day 1: leaving
My dear Jessica,
It has been five months since I first left you. Back then, I barely understood how I could leave – you, our home. Our bed.
All this time, I have kept your picture close to me, in my breast pocket. I imagine it’s the best place to keep my wife, nearby my heart. It’s my favorite one of you. It was from the one time we had a picnic with our neighbors, out on the hills during that summer. Do you remember? The state was rationing more heavily than I could ever recall, and we were saving up on that stash of apple chips and patties for weeks. Remember when we asked Clark and Sarah to join us? After they overcame their surprise, it was a truly fine day.
When I hold my pen still, I close my eyes thinking back on that day. I had not been handling my camera for very long, and it was one of the first shots I took. While I prepared the film for exposure, Sarah was telling us a story about her friend at the Corps hospital. I waited for it to end, and then I opened the light filter just as you were laughing. It was the most beautiful moment of my life, and I happened to get it on film. Maybe so I could keep it in my right pocket.
I hated leaving you.
We all knew it was coming though, wasn’t it? Clark left us for the Corps only about a month after that day. And then, me. I worried then, as I worry now, that the war at the front could not have been going so well. How many of our friends became conscripts before the post came to us? I hated leaving you. I still see you standing by the door. Holding that envelope.
You couldn’t imagine how guarded our lives are. I think we owe a lot to the Corps. Do you know that I actually have my own rifle? Theo Calvin, a friend of mine I met at the training camps, told me that they are of the “hunting variety.” It’s strange. Did you know that the officers back at town are strictly forbidden from carrying arms? Maybe I never noticed. But when I got to handle my first rifle, I was terrified.
When we aren’t training in uniform – which includes helmets that look like upside-down tin plates – the camp is a small town. We are allowed to “fraternize” with each other in our suits and top hats, like real men, and we have weekly dances with the nursing staff and the superiors. They even have a market where we can trade in our allowance of chits. Trying to make us forget about home.
I am sorry I haven’t written sooner, but the paper rations have been very strict. We have to use most of them for the map readings. (Theo Calvin actually gave me this one.) I don’t know when this letter will reach our home, Jessica, but by the time it does, I will be at the front. The trucks have been pulling into camp all night, and well into the morning. The lieutenant who trained us, a Mr. Matthew Marlowe, only told us last night over dinner to make the Corps proud, and to not be afraid. They have trained us very well, so I am not worried. Besides, the lieutenant even told us that we might not have to fire a shot, because all we were doing was reinforcing the Corps lines along the border, and that’s enough to keep them from trying to come in. We may be home in time for next summer. I think that was meant to reassure us, but it sounded like forever to me.
Mr. Marlowe and I have spoken a few times over our gins, and he has given me permission to bring my camera along with the rest of my uniform. It’s usually unallowed, because of the extra weight, but I am still one of the only picturemen in the Corps, and they might need it for the papers. Maybe you will see some of the other men in my battalion soon.
When I first left for camp so many months ago, we actually crossed over the same hills where we had that picnic. I could still see the town, so I used up some film for it. I hope you like it.
I’m sorry for writing so small, but it’s the paper. I don’t know when I’ll be able to write again, but I promise that I will try.
My darling Jessica. It has been so hard falling asleep without you.
Always,
Trent
yesterday
- tomorrow
