I stare out my window at the streets of Boston. They are bustling with life, despite the war. I think about the young men marching by a week ago, heading to the airport to be shipped to Germany. Then I think about the wars going on over in Europe. I think about my father fighting for his country. A tear runs down my cheek. "I miss him too." someone says from behind me. The sweet scent of chocolate cookies wafts in. I turn around and take a cookie from the plate my mother is holding. "Help yourself. Make sure Michael and Sara get some, too," she says with a wink, "because we definitely need some sweets during this time of tension." I think again about dad over in Germany. I wonder why he isn't writing. Maybe he is preparing for a battle and doesn't have time. Maybe the base is out of paper or pens and pencils and the next shipment hasn't come in yet. Another though darts across my mind and I shudder. I don't dare to consider it but that little obnoxious voice still says it anyways. Maybe he's been killed. Another tear rolls down my cheek and Mother wipes it away with her finger. "Don't think like that. It's not true." she whispers to me. It's like she can read my mind. She probably can.
"DO I SMELL COOKIES?!?!?!" yells an excited Michael. It's like he's pulled the trigger on a gun the way he and Sara stampede into the room. "Pace yourselves!" Mom says forcefully, trying to suppress a laugh at the sight of Michael stuffing his face with cookies and Sara trying desperately to get a hold of one. After four or five of the large cookies stuffed into his cheeks he shoves Sara out of the way and she is flung back and slammed hard into the wall. Mom drops the plate and runs to Sara, who's sobbing. Six-year-olds are so easily injured, and the force of that push was hard. I run and pull Michael away from the cookies. "You'd think a fourteen-year-old boy could be more mature. Or have feelings." I say to my twin brother. He sighs. "I can't help it! They're soooooo gooooood!" he replies defensively. "Whatever." I say in return.
Around 10:00 pm Mom tells us to go to bed. I do so obediently, but Michael has a little trouble. After he's in bed too I pull out a pen and notepad and begin writing a letter to Dad.
"Dear Dad,
Where are you? Is the camp out of paper? I hope you can write ASAP. We all miss you back home. Especially Mom. She seems worried. You should try hard to write. That will comfort her a lot. But she baked cookies for us today! That means she isnt insane from missing you. We will save some cookies for you. Twenty-three of them.
Sara's doing pretty good. She misses you, but we all do. We hope you can come home for christmas! It's only a month away.
Michael says hi. He also says please bring back another twig-ball. I don't know what that is though. Never mind, Michael told me. Bring one for me too, please.
Mom says hello. She says she loves you to peices and misses you very much. She's planning a nice dinner for when you come home.
Please please please write very soon. I love you so much. So do Michael, Sara, and Mom.
With love, Amber."
I fold the paper and slip it into an envelope to mail tomorrow. Then I climb into my bed and close my eyes.
My eyes open softly to the early gray morning light. Michael is still snoring in his bed. I get up and dressed then head into the kitchen. "I'm going to deliver the letter, Mom." I say. "Be quick, honey" I slip on my boots and open the front door. "Back in a few!" I say as I close the door behind me.
Finally, for once I've beat the people who wake up so early to get to work at their own game. The streets are still empty. "Is it that early?" I think aloud. Must be.
A block later I'm at the post bin. I slip the letter in and whisper to the letter, "Love you dad." Then I turn and head home. A fewe minutes later Rose rides by on her bike to deliver the mail. "Mind if I take mine now Rose?" I ask her. "Sure!" she digs through her bag, and pulls out a stack of letters. "Here they are!" she hands them to me. "How many K.I.A. Letters were delivered today?" I ask her. "More than I'd like," she replies. "So one or more?"
"Exactly."
She gives me a sad look. "I better get going. Tell Michael and Sara I said hi!" She says.
"Take care!" I say. "You too!" she replies.
I walk off to home.
I open the door and pull my muddy boots off, then step inside. "Mail for you mom!" I say as I close the door. I hand her the stack and she begins looking through it. As the tosses each one on the floor she mutters "Bill, bill, bill, bill." I laugh to myself. Eventually she gets to one and she doesn't say 'bill'. Her face does go pale, though. Her eyes widen slightly. She cautiously opens the letter in her hand, and her face suddenly flushes of all it's color as she gasps and crumples onto the floor.
