Reflections | D. Jackson

three.

TWO PEOPLE, A man of around 58 years old, and his wife of around 56, sit silently on a nearly empty train. The train chugs along the tracks leading into the countryside of Tennesse, puffing white plumes of smoke with every rotation of the wheels.

Inside, the couple in their fifties share no words, but clutch eachother's hands. The woman smiles slightly, repressing herself and staring out the windows at the farmhouses. Beside her, her husband furrows his brows at a collection of opened letters set on the table in front of them.

Today's date, November 28th, 1942, but what reads on the letter sitting in front of the man is July 14th, earlier that year.

"Dear Papa,

Don't rag on me, dad, but I gotta tell you about the girl I met today. Combat Medic training for the Women's Battalion, and the smartest girl you'll ever meet. Never in my life have I laughed harder than I did today, at lunch, after I went over and asked her to sit with me. You shoulda seen my friend, George. He was bright red at the sight of her, just taken aback by her flawless beauty. As was I, dad, I'm telling you. Bright smile, eyes green like the pastures out back the house, hair dark brown and longer than any I've ever seen, wavy too. It's like a dark ocean every time I look at it, beautiful, seriously.

Had to tell you, give this letter to Liam, please.

Daniel."

The scenery outside has changed, now raining heavy down on complete forest. The woman looks out the window no longer, instead pointing nimbly at a letter with the poorly drawn picture of a medic girl on the back. She has long dark brown hair that cascades down her back in waves, and she's looking over her shoulder at them. Her eyes are a bright, tree green, and when the man looks at them closer, a sinking feeling swarms his heart.

He ignores it.

"That one is so cute," The woman speaks softly to herself, picking it up to read it over. "Look at this one, John."

John Nathanial Jackson takes it from her hands, opening the letter and scanning over some of the words

"Dear Mom,

I told Auden about you, Dad, Liam, and the girls. She was so interested, and she laughed so hard at the story about Lizzie, on the fourth of July last year. Apparently her father is a lot like you, he writes and loves that poem stuff you're into. We think you guys will be friends when we're done out here.

I learnt all about her family, she has two little brothers around Lizzie and Mary's ages, an older sister, and an older brother. Her older siblings are named Daria and Bellamy, and apparently her Bellamy is quite the guy. Could've been deployed, but he has nine fingers because Auden slammed a door on it when they were kids on accident. She's amazing at storytelling, I already know so much about her and I feel like I'll never get enough of hearing her talk.

I think I really like her, Mama.

Daniel."

Private Daniel Jackson's mother sighs contentedly at the letter, taking it from her husband and looking at the scrawled drawing on the back one last time, before placing it neatly back down in the pile.

John breaths through his nose, picking up another letter. This one has no drawings.

"Dear Mama,

I am well, happier knowing training is going to be over in a few weeks. Yes, Ma, they're feeding me, and yes, I'm warm at night. Please don't worry so much about me right now, this is the safest I'll be for a long time.

I'm writing to tell you that I'm in love with Auden, and I know it. She kissed me yesterday, in the warm light of the sunset beating down on the base. She made sure we were alone behind our barracks, and did it.