15 Letters

Prologue: April 08, 2020

6:21 pm

I glanced back and forth between the rearview mirror and the radio screen more than usual today. First a reflective surface, and then a transparent. One dark, depressing, and detrimental as death itself, and one with pixel lines that lit a lusty luminescence, so lucid that light silver and dark white could be distinguished with the eyesight of a 65 year old man, or mine, which barely identify objects beyond forty feet away.

Will Zhang. Such a name is a bold statement. My height resembles that of a giant--large muscular build, but a small brain mass, similar to a child. These eyes say much more than just Asian or chinky; it reads Korean, the side I am proud of, with a dash of Chinese to the side.

My life is like my ethnicity--a mix of opposites. A suburban man, living a legend of sniper authority in the Marines. A towering tree, slipping its roots to reveal patches of groundwater. A sleeping giant, confused of who began his awakening.

**********

Sunset beams of golden and bright bronze ignited a jagged rift in the mirror, but nonetheless were left unvictorious against the glass-hardiness of the past. I was blinded in heavenly shades, an octave darker than usual.

In the mirror, I saw an invisible car, chasing me with the only intention of demolishing my radio screen. My only source of protection was the pop music that whispered softly around the speakers of my Chevy Camaro. Light melody. Direct definition. Uplifting message.

At first, it was just a safety check, but then it quickly escalated into a car chase against my own imagination. It was something more than just a ghostly, platinum Rolls Royce, rolling closer and closer to my rear bumper. No, it was just a dark mirage. An image of what paradise really looked like--that's what it really was; just monochromatic visualization.

The car was my fears, stresses, and nightmares, all fused into a spectral automobile. I wanted to pull over and take a break--I wasn't going to put up with my irrationality at the moment.

Maybe it's the stress, I muttered to myself. And in the midst of my mental insanity, I almost lost control of the pedals. My forehead slammed hard into the roof of the low-positioned vehicle--which was specifically designed for anyone but 76 inches in height--as I braked to a halt from over 60 miles per hour. "Holy s***!" I screamed, as I merely missed the SUV in front of me by mere inches. If anything, the Southbound 5 Freeway to Mission Bay is the worst road to take when facing concentration and hallucination issues.

4:36 pm

1 hour, 31 minutes, and 15 seconds.

I had waited too long already. Any additional second would drive me insane. I hadn't received any information about what was going on or why I was here. I honestly didn't know what to expect.

I had been sitting for a while now, anticipating my fate. Around me, 20 fellow Marines sat the same way I was, anxious and jittery. If you listened hard enough, you could make out a cadence of boots against the tiles. Left.... Right... Left... Right... Left.... Right.... Left...

I seemed to be intoxicated on cocaine. I could've been a very high soldier. Maybe even a parachuter. My head was lost above the clouds. That's how I felt then; I was so unconscious and unfocused that I couldn't interpret my own thoughts. In fact, there were none. I had no thoughts. I was lost in my own nothingness.

"Sergeant Zhang, you're up." It was Corporal Gutierrez--a man of no dignity and infinite loyalty--flashing his middle finger and a stupid smirk at my face, as he walked backwards, luring me into the room that he had just came out from.

"Capt'n Healey wants you."

********

"Sergeant Zhang... you still have anemia, right?"

"Yes, ma'am."

"Any other physical conditions that I may need to know of?"

"No, ma'am."

The room was plain grey, decorated with just a oak desk, three plastic folding chairs, and a bookcase of medical records and service jackets. And then there was Captain Healey, the Medical Officer for the unit.

She had that kind of dark, proper etiquette that you would find in a villain, but also an observant, nurturing aura that made you feel safe, even in a dark room. She was the only officer in the command to ever call me "Will", despite my name neutrality.

She was young for a 40 year old, barely showing dry and saggy skin. Strange that I had the time to count the invisible wrinkles on her face.

"You're cleared for war..."

"What's next, ma'am?"

"Just stay tuned through email, and remember to report to the airfield on July 23rd."

6:37 pm

It happened for real this time--right into the left blinker of a metallic red Tacoma. The driver, a bushy, beer-bellied man in his 40's, hopped out of his truck with what looked like a baseball bat embellished with 2 inch nails wrapping around the surface. He wore a low-cut muscle shirt, despite his physical inactiveness, and typical swimming shorts that were stained blood, from all the red wine he split onto his heart. He hobbled toward my window shield, his face flushed red, either from anger or from that shot of Vodka he drank 15 minutes ago.

It wasn't my fault, though. It was the mysterious car again. The same one that tried to kill me just minutes ago. I changed lanes, maneuvering from the fear, but the truck in front decided to slow down.

I launched out of the car, only to see the man clobber my windshield, screaming: "You broke my blinker. You broke it! I can't see now. I can't see without my blinkers!"

Good thing the cops came in time.

********

I'm going to court.

It's an even fighting field, though. Me being sued for Vehicle Assault; the old man for Physical Assault with a Deadly Weapon. He could try, but the worst punishment I could receive is a fine--maybe fifteen grand, at most.

The only problem is the rest of the trip home. How am I going to get back? I know, for a fact, that my paycheck for the month is going to waste.

The man tried to kill me.

Etsuko will kill me.

And next thing you know, ISIS fighters will kill me, too.

And to think that I will be leaving about 3 months. Only 100 days from now--if I make it all the way through--I'll be gone in Syria.

My mom, Joo Hee Kim, will be praying to God that I make it out alive. My dad, Hui-Lin Zhang, will be blessing me with his courage and pride, from his solitary house up in the clouds. My girlfriend, Etsuko Kato, will be the most affected. She will be writing letters, waiting for me to come home. I think I've hinted at her before, but when I come back home to San Diego, I'll be proposing.

I got to start saying my goodbyes.