Nine
Douglas turned out to be a girl named Carter, and she and I were in the same platoon. We bonded over our male first names, even though mine was once technically a middle name. She was a cool girl. Had I made friends in my last high school, Carter would not have made the cut.
Here in the recruit world, she and I were similar, yes, but she was the girl who was gorgeous and undoubtedly popular back home. Home for her, I learned, was in Montana, where she was one of seven. She had one sister, younger, and every one of her brothers was older than her and in the service.
No wonder she knew what to do during our receiving night call.
After one particularly rough day, she and I were whispering in the dark well after lights out. We both had an upper bunk which made talking easier. Some girls spoke to one another quietly, some slept, while others wrote their letters. It was the only time you could write home, the dark hours between lights out and the wake-up call.
Carter had finished a letter that night and asked why I didn’t ever write anyone.
I stared at her in the dark, chewing on my upper lip.
Could I open up to her? Could I truly find a friend in this process and not be alone for the first time in my life?
“I don’t have anyone to write to,” I finally told her in the dark, hoping, trusting, I could make a true friend in her. “I was in foster care,” I added, somehow feeling like that mattered.
“Not even like, your bio mom or anything?”
I shook my head. “No. I don’t know who she is, or was, or anything. I’ve been in foster care my entire life.”
“You were never adopted?” Carter asked in disbelief. I could see her eyebrows pulled down, her eyes frowning in my direction.
“No.” I shrugged it off with a grin. “But it’s all good. I’m in a good place right now. Emotionally,” I added, causing her to laugh lightly across the way. Boot camp was mentally and physically draining, but I would do it again in a heartbeat.
I was on my way to being a person who had purpose.
My career choice was still going to be in the art field—I was going to be a combat photographer. So, not artsy in the way I typically released thoughts and emotions, but art just the same. And my photography wouldn’t be the same as the pictures I was used to taking, but it was still photography.
Carter and I had our nightly conversations. We ate in the chow hall together and I learned a lot about different processes in boot camp from her. I was as prepared for upcoming battles as I could be, thanks to the knowledge her siblings passed on to her.
During the days, I worked hard, pushing myself to my fullest potential. It was tough, but I found I enjoyed myself.
At night, while everyone else was writing their letters in the dark, I sketched out random drawings, drawings that would come to life if only I had paint with me. Still, the black and white sketches were a great outlet.
Two weeks after telling Carter I’d been in foster care and didn’t have anyone to write to, I received a letter of my own.
That night, I frowned as I ripped open the business sized envelope with no return address. Most of the others were sleeping; today had been pretty grueling. Carter was in her bunk, furiously writing letters. I was pretty sure she wrote three a night to her people back home.
I pulled out the loose leaf paper and my frown deepened at the masculine hand writing scrawled on the college-ruled paper. It wasn’t a penmanship I recognized.
Curious, I read.
Asher-
Nice to meet you. I’m Hunter, one of Carter’s brothers. She probably doesn’t refer to us by name. She never does. Anyhow, she mentioned you never got letters. Reminded me of my buddy Shane, a guy I went to boot with and I’m still really good friends with.
So I stole an idea from my buddy Mac and decided to write you. Everyone should get letters or something—helps the twelve weeks not seem so damned daunting.
Carter says you’re one of the more impressive girls there, which says something. We come from a family of Marines and SEALs so if she says you’re tough, you must be. Just keep your head up.
I’m stationed up at Cherry Point. Few hours north of you (ok a lot of hours north) but I’m working on getting leave for your graduation. I look forward to meeting you.
Remember: some of the friendships you make in boot will continue through your career. Some won’t, but some will. Even if you don’t have family, you do now—Carter’s claimed you, you’re now a Douglas. So welcome to the family, sis.
--Hunter
I read it again, and once more for good measure, before I folding the paper back up and stuffing it into the envelope.
“Who was that from?” Carter asked as I put the envelope under my pillow for safe keeping. I looked over at her and she looked genuinely curious.
“Your brother.”
Her eyes lifted and shock crossed her face before she grimaced. “Oh my God, I’m so sorry. Which one?”
“Hunter.”
Her eyes relaxed and she smiled, although I could see a hint of mischief in it. “He’s trying to pull a Shane-and-Kellie on you.”
“His friend who didn’t get any letters in boot?” I asked, referencing Hunter’s letter.
Carter simply continued to smile, all while shaking her head. “Mmhm. You see, Shane, Hunter, and Travis were best buds in boot and when it came out that Shane didn’t have any one, Travis told his sister who, in turn, started to write Shane and bam. The two are engaged.”
My eyes widened, following the events. “I’m not…I don’t… I’m only seventeen!” I was nowhere near old enough to get engaged.
Carter giggled quietly. “Hunter’s a catch but… He’s like my twin. He’s not much older than you,” she said, giving me a wink. “But I’m sure it’s innocent. There’s a girl our sister knows that he likes. Was he nice to you, at least?”
I smiled lightly and nodded. “Yeah. He told me I was a Douglas.”
Carter relaxed down in her bunk, pulling her cover up and facing me. “Well yeah. Shit, haven’t I told you that yet? Good night, Asher.”