Down the Dirt Road (26 page)

    I hope this package finds both you and your mother in good health.  I am holding my own over here in the desert.  Christmas will not be the same with only sand on the ground but most of all I will miss the sounds of t
he holidays.  Laughter, singing
and good cheer are not nearly as overrated as one might think.

Happy Holidays,

Michael

     “What does he say Jennie girl?”  She had forgotten Momma was standing there as she read and reread Michael’s message.  Grayson was
missing in action
.  Missing.  M.I.A.

     “He asked me to deliver this package to Trisha.”

     Momma looked puzzled.  “That doesn’t make much sense.  Why not just send it to her himself?”

    “Because he has some crazy idea that if we are forced to see each other we will make up and go back to being friends.”

     “Does he realize how much time has passed?”

    “Yes.”

   “So, why push the issue now?  Doesn’t he have other things to think about?”

   “That’s part of the problem.  He does a lot of thinking.  Thinks he’s gonna die over there, doesn’t wanna leave Trisha alone without someone she can count on.”

    Momma dropped into a chair at the end of the table.  She looked tired; her pale skin emphasized by the dark circles under her eyes.
  Pulling her wool shawl close around her, she sighed.  “Well, I guess you can’t fault a man for worryin’ bout his family and the woman he loves.  Makes him a good man, don’t ya think?”

    “I should have been that woman, Momma.  Why couldn’t he love me that way?”

    “It just wasn’t meant to be Jennie girl.  From where I sit, there might be someone else out there that is a better fit.”  She motioned to the stack of letters in the box with her name on them.

Jennie didn’t respond, just fiddled with the letter from Michael, folding and refolding it until the creases were sharp.
  Momma just watched her quietly for a minute or two until she stood up announcing she was tired and headed upstairs to take a nap.

22.

    Jennie sat on her bed, the bundle of letters in her lap.
  There were
exactly
sixty two of them- every
single
one had a date written in the upper left corner, the
earliest one dating back to October
when Grayson was in boot camp.
  All this time
she had waited, thinking what a fool she had been thinking he would actually write to her.   Why hadn’t he sent even one?  

    And now he was missing in action and she might not ever get the chance to ask him.  She turned the stack over in her lap again, studying his handwriting on the front of the top envelope.  Much neater than Michael’s but
still very masculine and well defined. 

    She really wanted to open one and read it but where to start?

   Flipping the pile back over, she pulled t
he very first one- dated 18 October
- out from the stack and opened it, careful not to tear the envelope.  A part of her felt like she was invading someone’s privacy, reading secret thoughts in a diary meant only for the writer.  But, they
were
addressed to her address, written to her
,
Jennie Marshall
,
so she wasn’t actually snooping.  Grayson had written them for her, wanted to share his thoughts with her.

    Never mind that he had never actually sent them to her.

    The first letter was written in black ink on lined notebook paper, the ragged edges from the spiral meticulously removed.

 
 
18 October 2001

 
Dearest Jennie,

      I know you thought I would never write and honestly, as I sit here in my bunk I wonder if
I should.  Do you really want to hear from me or am I just setting us both up for heartache?  You have gone through so much with the death of your father, I have no right to volunteer for war and then
expect you to sit at home and wait for me when there is no guarantee I will even make it him.  Of course, if I could survive the first three weeks of boot camp, I suppose I can make it through even the worst enemy prison camp.  That was supposed to be a joke.  Not very funny was it?
 

    
There is something I would like to say Jennie.  I am very glad that you came to find me that day before I left.  The memory of holding you, kissing you even as brief as it was, has helped me through many a lonely night and long day in the field.  I don’t know why you came for me, I like to think it is because you are as head over heels in love with me as I have been with you for so many years but I am smart enough to know that’s not it.  I guess it really doesn’t matter why, just that you did and now I find I have a reason to make it home alive when all is said and done.

  Yours Always,

  Private Grayson Jennings, United States Army

     A single
tear drop fell,
landing
right beside the words
yours always
, the image of a tiny heart taking shape as the salty water saturated the paper. 
Her own heart was aching. 
How could such a letter possibly be meant for her?  She grabbed up the envelope, checked the name and address again, just to be sure it really
had
been meant for her.

   How would she have felt receiving that letter when Grayson was alive and well, knowing he was waiting for her response in an Army barracks somewhere?  What would she have said to him as he poured out his heart and soul to her, naming her as his reason for living?

    Grabbing a pen and a notebook from her desk, she sat down and pulled out a fresh piece of paper.

    
Dear Grayson,

     
I am so glad to finally hear from you.  I was beginning to think that I had dreamt our last meeting, so quick that it was. I only wish you had written sooner.

     I am a grown woman, about to turn twenty one and no one can make my decisions for me.  If I choose to wait for yo
u while you fight the war for our
freedom than it is my choice and you have nothing to feel guilty for.  I don’t really know why I went after you that day, I only know that I couldn’t bear the thought of you being halfway around the world without my having told you how sorry I was for
being pigheaded and stubborn.  Did I just describe the same thing twice?  That’s how strongly I feel about it!  I look forward to the day
when I will see you once again,
alive and well on my front porch in your cop uniform, your gun slung low on your hip and
crooked smile meant only for me.

    Until then,

    Jennie

    Reading back over what she
had written
, Jennie decided that for every one of Grayson’s letters she would write a reply.  If she were to be privileged to his private thoughts and feelings then he should be able to share hers.  He could read the whole stack when he was found- alive- and sent home with a purple heart and an honorable discharge.  Yes, that was what she would do.  For every letter he wrote to her she would write a reply. 

    
That decided, she wondered in
what order she should read the letters.
Starting at the beginning seemed the most logical place but her heart longed to read the last one, the one he wrote perhaps days or even hours before he
disappeared into enemy territory.  How she longed to write him a letter begging him not to go on that last patrol.  If only time travel were possible, she would go back to that day on her porch when Grayson poured his heart out to her and she had been too stubborn to admit that anyone could feel for her like she thought she had felt for Michael.  Stubborn and pigheaded.  There appeared to be a pattern forming.  Yes, Grayson, you have been in love all these years with a stubborn, pigheaded fool.  Surely you didn’t plan to have the likes of someone like her be the mother to your children?

    Since they were completely snowed in by the never-ending blizzard of 2001 and her holiday vacation from the factory kicked in on Monday, she had plenty of time to read each and every one of the sixty one remaining letters and respond.
  It was nearly time for Uncle Tommy to arrive for his evening visit with Momma, she would be undisturbed the rest of the night.  Plenty of time to delve into the pile of letters that now had her curiosity reeling.

    As snow fell heavy outside her window and the
bright
light of day began to wane into evening
shadows
, Jennie
picked up the second letter Private Grayson Jennings had written to her and began to read.

 
22 October 2001

Dearest Jennie,

     If I had actually had the nerve to mail it, you would have received my first letter by now.  I am writing to you again with
out
waiting for your response- a task I am sure Ms. Manners would have more than a thing or two to say about.  I find that as I work my way through my days and night
s
I think of you constantly, relaying stories and anecdotes to you about the things that are happening around me.  Having someone to ‘talk’ to passes the time and takes away the loneliness for a bit.  I am pretty sure you aren’t interested in hearing about the lousy food or the butt kicking drill sergeants yet if you were h
ere I would tell you everything- every single detail right down the c
how we had for breakfast to how the
guy who sleeps in the bunk above mine likes to talk in his sleep.  Right now it appears he is
entertaining a …working girl… in his sleep. (and that is NOT my attempt at a joke!)

    I have reached my halfway point through boot camp.  I have been assigned as an infantry soldier.  The military is anxious to get as many soldiers on to enemy soil as possible as quickly as possible so they are piloting a sort of shortened training program for myself and other infantry soldiers- it will get us to Iraq much more quickly than if we were to follow traditional military training pathways.  Unfortunately I will not be returning home for even the shortest of visits once my graduation is over.  I will ship out the next day.  I suppose you could say that the good news is I will be in the same unit as Michael McKee.  It will be nice to have a familiar face around every day even if I have to work hard at resisting the urge to punch it.  (OK that
was
a joke!  Maybe…)

    I must go for now.  Lights out is in three minutes and the drill sergeant won’t be too happy if he sees I’m writing letters home to my girl.  At least that’s how I am starting to think of you.  Hope you are well and happy.

  Yours always,

Private Grayson Jennings, United States Army

    
His girl.
  Grayson had begun to think of her as his girl.  Sh
ould she consider that to be a bit strange
?  His creating an imaginary relationship in his head, writing letters to her that he never actually sent?  Oddly enough, it didn’t bother her nearly as much as the fact that she was only now getting to read the letters.  Now, when it was probably too late and she would
likely
never get the chance to give him all of
her
letters.
  Was this a fruitless act on her part?  Probably.
  Still, she grabbed her
pen and a clean sheet of paper to craft a reply to the second letter anyway.  There was no underestimating the strength of the human will to survive and Grayson Jennings had one of the strongest wills she had ever known.
  He would come home.  She knew it to the very depths of her soul.

   
Dear Grayson,

    You might be surprised just
how
much I would enjoy hearing about the lousy food and the drill sergeants and the
twenty mile runs in th
e rain - i
f it is important to you than it will be important to me.  I find it to be a huge compliment that it is me you think of when you have things to share.  I only wish that there wasn’t a half a world between us so that we might sit together on Momma’s front porch sipping a little lemonade while you share your stories with me.  Some day though we will, I feel it deep within.

    You don’t know this yet but one day soon  you will be captured by enemy insurgents. 
When this happens, do not give in to them. 
Promise that you will do whatever necessary to stay alive and come home…to me.  We have so much to talk about!  So many things I would like to do again, things that are no fun alone and so I have not done them since the death of my father.  I want to go fishing again- but I don’t bait hooks so I need someone strong and fearless like a US Army soldier to assist me…