Ricochet

Parting with Such Sweet Sorrow [Oliver]

[The beginning of their relationship started off with Elliot being drafted into WWI, leaving Oliver so soon into the relationship, he found out that he was ineligible because of certain mental issues. They wrote each other every day, Oliver from the comfort of his small one bedroom, one bathroom, cottage in the countryside, and Elliot from the bullet filled trenches of where he was stationed. These are their letters.]

[From the desk of Oliver Siwater to Elliot McKinley]

October 12th, 1914.

"My Dearest Elliot,

Though it has only been a mere two hours since our last kiss, my lips long for your embrace. I crave your touch, your memory now clouded by your absence. I ran into Mrs. Jones [Mrs. Margaret M Jones, wife of James Jones Sr, mother of James Jones Jr, stay at home mother. Born June 12th, 1883, died December 5th, 1914.] at the market, she queried as to why I wasn't being drafted. I attempted to brush off the question but she kept insisting. I pondered for only a moment about what fallacy I could spin to her, before I thought of it; I simply told her my paperwork got smudged, henceforth rendering my admission null. You should have seen my face, I was so terribly pleased with myself. I practically skipped home, all I could think about was my success. I would venture to guess that I had just narrowly avoided rumors for a few more weeks.

I know that I need to figure out a better solution to our problem. I don't know what to do with myself when you're gone. I worry you may never come home to me, maybe you'll find a better looking, more charming soldier boy and run away with him? I am just so frazzled. You and I have barely gotten time to love and yet you're ripped from my arms for months - possibly years! - at a time. I am just so mixed up, I don't know my left foot from my right. Your boots are in the hallway, I tried them on this morning. And I have to say, Mr. McKinley, the rumor about men with big hands and feet are true.

Our bed felt so empty, the dip on your side of the bed smelt faintly of your cologne; rich, cool, and earthy. It smelt like the nape of your neck after helping you shave, it was still slightly warm from your body heat. I urged my body to stay closer to your fleeting warmth but I realized soon I had to get up. It felt like being stripped of my only solace, I felt like crying. After our kiss in the train car, I kept tracing my lips with my thumb (just as you had done, two hours prior), thinking to myself, 'How did I find such a gentleman, demanding one final flirtatious collide of our lips to combine our shared sorrow. Oh how I will miss him terribly.'.

I laid in our bed for three more hours after grabbing our groceries. I made your favorite supper tonight, I even made you peach cobbler using freshly picked peaches from the market. They were perfectly ripe, I blanched and peeled them, sliced and arranged them in that cross-hatch pattern you like, then set it to bake for an hour. Muscle-memory must have taken over me, as I set the table for two. I sat in my seat, debating on whether or not I should put your dishes back into the cupboards. I finally decided that it felt more like you were there when there was a place mat set for you. I couldn't stop myself from crying as I watched the clock face arrive at the time you would usually be home from your job at the factory. It just really struck a chord within me; you're really gone. I can't run to you and bury my face into the harsh thread of your collar. I won't be able to melt into your arms when things get rough, and we won't be able to kiss like our very souls relied on each others breath, stolen from each kiss. Or fervently pressing our bodies together on cold nights, just to feel the touch of each others smooth skin. I cried to myself, wishing you were here, praying that you were safe.

I so desperately want to hear back from you as soon as possible. Promise me you'll come home to me, to be in my loving caress.

Stay strong, my handsome soldier boy. I love you more than you could ever know.

Yours, forever and always,

Oliver"


[Siwater sent his letters via message carrier, he always managed to send a letter to his McKinley every single day without fail. Though sometimes his messages were delayed based on McKinley's station changes.]