Chapter 4
As soon as I close the door to my house, I watch Foster take a left into a small alleyway that leads to another busy street. When he is no longer in my line of vision, I take a deep breath and assess my thoughts about today. I head for the stairs. At the top of the steps is the same large open space that I left earlier in the afternoon. I stroll to the counter to grab some more grapes. Beside the bowl, I see the note my mother left.
Claudia,I got a call from the realtor about finalizing the sale of our old house. I had to drive back. The paperwork is going to keep me until about 12 tomorrow, so I won't see you until after you get home from school. Food is in the fridge. I have our tv hooked up now. I left some movies on the coffee table if you are interested in checking them out. I also left a surprise for you in your room. See you tomorrow. I will be expecting a full synopsis of your wonderful school adventures when I see you.xoxoxoxoxo Mom
Mom has always felt bad for not being home. Her old job involved lots of traveling and even though she will be more present now she still feels the need to compensate for lost time. Her constant gifts make Christmas seem like every other day. I run down the hall towards my new room and crack open the door. On my bed, I see a box filled with new books. I unpack them onto my sturdy but crusty, old bookshelf. New books to add to everything else new in my life. I run back downstairs and grab a piece of pizza from the fridge. As soon as I begin chewing on the left-over pizza my kitten struts into the kitchen. I named him L because oddly enough whenever I am eating, especially if it's something sweet, my kitty snuggles up to me and lets me pick him up, reminding me of a certain popular anime character who has a similar addiction to sweets. Any other time I try to be cuddly with him, he simply hangs limp in my arms, almost as if he is disgusted by human touch. What an odd little fellow. L spots me and then looks at his food bowl. I see the vast emptiness, or rather the little bit of silver that can be seen through the food, and fill it up before going up to my room to relax. Today sure has been rough. I am already on a popular girl's bad side. Seriously within the first 20 minutes of school, I found myself in trouble. I am just glad Foster was there to help. I wonder if he'll want to meet up in the library tomorrow. I would love to get a mini-tour of the place from his point of view. I have had but a taste of the expansive book loft and I would love to see more.
I hop into bed and lay under the covers. Warmth overcomes me, and it gets hard to keep my eyes open. As soon as my eyelids flutter closed, my brain wanders into a dream.
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Drops of water come crashing down onto the roof of the little military homes. At 8 am on a Sunday morning, Claudia is staring out the window. Watching the mail truck come is always her favorite thing. Every Sunday she wakes up at exactly 7:50 am to rush downstairs to the window and await the mail delivery. Every Sunday, she receives a letter from her father talking about the wonders of all the places he gets to visit. Sometimes she learns new vocab that dad picks up from the citizens of the area. Sometimes she gets a quick sketch of a beautiful scene from nature that her dad gets to experience. Every Sunday, she sits at the kitchen table with her mom as they plan out what they want to tell him. Sunday was her favorite day of the week.
At 8 am on a Sunday morning, the mail truck finally reaches their little blue mailbox. This Sunday was different. Rain is coming down hard. Tension hangs in the air. The mailman doesn't put the mail in the mailbox like he usually does. The mailman gets out of his car and makes his way to the front door. His head hangs low. He removes his cap, holding it above his chest as he rings the doorbell. Claudia rushes to the door. She looks through the little peephole although she knows who is at the door before his foot even made it to the porch outside. After confirming it was the mailman, she opens the door.
"Hi," Claudia says quietly.
"Hello little miss Jones, is your mother home? I have an important letter for her that I figured would be best delivered by hand," as soon as he finishes his sentence, Claudia's mother rushes to the door in her robe and slippers.
"Hello Mr. Leecher, I didn't expect you to come to the door today." Mrs. Jones says, crossing her arms.
"Well Sylvia, I have a letter for you. I'm sorry for your loss." He says as he hands her the mail and places his cap back onto his slightly balding scalp. With the tip of his hat, he makes his way off the porch and back to his mail truck. The second his truck is gone; Mrs. Jones closes the door and sits at the table. Claudia sits next to her. Sylvia opens the letter and silently reads it.At first, she seems calm, and her eyes hold no real emotion besides her morning grogginess. As soon as she makes it past the greeting in the letter, she drops it on the table. Her eyes fill with tears and her body is shaking, trying to keep her silent sobs from pouring out of her mouth that has already been clamped shut by a pale, clammy hand. Claudia sees her wide, shock and tear-filled eyes and then looks at the letter on the table. Sylvia can't speak. Finally, loud wails escape her mouth. Wails so loud that Claudia must cover her ears. Claudia grabs the letter, the letter that broke her mother, and hides behind the couch with it.
What does this letter say? Why didn't we get a new letter from dad answering the one we just sent? These questions and many more rushed through her 13-year-old head as she finally decides to unfold the cursed piece of paper and read.
Dear Mrs. Jones,It is with a heavy heart I send you this letter; your husband, Tommy Jones, died in combat. Though my words cannot release you from the sorrow you are feeling now, just know your husband was one of my best soldiers. He and his men took jobs nobody else wanted; he was there when we needed him most. He saved hundreds of American lives and I know no matter how much I speak of how good of a soldier he was, it won't bring him back. You will find a pair of dog tags and a ring in this envelope. Cleaned and preserved, it was all we were able to find after the explosion. Though his ring we found still attached to his hand, and his dog tags to the remains of his torso, I wish you the best; and I promise to you, this war will end. Your husband helped us make sure there were fewer enemies to fight. Once again, I am sorry for your loss.Head General Hart
Visions of giant red mushroom clouds and dismembered bodies rush through her head. Her father, in pieces, with spattered blood, and stray limbs, missing their owners.
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I walk through the doors of our home. I made it to the old place just early enough to get all the paperwork hashed out in one go which meant I was able to make it back here earlier than anticipated. It's always nice to be on time or early to meetings. It means I can avoid the traffic on the way back.
Before I can set my bags down, I notice the faintest of what sound like sobs. I rush up to the living room to see if the TV got left on. The sobs are a bit louder, but the TV isn't on. I decide to check on C. As I enter her room, I notice her standing by the window. I walk over to hold her in my arms. I can see her eyes roll into the back of her head. She passes out. I lay her on her bed and turn out the lights. Every night for the past 3 and a half years I have come home to screaming or sobbing. I wish she had never read that letter. I should have never set it back on the table where she could have gotten ahold of it, a situation that will haunt me for the rest of my life.