I lay in this pit of misery every day waiting for them to finally arrive, it's been six months and all I do is wait. I was told that I’m a hero and a noble person that defends others when they can't defend themselves… All I do is wait.
I stopped counting how many patrols I've been on, there is no longer a point; I stopped introducing myself to the new soldiers, there is no longer a point. When I get back to the FOB my first stop is always the mail office, the man that works there knows me on a first name basis. I pick up my letters, and I feel this sense of warmth inside me that just lets me know everything is going to be alright. She pours her heart into words on paper, and the smell of her perfume sends shivers down my spine. I can’t ever sleep my first night back and I just lay awake all night just imagining myself with her when this is all over. I spent the next week writing my letters that I’ll drop off before heading out again. It's become my normal routine since being here.
The letters still came but less frequently, I figured she must be busy and can’t write as often. It’s been weeks since I received a letter from her. I went to the post office to ask about the mail delay and the man behind the counter looked at me like he’s looked at a thousand guys before, like I’m pathetic. I walked out in disbelief, not her, something must be wrong with the mail. I continue to write letters to her, at this point it's more of a pre-patrol superstition, and when I come home alive all will be forgotten.
I begin my journey home, the nightmare, it’s over. I knew that surviving must mean something to the universe. I get out of the cab, I walk up her driveway, and I knock on the door. My heart is racing. I was going to tell her that the mail was messed up and how I hoped she was getting my letters and how much I missed her and that I’m excited to start our lives together.
A man in a towel answered her door.