The Love Letters: A Novella (8 page)

I push open the door and yell her name excitedly, “Natalie! Natalie, I love—”

The bed is empty.

I run into the kitchen and shout her name. But there’s no answer. Her red coat is missing from the hook by the door and it suddenly becomes very clear. She can’t bear to see me leave and frankly, I don’t want her to. I slowly walk back to the bedroom to get dressed and pack my shit.

I smile when I reach the dresser and find a small plastic snow globe on top of a piece of paper.

My dearest Zacharie,

The cab company called while you were in the shower. They’ll be here at 8:15 a.m. to take you to JFK. They also mentioned some sort of $5-off-coupon that can be found in the Yellow Book, but I accidentally spilled a glass of wine on the phone book ages ago and tossed that mofo!

The snow globe is mine – leave it! Don’t worry, I got you one as well. Your snow globe is packed safely inside your sexy pair of black briefs. Did I ever mention you’re wasting a perfectly fine ass in the Marine Corps? You should really be modeling underwear – goddamn you’re hot!

There’s also a bottle of Virgil’s barbecue sauce wrapped in a pair of my recently worn red lace panties. Two things you LOVE to suck off your fingers . . . I know, I know – I’m a naughty girl!

Okay, so when you get sad or lonely, just remember . . .

I will be your light in the darkness and the pleasure during your despair. I’m more than just your star, I will forever be your beacon.

Come home to me.

xo Nat

2002-12-24
Camp Hammond
Kabul, Afghanistan
Lt. Parker-Operation Lab Coat
1600 hours

“Hey, Parker, you ready for hoops or what?” Dr. Harry Fisher is a dental surgeon with the Navy and my bunk mate – basically we’re fraternity brothers sharing a dorm room and serving our country.

My temporary home in Afghanistan is the most coveted base in the region. Camp Hammond is a Combined Forces base near the U.S. Embassy in Kabul. It’s known for its impressive amenities – like toilets, wifi and karaoke night. It was previously some sort of palace, but the military decided to pour cement and drop in a few shipping containers to accommodate the men and women serving in Afghanistan.

I work mostly with Navy officers in the medical unit, but we share resources and housing with officers from every branch of the military, and a small number of civilian administrators. Tonight we have a challenging playoff game with the dickheads in the Army, and then our holiday surf ‘n turf meal will be served up, desert-style. Don’t ask, don’t tell – the motto of the mysterious lobster in a landlocked country.

“Fuck yeah! I hate those guys,” I say, labeling a box of steroid cream. I don’t really hate anyone, but it’s important to keep an image.

“Damn straight! What time will you be done?” Fisher asks.

“Bro, I have like five hundred tubes to label and scan. I’ll meet you on the court around five.”

“Fucking assholes! Okay, I have a root canal and two bicuspid implants. Later, Parker.”

Fisher is from Texas but doesn’t have a twang or a drawl. In fact, most of the time he speaks like Eminem from the mean streets of Detroit. It’s all about the image, yo.

I finish up my last box of fungal cream and check off a few of the inventory requests to be shipped to Kandahar. Huh – that’s odd. Ten requests for Zovirax . . . awesome, a herpes outbreak. And, my work here is done.

I take my laptop into the adjacent storage closet to read my emails. An office chair was in here when I arrived, so I’m not the first one to use this space as a quiet retreat.

To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Re: Elf

Just so you know, the UPS guy asked me out. Stay tuned.

Chloe’s here! She’s staying with me until the New Year, but I’m trying to devise a sneaky plan to get her to move in with me permanently. Remember how I told you she’s on tour with a band? Well she is.

We’re going to Connecticut tomorrow, and I promise I will stop by and annoy your dad. Maybe I’ll tell him I’m pregnant and need some money for diapers and shit . . .

Hey, remember when I put your ball sac in my mouth and I sucked on your nuts like a greedy little squirrel? Good times.

Molly says “hi!”

I actually like putting your balls in my mouth. Hearing you moan like a woman is such a turn on.

I saw the movie Elf with Will Farrell. Hilarious! You would love it, and I heard a rumor that Peter Billingsley (the guy who played Ralphie in A Christmas Story) is in the beginning. I didn’t see him, but I was too busy shoving Junior Mints and popcorn in my mouth.

Okay, I have to get back to work before my VACATION!! Have a great game and kick the Army’s ass.

XO
Nat

PS-I turned the UPS guy down.

To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Re: UPS guy?

Nice try. I know for a fact that the UPS guy is Raul Sanchez. He’s married with two kids and lives in Long Island City.

Hey, I read somewhere about this company that can make a plaster mold of a penis and then create a silicone dildo for your pleasure. Interested?

Tell Molly thank you for the cigarette lighter and the package of socks. Can you also tell her I’m not in 1970-Vietnam?

Chloe sounds hot!

xo
Z

To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Re: Zach dildo

Of course I’m interested. Let me know when it’s in production . . . I’m sure there are plenty of people willing to fly to Afghanistan during a war to make a mold of your penis.

And maybe it was a FedEx guy. Don’t be jealous.

Okay, I have to pack now!

XO
Nat

I shut down my laptop and return it to its case. I really need to start some sort of electronics detox because in a few weeks, it won’t be this easy to just read an email on the fly. I hurry back to my quarters on the north side of camp after stopping by the bazaar for a last-minute gift.

Fisher and I have two beds, one desk, and a small sink and mirror. We also have a 13” television that shows crap from the Armed Forces Network. The room itself is actually quite accommodating for our needs and I try to focus on the positive . . . like my trunk full of pictures and letters from Natalie. She must write and mail a letter every day because during my short time here, I’ve become the envy of most of the officers in my unit. Not only is Natalie the hottest thing to invade the Post Exchange at Camp Hammond, she also sends things that require an explanation.

This morning I picked up two letters from Nat, one letter from Aunt Patty, and an envelope from Natalie full of homemade snowflakes with instructions to:
throw them in the air like you just don’t care.

I change into my USMC t-shirt and basketball shorts and sit on my bed to read the letters.

December 19, 2002

My prince,

You’ve been gone for a day. Your Princeton sweatshirt is the only thing I have/had that smells like you. I slept with it, brought it to work, and wore it to the grocery store. Then I made the stupid mistake of wearing it to Starbucks. I was standing in line sobbing uncontrollably when a hurried customer spilled his grande bold all over my chest. Your sweatshirt smells like Sumatra. No more Zach smell. Je n’ai pas rien.

I thought I saw you today. I actually ran after a man walking down Broadway just because he was the same height as you. When I finally reached him, I hugged him from behind. The dude FREAKED, and then he callously turned around and yelled at me!

On a suckier note, there’s a Christmas Party tonight at some fancy apartment in Columbus Circle. Molly invited me, hoping it would cheer me up, but there is no cheer without you.

All I want for Christmas is you.

Love always,

Ta femme

The next letter is decorated with tiny hearts and stars and smells like coffee.

December 20, 2002

My sexy warrior,

You left a t-shirt at Mom and Dad’s and it hasn’t been washed! It’s a Christmas miracle!!

In other news, I miss you.

I hear your laughter with every funny thought.

I see your crooked grin when I close my eyes.

I smell your skin on my unwashed sheets.

I taste your sweetness in a drizzle of honey.

BUT I CANNOT FUCKING TOUCH YOU! I need to feel you. Touch you. Feel you. Touch you . . .

“Yo Parker, are you crying?” Fisher asks. I jump up and quickly fold the letter from Natalie and put it away in my footlocker. Fisher is standing in the door spinning a basketball on his middle finger and shaking his head.

“I’m crying because you suck as point guard,” I say hastily.

“Yep, just what I thought. You’re a pussy, Parker!”

“Are we playing hoops or having a tea party?” I ask as I shove past him and walk silently to the basketball court. I need a distraction.

2002-12-25
0500 hours

“Fisher? Are you okay, man?” I shake his shoulder and he continues to groan. “Fisher?”

“It’s my stomach – I think last night’s chow is fucking me up.” Fisher brings his knees to his chest and winces.

After our 88-74 win over the Army, we enjoyed a nice spread of lobster and sirloin. The current problem being – Fisher is a good ol’ Texas boy that devoured six steaks last night before calling it quits.

“What do you need? I can stop by the canteen after my shift,” I offer.

“Nah man, I’m going to try and sleep it off.” Fisher curls into a ball and holds his stomach.

“Merry Christmas, bro.”

The base is eerily quiet this morning. I stop by the mess hall and grab a blueberry muffin and some orange juice before heading to my tiny office to finish up the Kandahar shipment. The office is empty except for one of the administrative secretaries, Michelle. She’s playing a Christmas CD and looking at a photo album.

“Hey Michelle, Merry Christmas! Whatcha got there?” I ask as I pull up a chair next to her desk.

“Merry Christmas, Lieutenant. This is a wonderful present my family made for me. It has pictures from different Christmases over the years and a few cards from friends. Here is my daughter and son last Christmas Eve . . . we got them a puppy . . . and this,” she points to a photo, “is that puppy now!” I laugh at the photo of a dog the size of a pony.

“Your children are adorable. They must be so proud of their mother.”

“I suppose, although I’m sure they would rather have me home making them pancakes and hot cocoa.” She sighs.

“Michelle, does it get any easier? The homesickness, I mean.”

Michelle pulls out a picture of her and a young man sitting on Santa’s lap and smiles sadly. “I’m sorry to say that it only gets harder. So my advice is to take what you can get and hold on to it.”

I think about Natalie’s last letter.

“Your family really loves you. It’s pretty cool that you got to share these memories with them today, thousands of miles apart,” I say as I stand with my muffin and juice. She gives me a little wink and turns up the volume to Nat King Cole.

“Merry Christmas, Lieutenant! Think about the past if it helps.”

I nod politely and then head to my little corner of creams and ointments. The problem is, Nat and I don’t have much of a past . . . we only have the future.

1200 hours

“Fisher, how ya feeling?” I drop some boxes on the floor and several envelopes on Fisher’s bed. “I picked up your post, even though they gave me an extremely hard time. Assholes.”

“Thanks man. I’m better, just got the shits.” Fisher sits up and rummages through his mail.

“Awesome. I’ll catch you later.” I grab my boxes from the floor and walk to the courtyard by the canteen. Courtyard isn’t really the correct description as it’s basically a cement slab and a picnic table, but it’s one of my favorite spots on the entire base.

The first box is from Judy and Dave. Inside I find two jumbo bags of Starburst, an electronic toothbrush and a vintage Gameboy with Tetris. The Christmas card is a snowy scene of Central Park. And just like Judy said, inside the card I find a photo of Nat in the 7th grade with a horrible haircut and a really ugly sweater. There’s also a couple photos of us that Dave took at dinner. It seems like an eternity ago, but it was only last week.

In one photo, Natalie is smiling devilishly with an arched eyebrow. My arm is around her but my head is tilted back in laughter. I try to remember what she said to make me laugh like that, but the details are irrelevant. Everything she does and says simply makes me happy. The other picture of us is in front of the Christmas tree. I’m looking at the camera with a goofy grin and Nat’s in my arms staring up at me. Her profile is magical – the light reflecting off her beautiful face is proof enough that she’s my bright little star.

I move on to the next box from Aunt Patty. She bought me a digital camera with 2.0 megapixels – fuck yeah! I also find Mom’s old PDR from med school with an inscription on the inside cover.

Beer before liquor, never sicker.
Liquor before beer, you’re in the clear.

Aunt Patty also sent a tin of cranberry oatmeal cookies. They taste a little stale, but I manage to throw a few back.

The last package is from Natalie. I want to rip it open but I also don’t want the excitement to disappear. It’s the same feeling I’d get on Christmas morning as a kid – tearing through present after present of Transformers and Nerf guns only to realize that true pleasure is defined by what’s to come.

I slowly slice open the twenty layers of tape with my knife. I dig through the sheets of pink tissue paper and pull out a large, folded paper. I quickly look around to make sure no one’s looking or hovering over me because I’m pretty sure I know what this is . . . yep! The poster of Mario Lopez that used to be hanging in Nat’s old bedroom is now in my possession.

“Jesus Nat, what am I going to do with you?” I say out loud.

I open her handmade Christmas card with a crayon drawing of us completely naked in Santa hats.

Santa baby,

Mario really wanted to see Afghanistan . . . and he misses your junk.

Come home to me.

XO
Nat

1400 hours

Label, scan, pack. Place the lotion in the basket. Label, scan, pack. It places the lotion in the basket.

Break time. I take my laptop and retreat to my closet of supplies and silence. There must be fifty emails from friends and family and even one from
Best
Buy
wishing me a Merry Christmas, but I scroll through them until I reach the one that matters.

To: [email protected]
From: [email protected]
Re: Holy shit!

Showoff! I send you a crummy poster and you get me DIAMONDS? From Tiffany’s?

The earrings are gorgeous! I can’t stop looking at them. In fact, I’m going to keep them in the little blue box so I can open it over and over and experience that amazing feeling as many times as I want.