A Lover's Lament(21)

After a quick field shower, which pretty much consists of baby wipes and bottled water, I make my way to my bunk. In the tent where we sleep, our cots are lined up one beside the other with equipment strewn about. Posters of half-naked women are duct taped against the tent’s walls, and a stale, dingy aroma sits heavy in the air. It’s not much, but it’s our home for now.

When I reach my cot, there’s a letter positioned on my pillow. I turn to Navas, who has entered behind me, and ask, “We get mail?”

“Yeah, man. The radio dispatcher just dropped them off. Who the f*ck is writing you anyway?”

“I’m assuming just some random person from that pen pal shit,” I say, thinking back to the program I reluctantly signed up for a few months back. I’m not even sure why I did, since I haven’t bothered to read any of the letters that have come to me, but it’s hard seeing these guys get letters and packages from home. And don’t get me wrong, I’m happy for them, but I’m envious too, and I f*cking hate envy. It’s such an ugly shade on anybody. So I do my best to hide it.

I pick up the envelope, and just as I’m about to toss it with the others, I notice the name and address. My heart lodges at the base of my throat.



Katie Devora

1224 N. Main St.

Rock River, TN, 62442



“Holy f*cking shit!” I exclaim, drawing Navas’s attention.

“What’s up, man?” he asks, but I ignore him.

Katie has been on my mind a lot over the years, and even more so after spending some time in this hellhole. But I never thought I’d hear from her again … not after the way I left her. And how did she even find me? A dull ache stabs at my chest, and I blow out a slow, labored breath.

I feel an immediate urge to open the letter, a force too powerful to deny. Katie f*cking Devora! Slipping a thumb into the nook of the envelope, I slide it open quickly and pull the letter out. Almost immediately, I’m hit with the smell of perfume … Katie’s perfume. The smell is faint, not like she sprayed it on but as if it were simply passed from hand to paper.

For better or worse, my nose has become quite sensitive to the smell of women in just these first few months of deployment. We often stop at the main operating base located on the Green Zone to drop off detainees, and many of the female soldiers stationed there wear some sort of scent. We animals could smell them from a mile away.

But Katie’s perfume brings an onslaught of memories that make my legs go weak and causes me to stumble back. I take a seat on my cot to compose myself. I don’t unfold the letter right away, instead choosing to let the soft floral essence float around my nasal cavity for a bit. I close my eyes and breathe it in slowly, letting the fragrance remind me of my biggest regret. My only regret, actually, and one I’ve never quite gotten over.

From the second I saw her, I knew I was a goner … and that was in the first f*cking grade. Two pigtails swung freely from either side of her head, and when she turned around and locked her large brown eyes onto mine, I just knew I had to steal her pencil. I wanted her chasing me, because if she chased me, it meant she liked me. The second she dove onto my back and brought me tumbling to the ground, I knew I’d met my match.

And boy, did I ever. In the years that followed, it became crystal clear that Katie would be the woman I was going to marry—a woman who would take my bullshit and throw it right back at me, a woman with a stubborn will and the kindest of hearts. And I knew, the first and only time we made love, that I was a complete goner. From that moment on, Katie Devora owned me.

Squeezing my eyes shut, I allow myself to remember that moment … the feel of her mile-long legs as they wrapped around me, pulling me into her and digging her heels into my back if I tried to move away. I see her perfect, tear-dropped tits waiting for my eager mouth.

My dick throbs in my uniform bottoms, and I look down at it as if it’s grown a face. What the f*ck is wrong with me? Ignoring the feeling, I unfold the letter and begin to read.



Dear Devin,

I’m not sure the best way to start this letter, but considering our past, I feel the only way is with complete honesty. So … here goes.

I’m not writing you because I want to; I’m writing you because I need to … well, at least that’s what my therapist says. She wanted me to connect with a soldier, so she sent me a potential pen pal list. And although I vaguely remember someone telling me in passing that you had joined the military, I think I’d blocked it out. So you can probably imagine my surprise when I saw your name. Seriously, what were the chances?

I’ve been having a hard time lately, and connecting with a soldier is supposed to help me heal. At first I thought seeing your name was some sort of sign, a tiny ray of hope from the man upstairs. Because if anyone knew how much you helped me before, it would be Him. But now that I’m actually sitting down and writing this, it’s doing nothing but bringing back all of the insecurities and anger that I was left with nearly a decade ago.

You left me. Without a single word. I’m pissed at you for that, and honestly, I’m not sure I’ll ever be anything but mad at you. You made a decision to leave me with no way to reach you or find you. You left me at home to drown in my own heartache, and that’s what I did. I didn’t even get the chance to say goodbye … just like with my dad.

You probably haven’t heard, but my dad was killed in a car accident. I was with him, and his death has completely destroyed me. In fact, according to my therapist, I’m not grieving the loss of him very well. She seems to think that writing you—or any soldier, for that matter—might help me let go of some of my hurt and anger. But I can see now that reaching out to you probably wasn’t the best idea.