Banter 381 - Memorial Day
Letter & Postscript (by Theosymphany & Nimrod262)
When @theosymphany posted his Banter 381, it moved me to pen a postscript. But âstuffâ happened, and I never posted it. So here they both are, together at last, just like Chris and Piers:
Howâre you doing? Itâs⊠been ages since I wrote. I know. Sorry. How terrible of me, but hey, Iâm trying now. Itâs Memorial Day, here in the US anyway. I know you guys donât do that at Far East branch. Itâs a struggle honestly. Although there are many days I just want to forget it all, I know itâs incredibly selfish if I did that and not try, even for a day, to remember the others that could have been here, but arenât. Footballâs on, and people are out partying but I wonât. Yes, it hurts, and Iâm in pain trying to remember, but at least Iâm still here.
It could have been you here.
No, I hear you. I know exactly what you would have said. Iâm quite alright. Iâm making the most of my days. I spent the day with Chris. We sent out the cards to the families a few days ago. I made sure he put aside time to sign them all. Itâs one of the more heartfelt and gut-wrenching parts of our job, but we have a good crew. Saw many of them in a simple service at the chapel. Not many dry eyes in that service. Yeah, thankfully neither Chris or I needed to do speeches this time. A couple of the young widowers, men and women spoke or sang a tribute. It was a simple but fitting way to have them be part of it all.
Chris and I took a walk through the woods in the afternoon. He needed the activity and I needed the sun. Exercise was always good. We didnât say much, but we held hands and walked together after fording the stream. I know itâs weird saying it, but his hand always feels good in mine. Protective. Certain. We sat and listened to the stream rushing by in a nice patch of sun. I sat in the Vee of his legs and he held me. Youâd have been proud. Weâre going real strong. Most of that awkwardness I kept telling you about was gone. Chris really has a fun goofy side when he lets his guard down or isnât angry about things. Iâve been working on getting him to smile more. He has a few smile lines on his face at least. Me? Iâm turning 30 in a few months! I walk around on base and the kids just seem so young, straight outta high school or something. Hard to think that was us back then. Time really does fly.
Six years now Merah. I really wish youâd been all part of it all, but hey I know heaven is pretty neat. I did almost join you there. I caught up with Dr Kaison a while ago. Heâs been hiding from the media after publishing a bunch of their research with Rebecca. Says if this goes on heâd have to be an agent like you and leave the lab behind. I mean heâd be hopeless with a gun, but heâd be good with a knife and having another medic ainât too bad. He says he turned down a professorship offer stateside. Heâs not chasing the academic path anymore and says our labs are better funded anyway. Jill is pretty pleased with that, though Iâm sure Rebecca twisted his arm a bit, or a lot.
Chris says hi and he misses you. Says he doesnât have excuses to try weird Asian noodle joints anymore. Truth is he keeps taking me to my favorite places that we never get to the new ones! Alas, canât complain if he keeps me fed and sated, and probably fat if I didnât have work to keep me on my toes. Iâm still working with Cerberus. I sat them down the other day and instead of another crazy workout we talked. I talked about loss, and why Iâm here. I told them about you and how their most despised officer wouldnât have been around if my fellow hard-ass partner didnât take it upon herself to defy fate. I spoke about the two partners I had on duty. Of how you saved my life, and I saved Chrisâs. The crew were pretty spooked about that, but I make no pretense weâre here to rub egos and sing Kumbaya. On the frontlines itâs dangerous shit. Luck, training and an eye out for each other is all we got. Maybe I do take after Chris after all, minus the inspirational Dadfield stuff. I tell my boys they go hard or go home in a box. Donât tell him I said that.
Itâs good to write. Exactly what I needed today. Thanks for always being there and listening. Youâre a friend for life. Gonna sit with Chris a bit. Heâs quiet and doesnât cope well with thoughts on his own. Heâs supposed to be trying to write his book but heâs often sitting their pen in mouth staring in space. Ah well. Heâll get round to it when he does.
Piers carefully pressed the letter onto the blotting pad. Then he folded the letter neatly, took out an envelope from the side drawer, and put the letter inside it. On the front of the envelope he wrote Merah Biji, and beneath that, in the same neat, precise hand, May 28th, 2018 (Memorial Day)
He slowly screwed the cap back on his fountain pen, placing it in itâs customary position in the well on the top of his desk. Then he pressed the envelope down on the plotting paper and placed it in a second drawer, where it joined the many others that would never to be posted. And it was then that Piers began to feel the first stirrings of trouble.
Careful, neat, precise, customary. Duty done, honor served, guilt assuaged, emotions mastered. And for a brief moment Piers hated himself, the man who told his crew to go in hard. The man who was, perhaps, the ultimate hard-ass himself. He wanted to scream, throw the pen against the wall, tear the letters into shreds until his fingers bled and the blotting paper turned crimson ⊠until ⊠until he proved to himself he was flesh and blood, not some cold, heartless automaton. Then just as quickly the cool, ruthless logic returned and started to impose order on the potential chaos. And thatâs when Piers Nivans realized that half of him wanted to cry, and that the other half wouldnât let him. He had to grip the desk as he stood up, his body was shaking so much. He looked askance at the white knuckles.
Chris was sat at his own desk, chewing absentmindedly on the end of his biro. Heâd long since stopped staring at the blank sheet of paper in front of him. His eyes were now focussed through and beyond it. Looking for something, anything, that would somehow magically materialize as words on the page. He didnât expect to find them. The harder he looked, the more the likelihood decreased. The sheet of paper, like his mind, remained stubbornly empty. But though his gaze was distant, his other senses remained alert, keen. Motion, there, to his right.
âAh, you done now Ace? I could do with your help. I was gonnaâ start with chapter one, but then I remembered I donât even have a title. Any suggestions?â
âAce, are you alright? You look kinda âŠâ
The pale face crumpled and the slender arms reached out. âChrisâŠâ
Chris stood up so quickly he knocked his chair over. âPiers! Piers, what is it? Come here. Oh Babe, whatâs wrong?â He enveloped his partner in tight embrace.
âChris ⊠can ⊠can I cry? Will you mind?â
âMind? Of course not Baby, better out than in, you taught me that. Come on now, let it all go.â
Piers didnât remember Chris picking him up in his arms, didnât remember being carried to the bedroom or being undressed. The tears and the sobs blotted out those memories. What he did remember were the strong hands that held him throughout the night, the feeling of protection they gave, of certainty that things would get better.
And so Piers cried, and Chris cried with him, but the embrace never faltered, not once. Neither did the soothing words and tender kisses. Chris didnât know exactly why Piers was upset. He had his suspicions, but it didnât matter. What mattered was being there, being supportive, and returning the love his partner always gave him so freely.
Piers didnât remember when he stopped crying, or when he fell asleep. But when he awoke he was still in Chrisâ arms. A craggy face smiled back at him.â
âYeah, thanks ⊠Um, sorry, for last night, emotions caught me of guard. Memorial Day, writing to Merah. It brought back so many memories. Something snapped. I let myself down.â
âNo you didnât Piers. You made yourself stronger. These last few years youâve helped me to deal with my emotions, not keep them bottled up. And youâve done the opposite. Youâve been so focussed on me, youâve forgotten to look after yourself, something had to give.â
âI know. Been there, seen the movie, written the book ⊠well, not quite yet ⊠Thatâs still a work in progress. Ha!â
âWill you help me? You know, talk it through? All those memories?â
âThatâs what Iâm here for, Piers. Now you get a shower whilst I get breakfast. Then weâll go for a walk and a chat, eh?â
âDown to the stream? I like it there.â
âSo do I. But what I really like is the holding hands part when we get there.â
âYouâre good at that.â
âYou too, my love. And one day, in the far-off future, times like this will be our memories. Good ones.â
