Bad at Love

7. Chapter 7

When I got in from pulling duty, the first thing I did was check my mailbox. It was the same thing every day since I got back to the US. Checking my mailbox had become a ritual, and usually one that disappointed. That wasn’t the case as I opened it this time. There was a thing envelope inside, and it was from her.

After grabbing the letter, I hauled ass to my room and locked the door behind me, so that none of the assholes on my floor would be able to barge in and bug me. I couldn’t explain the way I felt at seeing her name in a sort of scrolling, fancy script across the plain face of the envelope. My heart beat faster in my chest while I hesitated in opening it.

I sent the package to her as a way to placate Pops. As I chose the things that would go in it, I had to admit that I also did it because Posie deserved something special. She made Valedictorian, and according to my little brother, that was a hard-won accomplishment. When I told her in the letter that I expected her to write back, it was just something to say. There really wasn’t an expectation, and yet, after seeing the video of her speech, it was all I thought about.

The girl who stood up and gave that speech about living in the moment, and how my pops had taught her that, was beautiful and confident in a way she never had been when I’d seen her before. I was curious how those two years and a tragedy led her to become so much more than she was before. There was no way she could hide out in the shadows any longer. It simply wasn’t possible to miss her.

I sat on my bed, took a deep breath, and then ripped open the envelop and pulled out the one-page letter. It was short and sweet, a lot like the woman who penned the words.

Dear Max,

First, thank you for the incredible gifts you sent me for graduation. The music box is stunning, and I treasure it. The white chocolate cookies – I’m ashamed to say, I devoured them far too fast and now can’t remember what they tasted like except to say they were divine. They were gone too quickly, which makes me sad. Jack told me he would see if there was anywhere stateside to get some. Don’t laugh. It’s all your fault. You’re like a drug dealer, but with cookies instead of meth or coke or something. Ha!

I start college in a few months. I’m going to stay local because I have a full-ride scholarship here and it doesn’t make sense to spend money to go somewhere else to learn the same things. Evan will be there with me, so I’ll at least know someone else starting out.

I can’t even imagine what it’s like to see another city in our country, let alone to experience one in a foreign land. I bet you have some amazing stories. If you’re ever bored, I’d love to hear some of them.

Thanks again for everything!

Definitely your friend – not your aunt,

Posie

I re-read that letter five times in a row. Every time she talked about me being a cookie dealer, it brought a smile to my face. Thinking of her starting college and meeting new people, or hanging out with my brother, made me feel a bit jealous. I would never have that experience. I did enough college to earn a bachelor’s degree in criminal justice while I was on active duty, but it wasn’t the same. My degree was completed through distance learning and my peers were a bunch of military assholes just like me. From what I had been told, it was a completely different experience to kids who go off to college. The weapons and uniforms were just a small part of that difference.

We had our own culture – a military culture – that some people would never understand. As I thought that, I pulled a pen and paper out and got busy writing Posie back. She might not have realized it yet, but she’d just become my letter writing friend. I sat there and put to words what it was like to be in the military and how my peers behaved.

I made her promise to tell me all about how college was different. Then I promised to find her more cookies – even if they weren’t the same ones. She could try new ones each time and then maybe her next favorites wouldn’t be so inaccessible. Writing that letter to her and rereading the one she had written me put a smile on my face that I couldn’t describe. It felt good to be able to talk to someone, and not have to hold back anything. It was the first interaction, in a good long while, where I felt like I was being true to myself first.