Free The Love Letters: A Novella by Ashley Pullo Page B

Natalie. She must write and mail a letter every day because during my short time here, I’ve become the envy of most of the officers in my unit. Not only is Natalie the hottest thing to invade the Post Exchange at Camp Hammond, she also sends things that require an explanation.
    This morning I picked up two letters from Nat, one letter from Aunt Patty, and an envelope from Natalie full of homemade snowflakes with instructions to: throw them in the air like you just don’t care.
    I change into my USMC t-shirt and basketball shorts and sit on my bed to read the letters.
     
    December 19, 2002
    My prince,
    You’ve been gone for a day. Your Princeton sweatshirt is the only thing I have/had that smells like you. I slept with it, brought it to work, and wore it to the grocery store. Then I made the stupid mistake of wearing it to Starbucks. I was standing in line sobbing uncontrollably when a hurried customer spilled his grande bold all over my chest. Your sweatshirt smells like Sumatra. No more Zach smell. Je n’ai pas rien.
    I thought I saw you today. I actually ran after a man walking down Broadway just because he was the same height as you. When I finally reached him, I hugged him from behind. The dude FREAKED, and then he callously turned around and yelled at me!
    On a suckier note, there’s a Christmas Party tonight at some fancy apartment in Columbus Circle. Molly invited me, hoping it would cheer me up, but there is no cheer without you.
    All I want for Christmas is you.
    Love always,
    Ta femme
    The next letter is decorated with tiny hearts and stars and smells like coffee.
    December 20, 2002
    My sexy warrior,
    You left a t-shirt at Mom and Dad’s and it hasn’t been washed! It’s a Christmas miracle!!
    In other news, I miss you.
    I hear your laughter with every funny thought.
    I see your crooked grin when I close my eyes.
    I smell your skin on my unwashed sheets.
    I taste your sweetness in a drizzle of honey.
    BUT I CANNOT FUCKING TOUCH YOU! I need to feel you. Touch you. Feel you. Touch you . . .
    “Yo Parker, are you crying?” Fisher asks. I jump up and quickly fold the letter from Natalie and put it away in my footlocker. Fisher is standing in the door spinning a basketball on his middle finger and shaking his head.
    “I’m crying because you suck as point guard,” I say hastily.
    “Yep, just what I thought. You’re a pussy, Parker!”
    “Are we playing hoops or having a tea party?” I ask as I shove past him and walk silently to the basketball court. I need a distraction.
    2002-12-25
0500 hours
    “Fisher? Are you okay, man?” I shake his shoulder and he continues to groan. “Fisher?”
    “It’s my stomach – I think last night’s chow is fucking me up.” Fisher brings his knees to his chest and winces.
    After our 88-74 win over the Army, we enjoyed a nice spread of lobster and sirloin. The current problem being – Fisher is a good ol’ Texas boy that devoured six steaks last night before calling it quits.
    “What do you need? I can stop by the canteen after my shift,” I offer.
    “Nah man, I’m going to try and sleep it off.” Fisher curls into a ball and holds his stomach.
    “Merry Christmas, bro.”
    The base is eerily quiet this morning. I stop by the mess hall and grab a blueberry muffin and some orange juice before heading to my tiny office to finish up the Kandahar shipment. The office is empty except for one of the administrative secretaries, Michelle. She’s playing a Christmas CD and looking at a photo album.
    “Hey Michelle, Merry Christmas! Whatcha got there?” I ask as I pull up a chair next to her desk.
    “Merry Christmas, Lieutenant. This is a wonderful present my family made for me. It has pictures from different Christmases over the years and a few cards from friends. Here is my daughter and son last Christmas Eve . . . we got them a puppy . . . and this,” she points to a photo, “is that puppy now!” I laugh at the photo of a dog the size of a