Banter 381 - Memorial Day
Letter & Postscript (by Theosymphany & Nimrod262)
When @theosymphany posted his Banter 381, it moved me to pen a postscript. But ‘stuff’ happened, and I never posted it. So here they both are, together at last, just like Chris and Piers:
How’re you doing? It’s… been ages since I wrote. I know. Sorry. How terrible of me, but hey, I’m trying now. It’s Memorial Day, here in the US anyway. I know you guys don’t do that at Far East branch. It’s a struggle honestly. Although there are many days I just want to forget it all, I know it’s incredibly selfish if I did that and not try, even for a day, to remember the others that could have been here, but aren’t. Football’s on, and people are out partying but I won’t. Yes, it hurts, and I’m in pain trying to remember, but at least I’m still here.
It could have been you here.
No, I hear you. I know exactly what you would have said. I’m quite alright. I’m 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. It’s 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 didn’t say much, but we held hands and walked together after fording the stream. I know it’s 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. You’d have been proud. We’re 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 isn’t angry about things. I’ve been working on getting him to smile more. He has a few smile lines on his face at least. Me? I’m 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 you’d 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. He’s been hiding from the media after publishing a bunch of their research with Rebecca. Says if this goes on he’d have to be an agent like you and leave the lab behind. I mean he’d be hopeless with a gun, but he’d be good with a knife and having another medic ain’t too bad. He says he turned down a professorship offer stateside. He’s not chasing the academic path anymore and says our labs are better funded anyway. Jill is pretty pleased with that, though I’m sure Rebecca twisted his arm a bit, or a lot.
Chris says hi and he misses you. Says he doesn’t 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, can’t complain if he keeps me fed and sated, and probably fat if I didn’t have work to keep me on my toes. I’m 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 I’m here. I told them about you and how their most despised officer wouldn’t have been around if my fellow hard-ass partner didn’t 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 Chris’s. The crew were pretty spooked about that, but I make no pretense we’re here to rub egos and sing Kumbaya. On the frontlines it’s 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. Don’t tell him I said that.
It’s good to write. Exactly what I needed today. Thanks for always being there and listening. You’re a friend for life. Gonna sit with Chris a bit. He’s quiet and doesn’t cope well with thoughts on his own. He’s supposed to be trying to write his book but he’s often sitting their pen in mouth staring in space. Ah well. He’ll 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 it’s 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 that’s when Piers Nivans realized that half of him wanted to cry, and that the other half wouldn’t 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. He’d 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 didn’t 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.
“Ah, you done now Ace? I could do with your help. I was gonna’ start with chapter one, but then I remembered I don’t even have a title. Any suggestions?”
“Ace, are you alright? You look kinda …”
The pale face crumpled and the slender arms reached out. “Chris…”
Chris stood up so quickly he knocked his chair over. “Piers! Piers, what is it? Come here. Oh Babe, what’s wrong?” He enveloped his partner in tight embrace.
“Chris … can … can I cry? Will you mind?”
“Mind? Of course not Baby, better out than in, you taught me that. Come on now, let it all go.”
Piers didn’t remember Chris picking him up in his arms, didn’t 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 didn’t know exactly why Piers was upset. He had his suspicions, but it didn’t matter. What mattered was being there, being supportive, and returning the love his partner always gave him so freely.
Piers didn’t remember when he stopped crying, or when he fell asleep. But when he awoke he was still in Chris’ arms. A craggy face smiled back at him.“
“Yeah, 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.”
“No you didn’t Piers. You made yourself stronger. These last few years you’ve helped me to deal with my emotions, not keep them bottled up. And you’ve done the opposite. You’ve been so focussed on me, you’ve forgotten to look after yourself, something had to give.”
“I know. Been there, seen the movie, written the book … well, not quite yet … That’s still a work in progress. Ha!”
“Will you help me? You know, talk it through? All those memories?”
“That’s what I’m here for, Piers. Now you get a shower whilst I get breakfast. Then we’ll go for a walk and a chat, eh?”
“Down to the stream? I like it there.”
“So do I. But what I really like is the holding hands part when we get there.”
“You too, my love. And one day, in the far-off future, times like this will be our memories. Good ones.”
