August 20

Dear Gris,

Well, I did it. I passed my MEPS with flying colors, took an oath to support and defend the Constitution of the United States, and now here I am on a plane to Parris Island, South Carolina. A PLANE, Gris. My first plane ride. Damn, but I wish you were sitting next to me.

Thanks for the notebook you lent me. I’ll use it to write your letters until the paper runs out. Then I’ll probably keep it anyway because you gave it to me in the first place.

Saying good-bye to you today was just about the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do. But here’s what I know: we keep losing each other, but we keep finding each other too, which pretty much means we’re meant to be. Think about how much we’ve already been through, Gris, and we survived it all.

But I know you still have doubts, so here’s the deal. While I’m away, I’m going to write you a letter every day. Every day, Gris. And that’ll be me proving to you what I already know: I love you and I choose you, and from now until forever, that’s how it’s going to be. And when boot is over, I’m coming back for you, angel. That’s a promise.

IMYLCILYF

Recruit Holden Croft

***

August 21

Dear Holden,

I keep thinking that my stupid worries about you and Gemma ruined the last of our time together. God, I hope not. I promise that while you’re away, I am going to work on trusting you and trusting everything that’s between us. It’s taken me long enough, huh?

It was so strange to get your phone call last night. I knew you were reading from the script they gave you, but I was so glad to hear your voice, I didn’t care.. Did you hear me when I told you I loved you? I know you couldn’t say it back, but I had to say it.

Thank you for telling me to call Lieutenant Jones for your address. He gave it to me right away, and now I can write to you even if you can’t write to me yet.

I went to UDC to register for classes today and got totally weirded out by a class I wanted taught by a Professor Foster. I swear, if this was a year ago, it would have been enough to send me running for the hills, but I took a deep breath, thought of your face, and enrolled in the class. It’s called the Structure of English. I also registered for British Lit, American Lit, and Intro to Critical Writing. Sounds like a lot of reading and writing, huh? What’s kind of cool is that all of my classes are on Mondays, Wednesday, and Fridays, so I’ll be able to work for Sabrina at Nannies on Ninth two days a week.

We didn’t get a chance to talk about Hannah again, and I didn’t feel like I got a chance to tell you how happy I am for you. Truly happy, not fucked-up happy. I could see the wonder on your face when you were telling me about her, and I ruined that moment for you with my worries about Gemma. Oh God. Please be patient with me.

I’m relieved you got a chance to text me on your way to Parris Island. What I can’t believe is that you texted me on the way to the airport. You better remember to tell me what it was like to fly.

I’m so proud of you, Holden. My heart is almost bursting from it.

IMYLCILYF

Gris

***

August 21

Dear Gris,

I won’t be able to mail these letters for a while, and I hate that, but I’m still writing them. One a day. Every day. No matter what. Because nothing in the world is more important than you. I just hope you’re working on the trust thing and that not hearing from me doesn’t fuck that up.

Let me tell you about boot. I don’t know what I was expecting, and I’m not complaining, but man!

Bus picked us up at the airport yesterday around six in the evening and took us to PI. We get here and they’re yelling orders at us right when we step off the bus. Like, yelling like crazy. And there’s all this paperwork, and you pee in a cup, and I swear, we didn’t hit the showers until almost 2 a.m. Then we’re in these temporary barracks, but you’re so hopped up on adrenaline, nobody sleeps. At 4 a.m. they come wake you up by banging on a garbage can, yelling, “Get on the line!” And you don’t know what the hell is going on, but they’re barking orders, and suddenly we’re all on the ground doing fifty push-ups.

We marched around all day—to breakfast, to get our heads shaved, measured for uniforms, and other stuff. And they make you count everything you’re given, and you’re so tired, and this guy next to me, Jimmy, kept fucking up his count and every time he’d get ten sit-ups and then have to do it again.

I’m so tired tonight, I can barely keep my eyes open, but you’re the last thought of my day, angel, and I’m glad to be here because we’re going to have a good life together. I promise you that.

I can hear taps.

Oo-rah!

IMYLCILYF

H.C.

***

August 22

Dear Gris,

I’m so beat, I can’t see straight.

So today’s letter will be short, but I promised to write every day, and a promise is a promise, especially on the days when it’s toughest to keep.

IMYLCILYF

H

***

August 23

Dear Gris,

IMYLCILYF

Holden

***

August 25

Dear Holden,

I’m trying to be strong and trust you and trust us. I promise you I’m working on it every day, and by the time you come home, I’m not going to be scared anymore. Well, I probably will be, but I’m not going to let that hold me back from us being happy.

I think a lot about our life so far—at Caleb Foster’s, especially. That dingy cellar and the panel in the wall. The garden where we grew so many things. Boiling the vegetables in the barn so you could can them. I think about that day on the Shenandoah and how we were apart for so long, and then how I found you again in June. I think about the cabin. I think about you coming to the hospital when I was hurt. I think about opening the McClellans’ door to find you standing there (and everything we did in my bed last Monday morning before you had to go). I haven’t changed the sheets yet because I can still smell you.

We’ve walked a long road together, you and me.

And here I am, missing you again. Sometimes I feel like so much of my life has been spent missing you, but maybe I’ve been looking at things the wrong way. Because it’s weird, but I sort of feel like even when we were apart, we were still sort of together the whole time. Does that make sense?

School starts tomorrow, and I am scared.

But then I think of you and where you are, and everything we went through…I think to myself, I can do this.

You give me that strength, Holden

I feel like you’re with me all the time even though you’re far away.

Keep your fingers over the letters.

IMYLCILYF

Gris

xo

***

August 26

Dear Holden,

I did it.

I had my first day at college.

You’re in love with a college girl, Marine.

IMYLCILYF

Gris

***

August 29

Dear Holden,

The phones are so quiet here today, so I thought I’d write you another letter. You’re going to get a lot of letters from me. I hope that’s okay because they’re mostly just rambling and probably not that interesting. Sorry. I’ll try harder.

I’ve been reading online about boot camp, and it sounds bad with all the yelling and mind games. And then I had a weird thought, but I think you’ll understand what I’m saying. Remember at Caleb Foster’s? We got yelled at all the time—and beat up—and we never knew when he was going to start in on us. Those boots would start coming down the stairs, and I didn’t know if we’d be listening to a sermon, scrubbing the floor, or getting our backs belted. And then I was thinking that maybe boot camp isn’t as much of a shock for you as it is for the other recruits because in a weird way you’ve already been, only you were little and we were all alone. And now you’re big and strong, and being there is a choice, not a prison.

Is that a sick thought? Maybe it is. But you know? I don’t think you can have a childhood like ours and come out of it totally normal.

Maya found this support group for kids who grew up in foster care, and I’ve been going. I’ve mostly been quiet. I definitely haven’t talked about Caleb Foster. Not ready. I’m trying to open up, though, and trust that I can tell people things without getting hurt. The group leader is always saying, “It’s a process.” I kind of like that. I’m a process too.

I heard from the detective who worked on Jonah’s assault case that it went to trial and he was sentenced to eight years. I was probably a coward for refusing to testify, but I felt like the pictures and evidence were enough to convict him. I never want to see his face again. Never, ever. I’m so relieved that chapter of my life is finally over.

I got your postcard yesterday, and even though it didn’t have anything but your address, I knew your hand had touched it, so I slept with it under my pillow. I read that recruits like to get pictures from their girlfriends. You’ve got me on your arm, but here’s another just in case.

I’m smiling because I’m thinking of you.

IMYLCILYF

Gris

***

September 2

Dear Gris,

It’s Sunday. Oo-rah!

I finally got all thirteen of your letters mailed out, and I get a little bit of free time today to write you a nice long letter before shining my shoes and ironing my clothes. I figure this is me spending time with you, angel, so I am going to enjoy it.

First, I have to tell you that I’m staring at your picture, and you’re the most beautiful woman that God ever made, but you already know that.

Second, you’ve got no idea what your letters mean to me. They’re not boring. They’re amazing. Please keep them coming.

Gris, just hearing from you makes me feel weak, then strong. I picture your face, and I see your lips moving as I read your words. Sometimes I miss you so much it feels like I’m going crazy, but I reread your letters and I feel better. I swear I have all of them memorized within a day of receiving them.

Going back to your first letter: you didn’t ruin anything when I visited you in Georgetown. That morning was heaven, and I loved every second, even when we were knocking heads. I know you have trouble trusting, but it means a lot to me that you’re trying. I know it’s hard, Gris. Remember, I was there, right where you were. I know what you lost. I know what you endured. Not because you told me, but because I remember. And when I get tired or frustrated here, just like you said, I remember our time at Caleb Foster’s place, but I don’t think about me. I think about you, a little girl with amber braids who made those days bearable when they shouldn’t have been. I think of you and I keep moving forward because we deserve a chance to be happy, but we have to make it happen for ourselves.

When I have quiet moment here, which isn’t often, just like you, I feel myself going over a lot of ground, and the thing my whole history seems to have in common is you. You weren’t there with me and my parents when I was growing up, but the dream of you was. I wanted someone in my life like my father had my mother. I wanted to love a woman and treat her special and stop by a department store for perfume samples to make her smile when I got home at night. And that’s the kind of husband I’ll be for you one day, Gris. The kind who tries to make you happy however he can. Now, I’m not proposing or anything, so don’t get all freaked out. I’m just sayin’, even when I didn’t know you, I already did.

And now you’re a college girl and it’s my turn to be proud, Griselda Schroeder. But I have one gripe: Where are my stories? Did you forget to send me some?

Tell me about your classes and what you’re reading. I want to know everything. And how’s Prudence? Tell her the Sun King’s head is as bald as a yellow billiard ball.

I’m glad you’re in that support group with Maya. Keep going. Try to open up if you can. You are a process, Gris. We all are.

Flying was amazing and ridiculous. You’re up in the air in a ten-ton metal capsule! We’ll have to do it together sometime. I promise we will.

I know you’re happy for me about Hannah. I got a letter from Clinton that he is helping Gemma with her birthing class. I told him to make any move on her that feels right, and I think there’s a future for those two, but don’t tell them I told you. Wink, wink.

I’m sorry the letters you’ll get from the last two weeks were only a couple of lines, but you’ll get them all at the same time, and this one should explain why those are so brief. I sneak in those lines in the dark after taps. I do it because I love you and because I promised.

This is a tough place, Gris. Tough like I never even imagined. I see some guys who aren’t in as good shape as me, and man, they’re struggling. It’s insane here, but if you can believe it, I’m actually having fun. I like all the physical stuff—the drills and marching and training. But there’s a lot of studying too. Way more than I thought.

We can’t talk at any time for any reason, and damn, it makes me mad when some of the guys talk and then we all have to drop and pay for it. One guy ran off—just left in the middle of the night—because he couldn’t hack it.

I dream about graduation.

I dream about November.

I dream about you, angel.

Keep your fingers over the letters.

And send me a story.

IMYLCILYF

Your,

Holden

***

September 6

Dear Holden,

I GOT YOUR LETTERS TODAY! All of them! All thirteen!

I loved reading about your plane trip and your first day. I even loved the letters that only said “IMYLCILYF” because it meant you were thinking about me.

Boot camp sounds really hard, but I’m so proud of you, Holden—every minute of every day. On Saturday I was at the post office, and a Marine walked in. He was in his full dress uniform (probably for the Labor Day festivities), and all I could think was how handsome Holden will be in his. When I think of us scratching in the dirt at Caleb Foster’s farm, I could just die of pride. We didn’t just survive, Holden. We didn’t just survive. (I learned that in my support group. Some kids survive foster care, some thrive and go on to live meaningful lives. We didn’t just survive foster care—we also survived Foster, and now we’re going to thrive.)

Speaking of Foster, something incredibly weird happened yesterday, and I can’t stop thinking about it. A woman met Professor Foster after class, and he hugged her to him and called her Ruth. I swear to God he did, and I’m not just imagining it. I asked the TA who was sitting next to me who the woman was, and she told me it was Prof. Foster’s wife. Now, yes, of course, it occurs to me that Foster was this Ruth’s married name (and her childhood name was probably Ruth Smith or something), but it still threw me for a loop. Just in case you’re wondering, Professor Foster’s name is Bill. Which means I’m obsessing about nothing.

I’m studying a book called The Canterbury Tales by Geoffrey Chaucer, and it’s hard reading. I have to constantly try to figure out what it means. I read a line last night: “Alas, alas, that ever love was sin!” and I started thinking about Seth and Ruth, and you and me, and how they loved each other and we loved each other, and Caleb Foster was so sure we were all sinning. And we weren’t, and they weren’t, and the only one sinning was him. If I ever met the real Seth and Ruth, I feel like I’d understand them and they’d understand us. It’s crazy because they died in that barn fire so long ago, but sometimes I dream that they didn’t.

Do you still dream of Foster’s farm? When you do, does it frighten you? Since I found you again, my bad dreams have mostly gone away, Holden. Mostly, I dream of you. Of your arms around me and your angel pressed to my chest and your heart beating against mine.

Stay strong.

Keep your fingers over the letters.

I

Miss

You

Like

Crazy

I

Love

You

Forever

 

Gris

xo