Dear Thann: A Memorial Day Short

The Letter

 Dear Thann,

      it's Jake.  Your mom wouldn't stop crying today.  They had to stop the service because her sobs were so loud.  I'm guessing she couldn't handle it all, but, you know, I could be wrong.  I didn't cry.  I don't think I could've.  There were too many faces, too many people; there was no way.

      It's funny.  I used to hate you.  Everything I wanted, you had.  I always sort of hoped that you'd get in trouble for something so I could confirm you were the small town jerk I always thought you were.  A part of me wishes I still hated you because maybe that would make this easier, but I know it's only naivete.

      I thought I understood you pretty well, but there were times I felt like I didn't know you at all.  How you were in the goddamn MARINES and I never heard you swear once.  You'd laugh at me for pointing that out.  Your face turned red when you laughed.  Did you know that?

      I wish you hated me.  You should hate me.  Why don't you hate me?  I shouldn't be alive.  I'd swap places with you in a heartbeat.  I will forever be haunted by the life you could've had if I hadn't screwed everything up.  I will never escape the lump in my throat when I drive by the city where you're buried.  I will never escape the memory of your shredded body raining down on my gear, my helmet.  I can never escape you.

      You always said your God was good.  But how is this good?  I don't know.  I don't know anything anymore.  I just feel numb.

      I don't think I can keep writing.  Maybe it's the alcohol or the fact that I haven't slept since yesterday, but everything is blurring together like smudged ink.  You always said I hid my emotions well.  How's this for change?  Funny how life works.  Funny how you never see the change coming.

Jake W.