THIS STORY IS BASED OFF OF TRAVELING SOLDIER (the song)
I noticed he was standing alone. Waiting for the bus with his green, army jacket slung sloppily over his shoulder. His back relaxed against the wall and his eyes focused on the ground. After a minute, he looked up at the schedule board. The next bus wouldn’t arrive for 20 minutes or so, so he made his way toward the cafe. I looked away, turning back to the lady I was helping. I handed her the tea she ordered, but my attention was still captured by the soldier.
“Anything else, Miss?” I asked, politely. She shook her head slightly and handed me a handful of coins.
“No, thank you,” She said. She smiled and sat herself down at a table nearby. I was just picking up my grungy copy of The Bell Jar when the soldier walked in. He walked over to a booth in the corner, with his hands buried deep into his pockets. He threw his jacket on the bench beside him, and discarded his hat onto the table. I walked over, adjusting the white bow in my hair and carrying the coffee pot and a large mug.
“Coffee?” I asked, pouring it into the cup before an answer. He nodded and looked up at me. “What’s your name?” He asked, taking the coffee and placing his cold hands around the mug. I paused for a moment.
“Jessamine,” I said, slowly, startled by his curiosity. “Why?” I asked. I put the coffee pot down on the table and looked over at him. I smiled, noticing he was shy. He shrugged in return and I took my notepad out of my pocket, ready to write his order down.
“I don’t know. Just wondering. Things ain’t really goin’ my way,” He said, wrapping his hands even tighter around the mug. “Mind talking to me?” When he said this he looked up at me and I finally saw his face clearly. I don’t know what made me say it but I opened my mouth and looked him in the eye.
“I’m off in an hour. Stay till then?” I asked. He smiled a little and nodded. I began to walk away then turned back. “And your name is?” I asked, tucking my notepad into the pocket of my apron and smiling. Finally, he returned my grin.
“James,” He said, taking a sip of his coffee. I nodded and started back to the kitchen when he said, “Oh, and, mind getting me something to eat? Jessamine?” I turned, smiled, and continued toward the back of the cafe.
* * * * * *
An hour had passed, and James was still seated at that booth, drinking his third cup of coffee. Finishing my shift, I took off my apron and placed it in my bag, which I brought to the booth with me when I made my way towards James.
“You ready?” I asked, swinging my bag over my shoulder and patting down my skirt. “I was thinking maybe we could go to the pier? The Cafe’s closing soon,” I said, as the end of The Letter by The Box Tops, played on the radio. That song was getting old as it had been popular all summer. James looked up from his empty plate and mug.
“Ok,” He said simply. He left the dishes on the table, along with some coins he had pulled from his pocket. “Let’s go.”
So we left the cafe and the bus stop, and made our way down to the pier. The sky was dappled with fog and clouds that shaded us from the sun. We walked along the concrete pier and talked a little. He told me about his family and of just a year ago when he was drafted.
“Why are you here then?” I asked, as we sat ourselves down at the end of the pier. He shrugged.
“I was sent back after my shift. I have to leave again today, though,” He said. I looked over at him, but don’t say anything. His face was dark and I could see the sadness in his eyes. “My family died last year and I have no one else,” He added, looking down at the water. “I really need to talk to someone, Jessamine. Is it alright if I write to you?” I smiled at him pulling my orange dress which was dotted with small white circles down over my knees.
“Of course,” I said. I waited for him to speak again, but he didn’t. Instead he slipped his hand into mine, and as taken aback as I was, I didn’t pull away.
We sat there for a while, looking out onto the water, and finally, when he had to leave, I pulled out some paper and scribbled down my address. Before leaving and making his way down the now-deserted pier, he gave me one last smile and goodbye.
The letters came from various places, monthly and sometimes even more often . First from California, then from parts of Vietnam. Every time one arrived, I ripped it open and read it, eagerly. I sent some letters back to him, although I wasn’t sure James got them, seeing as he was constantly moving. The letters were funny, always making me laugh hard. They were also sweet and gentle, telling me that he missed me. I missed him greatly too, despite the fact that we’d only spent a matter of hours together.
Months passed, until almost a year had gone by. His letters became less frequent and soon enough, they stopped coming at all. I became worried about him but assured myself everything was fine. Every time a list of dead soldiers was read, I froze until it was over, clenching my fists in anticipation.
It was the middle of March, 1967, and I was standing under the bleachers with the rest of the band at the football game. The marching band I was part of had played at halftime. I had always hated performing but I needed the extra money. The game ended, and fans of the winning team cheered while the players on the bench spilled onto the field to join their excited teammates.
The crowd quieted down, and a man, flanked by others, stepped onto the field and made his way to the center. He cleared his throat.
“We honor the soldiers that have given their lives, and much more to fighting this battle. We know that they have done well and fought hard to achieve our goals. Now, we shall pay tribute to the ones who have passed on, during this past month. Please be silent as we honor their lives,” He lifted a paper and focused his eyes on it. I grew still and looked at the ground, anticipating his voice. He spoke, listing names of people who had died. Everyone stayed silent except for the occasional weep or cry. “Michael Evans, Samuel Frank, Carson Deeran, James Miller.” He said the last name then lowered the paper.
I glanced up onto the field. There had to be some mistake, he couldn’t have died. He was here, with me. I ran until I was away from the group and alone under the bleachers. I leaned against a cold pole and hugged my long, vibrant coat around me. I began to cry just as I heard the man close the ceremony.
“Thank you all, and I hope you will never forget the lives our country has lost.” People began to get up and find their way to an exit. I stayed where I was. James couldn’t be gone. I sat there quietly thinking about our time together on the beach. I didn’t remember it very clearly but there was one thing that stood out. James had held my hand and looked out onto the water.
“You know, Jessamine,” He had said. “People believe that war is what’s taking our loved ones from us, but I don’t agree. I think that just because they aren’t breathing anymore, doesn’t mean they aren’t still with us, holding our hands and walking us through life.” I thought of him now, and what he had said. I had never thought such a wonderful person could say anything so wrong.
