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I wonder how you are. I
think about it a lot. What you’re doing, how work is, if you’re
going out with Denise at all. I hope she’s doing okay. Some of her
letters were left behind and I kept a couple so I could send them
back to her. Hold on—I’m going to get one so you can read something
she wrote. Tell me what you think she might be talking
about.

Here it is: “You are right
in what you wrote. You are so often always right, William and that
is one of the things I like about you. No one knows me like you
and, I don’t know if someone ever will.”

After that, she just goes
into some crap about the weather. It’s warm there, I guess. Boo
hoo. Anyway, did you notice anything suspicious? It sounds like
she’s saying something nice, but he didn’t like it at all. He
muttered that part a couple of times out loud while reading it,
then threw it on his cot and stomped out of the tent. You know
anything? It’s the last letter he read from her. Another one came
about two days after the accident. I read it. I shouldn’t have, I
know. It didn’t say anything. Just that she was putting together a
package for him and that she hoped he was doing well. His package
isn’t here, yet. I don’t know what to do with it when it gets here.
Maybe give it to someone who doesn’t have anyone at home to mail
them stuff.

I might not be able to
write for a few days. We have to make a trip. Nice change from the
everyday platoon meetings, mission briefings, workouts (you should
see me now), etc. I can’t tell you where I’m going, obviously,
until I get back, but it shouldn’t be bad. I just don’t want you to
worry if you don’t hear from me. I hope what happened to William
hasn’t made you worry more. If it helps at all, it was really a
freak accident, and it’s encouraged me to be even more careful. I
want to come back. To you. No. I don’t want to. I have to. A few
nights ago I was in my cot and everyone else was sleeping. I lay
there in the quiet staring at the dark, and suddenly I was afraid
something would happen to you. Not that I think something will, but
I thought, “What if?” What if you broke up with me? What if you got
hurt? What if you died? My chest constricted and I felt like I
could cry. I can’t lose you, M.

Don’t worry, though. I
don’t think about things like that very often. I couldn’t. It would
cripple me. When I fly, I don’t think about you at all. All I think
about is flying. Sometimes, it’s impossible to think of anything
else, even if I want to. You get so overwhelmed by the fun of the
flying itself. Last week I made a quick trip and ended up doing a
hundred knots at fifty feet over a river in this narrow valley
between the mountains. I loved it!

People are starting to come
back, so I think I’ll end this and get it to you. It’s a long walk
to the email tent, and it’s damn hot out. Oh! Sometimes you’ll see
these huge, scary-as-all-fuck-looking spiders, called camel
spiders, running across the sand. Yesterday, there was one in my
boot! You have to check your boots every morning before putting
them on. Have you ever seen a picture of a camel spider, or heard
anything about them? You wouldn’t want to find one in your shoe.
Sometimes some of the guys will take a camel spider and put it
under a bowl with a scorpion. They call it “The Arena of Death.” I
don’t condone it, but I really hate those fucking spiders, so I’m
not too sad when they lose.

Hope to hear from you
soon,

Jake

P.S. If you could, M, would
you put something together for me? Just the regular. Chips and
cookies and jerky, things like that. I loved the coffee cake you
sent. And those mimi donuts. I appreciate it. Just take whatever
you need from my card. Hey, did you quit driving? I went to check
my accounts a few days ago and (I’m not accusing you or
complaining, because we had an agreement) I noticed I’m not saving
as much as I thought. No big deal, I just wondered. Again, take
what you need, but just do me a favor and don’t go
crazy.

P.P.S. Um, I did tell you
about Shelbi, you psycho, in the beginning. And I tried to call
again, too, but no one answered and the machine didn’t pick
up.

JUNE 2, MONDAY—JUNE 3,
TUESDAY

Shellie calls for me over
the radio and I take another hit from the joint I bought from Lenny
during this morning’s shift change. “At least this time you’re
payin’ for it,” he said.

“Miss Mia. Where you at,
girl?”

I pick up the radio and push
the button and say, “Pshhchk,” and set it back on its
base.

The sun is out, the sky
cloudless, and smoking has eased the upset stomach I had this
morning. The tree I park under bursts with fat, shady leaves and
cools the breeze coming through the window. A man on the radio
sings a promise to his love that someday she will die, but that
he’ll be close behind, he’ll follow her into the dark. I turn it
off and look for whatever it is I hear jumping around in the tall
grass outside. Grasshopper. I found two in the kitchen yesterday,
but Chancey had found them first. One was missing a leg, the other
a head, which I found stuck to the bottom of my foot.

When half the joint’s been
smoked, I wet the tip and close it in the ashtray and go over what
I’ve written, so far.

I’m glad you decided what
you want to do.

I’m glad you decided what
you want to do.

Thank you for telling
me

Thank you for telling
me

I toss the tablet and pen
onto the passenger seat, then recline my chair and look out over
the green field. It brings to mind movie portrayals of Vietnam, and
I imagine bent-over soldiers plodding through the wheat with damp
cigarettes held tight in their lips, weapons ready. I see them
cross in front of me—almost hear dried stalks crunching under their
boots—and then, one by one, they disappear over the horizon and
into what is, to me, a mystery. I wonder if the women left waiting
during the Vietnam war knew it was really a war, or if they thought
they couldn’t possibly be hanging on the fringes of what they’d
only read about in school texts, if they thought war was an
abstract, or at the very least, something meant for the older
generations. When I was ten and first learning world history, I
pictured war in black and white, explosions rocking my front lawn
and tall, shadowy men coming to kill me, everything happening fast,
battles continuous and simultaneous. Not this slow-paced and random
series of attacks in a country painted green on my world
map.

If this were history, Jake
would have been one of those men pounding through the grass or
sitting hot and scared under a wide cluster of jungle leaves,
listening for footfalls and fighting to see through
sweat.

Just over a week until the
protest, and I think I might paint my name on my shirt in red.
Maybe the President’s people will watch the media coverage, and
maybe they’ll tell him my name. I wonder what Jake would think. I
wonder if they’re able to watch the news.

Where are you,
he wrote in an email I opened this morning.
When I came back, you hadn’t written, and now I’ve
been back for two days and still haven’t heard from you. I tried to
call yesterday, but there was no answer and the machine didn’t pick
up. Let me know you’re alive. Love you, M. –J.

I’ve left his long letter
open on the screen since the day he sent it. In the same number of
nights I have emptied a bottle and a half of vodka, hoping the
alcohol would free the right words to tell him
I can’t. I can’t do this again. And again. And again. Even one
more time will kill me. If you stay in, I will leave
you.

Or maybe he’s already left
me.

I grab the paper and
pen.

I am broken.

I am broken.

The flame in William’s
lighter is getting low, but there’s enough there to set the tablet
on fire before I toss it out the window. Black smoke curls up
through bowed, green blades.

Shellie says, “Mia, you hear
me, yet?”

I slouch down and close my
eyes for a short nap, but I know I won’t sleep.

________

To:
[email protected]
June 2 / 6:36pm

Subject: re: Hi,
there!

Jake,

I’m alive. I’m glad you’re
back from your mission, and I’m happy you wrote because I like
knowing you’re safe. Got a new answering machine, fyi.

Mia

p.s. As for Denise’s
letter, besides her punctuation, no, I don’t see anything
‘suspicious’ and I don’t know what she might have been talking
about. I’m sorry I’m not much help. Sleep well daily.

To:
[email protected]
June 3
/ 0709

Subject: re: Hi,
there!

Mia,

What’s the matter with you?
Your email was weird.

Jake

To:
[email protected]
June 2 /10:12pm

Subject: re: Hi,
there!

J-

Nothing’s the matter. I’m
just working a lot of hours because I’m driving again, and when I
get home I’m too tired to write very much. Why is it that you can
be absent for weeks, but if I don’t respond for two days you get
hostile? Jesus.

-M

To:
[email protected]
June 3
/0819

Subject: re: Hi,
there!

Mia-

I wasn’t hostile. I was
worried. Okay? I thought maybe you were mad about my letter, or
something. Why haven’t you said anything about it? I want to know
what you think about the things I say. Why do you think I write
them? Stop fighting with me. I’m not mad at you.

-j

To:
[email protected]
June 2 /11:22pm

Subject: re: Hi,
there!

Jake,

Is you is or is you ain’t
my baby? Gokadllad. Decode that.

You really can taste the
briskness in Pinot Grigio, once you know to look for it.

Me-a.

To:
[email protected]
June 3
/ 0824

Subject: re: Hi,
there!

Hey, M! Your email just
came in. I’m at the computer right now. Which means you sent it,
your time, at about eleven-something. I’m glad you’re still
up!

To:
[email protected]
June 3
/ 0828

Subject: re: Hi,
there!

Mia, you there?

To:
[email protected]
June 2 /11:31pm

Subject: re: Hi,
there!

I’m here, but just ran out
of something and have to go get more.

To:
[email protected]
June 3
/ 0835

Subject: re: Hi,
there!

I’m working on the code,
but I haven’t gotten it yet. I think I’m close. Don’t go. I want to
talk to you. What do you mean, you have to go get more? Right now?
Can’t you wait for a little bit? What did you think of my letter?
Tell me before I have to give up the computer to someone else. Not
too many people here right now, but a lot will be coming in from
this 29-ship mission that just got back. Actually, it was a lot
bigger than that. I think there were 104 in all from different
countries and units, but only 29 were ours. You wouldn’t believe
the sound when they flew in. Wish you could have heard
it.

To:
[email protected]
June 2 / 11:38pm

Subject: re: Hi,
there!

I thought your letter was
very well written. A literary joy.

To:
[email protected]
June 3
/ 0840

Subject: re: Hi,
there!

You know that’s not what I
mean.

To:
[email protected]
June 2 /11:43pm

Subject: re: Hi,
there!

Do you mean what you said
about staying in the Army?

(There’s not really a
code.)

To:
[email protected]
June 3
/ 0844

Subject: re: Hi,
there!

Yeah.

(Then why did you say
“decode that”??)

To:
[email protected]
June 3
/ 0846

Subject: re: Hi,
there!

Mia?

To:
[email protected]
June 2 /11:48pm

Subject: re: Hi,
there!

Whatever you want is what I
want for you.

(I said “decode that”
because…I don’t know! I was playing. Forget it.)

To:
[email protected]
June 3
/ 0849

Subject: re: Hi,
there!