Eden

 

I’d gotten a total of six letters from Dylan. I’d never received so much mail in all my life. I found myself rushing to get to the mailbox before anyone else could get it. For once I was glad my parents were never home, it seemed I always beat them to the mail. Maybe it was silly, but I treasured every word written in Dylan’s chicken scratch handwriting that got progressively worse as each letter went on.

The first couple of letters were short, maybe the front of one page. Then both the front and back were covered with his now familiar scrawl. The last letter was two pages front and back and I couldn’t believe all the things he’d shared with me. I thought we’d grown close in the month before he left but for some reason the shield of letter writing had allowed us to share beyond what I could have ever imagined if we’d been speaking in person or even on the phone.

I held letter number seven in my hands. It didn’t take long for me to run into the house and up to my room to read it. Even though I was home alone, I wanted to be in my room with the door closed. The letters from Dylan meant more to me than I could ever express, and I didn’t want to share them with anyone. I hadn’t even told Allie about them. Mom and Dad knew Dylan wrote but since I was the one who got the mail, I didn’t think they had any idea he wrote at least once a week and sometimes twice or that I wrote him almost every day.

I could tell from how heavy the envelope was that this letter was going to be a long one. With shaking hands, I slid my finger under the sealed flap and opened the envelope.

 

Ed,

 

It happened. The gas chamber. And it was as horrible as I imagined it would be. First, they loaded us all on a bus and it was a long ass ride. I totally slept the whole way. It’s like they were trying to lull us into a sense of complacency. Once we got there they lined us up outside and I’m not going to lie, I was sitting there thinking about the Jews who were sent to chambers scared to death maybe not knowing what was going to happen. It was kind of humbling.

The room itself was damn creepy. It was dark and filled with smoke. They immediately started yelling at you. It was confusing and burned like hell once the gas came in. I fared better than some. This one guy puked all over himself. Everyone was dropping to the floor, coughing with tears running down their faces. It’s kinda funny now, but it wasn’t at all when we were all in there. I wanted to, I’m not going to lie, I just kept praying like crazy that I wouldn’t throw up. But then, when we got out, I swear I wished I would throw up. My eyes and nose were running. It was so bad. Some guys get recycled (don’t make it through basic for some reason) and have to do the gas chamber again. All I know is I don’t ever want to go through that again.

 

I shook my head trying to imagine it. It sounded horrible. I never had any desire to join the Army at all and reading Dylan’s letter sealed the deal. I kept reading.

 

So, every day we run. We run so damn much. There’s this guy here. He joined when he was older. He’s like 35 or something like that. And man, when he got here he was out of shape. I thought for sure he’d try to get out, but he didn’t. Anyway, we were running, and he’s probably lost 40 pounds or more and he is super strong. He can ruck like a mother. I’ve never seen anybody hike like this guy carrying an 80-pound pack.

I’m running, and we’re almost done and all the sudden from behind me I hear ‘ann-i-maaal’ This dude is hauling the mail, coming up behind me yelling at the top of his lungs ‘animal’ you know, that little red guy from The Muppets, running as fast as he could passing everybody. It was the funniest thing I’ve ever seen. Even the drill sergeants were laughing and they don’t laugh at anything.

 

I laughed at the mental image his words created. He’d shared many moments like that one. He was making some good friends in basic. As much as he complained about the drill sergeants, Dylan was thriving. He was in his element. He would be a good soldier. I read some more of his letter. More stories about his day to day. It seemed like he spent most of his time doing pushups. Near the end of the second page, there were three total this time, his tone changed. This was my favorite part of my letters from Dylan. When he came around to personal things.

 

Ed, I feel like you aren’t being completely honest with me about what’s up with you. You tell me all about the salon and the little old ladies getting their hair set in curlers and doing manicures for little girls that come in with their moms. But you never talk about going out with Allie. Or going to the football games. Or going out on dates.

I’m worried about you. I know the deal with Marshall was hard on you. We haven’t talked about it. We didn’t talk about it when it happened either. Maybe I should have made you go to the hospital or the police or I should have at least told your parents. But I was trying so hard not to betray your trust. I’m just worried now that I did that at the expense of you getting help you might need.

Do you need help, Eden?

It hurts to think of you hurting. Are you hurting? If you are, please talk to somebody. I wish I was there, so I could look you in your eyes and ask you about this stuff. But I’m not, so all I can do is hope you are being honest and that you really are okay.

I also hope you know how much it means to me when I get your letters. I look forward to mail call every day in hopes that a dark-haired beauty from back home has sent me a letter and most days she has.

And then I feel guilty for how much I want to hear from you. I don’t want to hold you back, Ed. I don’t want you to be so focused on me (geez, that sounds conceited, I don’t mean it like that) I just want you to have fun a fun high school experience (crap, now I sound like your guidance counselor) I mean it, though.

I think about it sometimes. (Okay, all the time) I think about that last night in your backyard and I miss you so much it drives me crazy. But that’s not fair to you, Ed. I don’t regret anything even though I probably should. But, well, you know all the obstacles in our way. I don’t need to lay them out for you.

I guess, what I’m saying is, your brother has been my best friend most of my life but you, I feel like you know me better than anyone, even him. And it makes me frustrated to be away from you. It makes me frustrated that I’m so much older and can’t be around to take you to the Winter Formal. But I also don’t want you to miss out on that stuff at all.  Ugh, I’m making a mess of this.

 

I could just imagine him raking a hand through his hair at this point.

 

You’ve become my best friend, Ed. Not really like Josh is because it’s so different with you, but well that’s just how I feel, and I wanted to tell you. And I want to tell you that I think about those kisses with you way more than I should, but I don’t want any of that to hold you back. I want to do what is best for you because you mean the world to me.

So, I think I shouldn’t write to you anymore. You aren’t moving on from Marshall, Ed. And with me, well, it’s not good for you. I can’t be what you need right now. I’ve been selfish, and I have to stop, or the guilt will kill me. You are precious to me, Eden, and I wish you the best, but I can’t write anymore.

I’m sorry,

   Dylan

 

Tears streamed down my cheeks and landed in puddles on the lined paper in front of me. Why was he doing this? How could he think this was what was best for me? I thought of the kisses we’d shared in my backyard the night before he left. I’d never felt so safe, so loved, in my life. I let down my defenses and fell in love with the one person I’d sworn to hate for eternity and this was why. Because the hurt was almost unbearable.