wish I could be there to celebrate it with you. Happy seventeenth birthday, baby. I remember when you asked me how it felt to be seventeen and I told you it wasn’t much different than sixteen. That was true. That was the first birthday I spent with you, and I will never forget that. The best day of my life. Except for the day you married me.

You’ll be starting school soon. Your senior year. I hope you’re excited about that.

I love you.

Curtis

Letter from Lorrie:

July 22, 1965

Dear Curtis,

I was so happy to get your letter today. And yes, it made it before my birthday. Thank you for that. It’s hard to think that the mail can take so long, but I guess since you are sending it from Germany, it makes a little sense.

I wish you were here, too, so we could spend the day together. Like you, I also think of all the things that we could be doing together if you were here. Mrs. Walker has told me that she has a surprise for me this weekend. I don’t know what it is yet, but I’m eager to find out.

I’ve been thinking about you every minute of every day. Sometimes I go down to the creek and sit on our tree for hours. It’s peaceful, and I enjoy thinking about all the times you and I spent there together. It’s the hardest at night when I go to sleep. I’m sleeping in your old bedroom now, on your old bed, and that makes me feel a little closer to you.

It’s strange to be sleeping in your mother’s house again, but it’s not bad. Your brothers and sisters are nice to me. And Kathy and Celeste have been coming over a lot, but I think it’s more so they can watch television than to hang out with me. Kathy told me Daddy bought a television, but he doesn’t let the kids watch it. I still haven’t seen Momma or Daddy since the day we got married.

Did I tell you that Owen was born? Kathy says he’s really cute, but I haven’t seen him yet. I think about going over to their house, but then I get nervous, so I don’t.