Free Dear Soldier Boy by Maxwell Tibor Page B

and go, make a clean break from everyone and everything. I never had any attachment to the people or places we left behind. I enjoyed them when I was there, but when it was over, it was over. Some people collect friends from every transfer. I never did. I didn’t see the point. The way I saw it, if you keep looking back, you will never enjoy what is right in front of you. So I lived in the moment, which was fine for me, I was happy.

Anyway, Alison—that was her name—had a different outlook, probably a far healthier one, if I’m being honest. It was the end of the term, we'd just finished finals, and it was almost time to go home. And then she told me she loved me.

Cue my shock. Had I not been a complete moron, I would have realized that was where it was headed. But I was, and probably remain, stupid when it comes to anything to do with relationships. I had no idea what I was doing. So, I pretended not to hear her. She never said it again. And just like that, it was over. When we got back from Christmas, it was like we had never happened.

So, why am I telling you this? Because I’m a moron, we’ve established that right? And because I want you to know that all of this—telling a woman things, wanting to spend time with you doing things other than sex, (though sex does feature very prominently on the wish list, really really high, like start limbering up now, woman, because we are going to hit this thing hard)—is new to me.

Shit speaking of hard, just thinking about you is like puberty all over again, never knowing when my body is going to go rogue. Not great.

Sorry, off topic again. I think of you, and then I think of sex with you. It just happens. Anyway, what I was trying to say is that I have absolutely no idea what I’m doing when it comes to you, this, us, our relationship. Yes, a relationship, that’s what this is. I’m in my first proper relationship. And I have never even met you!

This is truly insane.

Am I doing it right? Is it too soon? What is the next step? All these questions have been playing through my mind since I got your email. I was waiting until I made sense of all of it to write you back, which is why it has been so long. Sorry about that. But today, I had to just give up and write to you, because there is no sense to be made of it. This is straight-up bat shit crazy and I don’t even care.

You said you love me. My heart stopped when I read that. My hands went clammy and I couldn’t breathe. It was the same reaction I had when Alison said it.

But this time, it was because I didn’t want to fuck it up. You, beautiful, funny, smart, sexy you, love me. Me! How? Why? And then I got scared, proper-chicken-shit-scared, because I knew you would regret it. I was waiting for you to follow up with Ha! Ha!

But you never did. And so here we are. Do I love you? What does it feel like? I don’t know. I’ve never done this before. I want you so much. Is that love? When I think about you, I smile. Is that love? I can’t imagine a future that doesn’t include you. Is that love? When I imagine a family, it is you as my wife, with three kids, and two dogs, and all the cats you pretend not to have. Is that love? I would want you even if you really gained those 200lbs and you started to bear more than a passing resemblance to Danny Devito. Is that love?

Even this stupid man knows the answer.

But I won’t say it. Not yet. I want to be holding you, touching you, smelling you, when I say it. I want to be able to see your face, not this computer screen. I want it to be real.

Which brings me to when I’m coming home: November 27th. We really do have shit timing. I had only just come here when I got your letter. Want to hear the really crappy part? I was briefly in DC last year, for a meeting at the Pentagon. But maybe it is best that we didn’t meet before I left, because I can’t even imagine leaving you once I really have you.

So, will you go out with me, Civilian Girl? On a real