Class of Love (Letters From Home Series Book 1) Page 3
Dear SPC Miller (our teacher told us how to write your name),
I hope you like the cookies. My mom and I made them. We didn’t want to just send you some candy, but made our Thanksgiving cookies instead. I hope you get to have turkey on Thanksgiving. Do they have turkeys over there? If not, then maybe you can have a chicken. If you like the cookies, then let me know and I’ll have mom make more. Chloe
Realizing I had never had a pumpkin spice cookie, I reached over to the bag and opened the zip-lock. The cookies had been carefully wrapped in the t-shirt and were still whole. As soon as the bag opened, I got a whiff of delicious pumpkin, nutmeg, and ginger. Taking a bite, I was transported back to before mom died, when she baked all the traditional foods for Thanksgiving, including pumpkin pie. Chewing slowly to savor each morsel, I leaned against the headboard of my bed, making sure to lick the crumbs off my fingers. I gotta tell Chloe that her mom is a world-class baker.
Dear Specialist Miller,
I really like that you have the word specialist in front of your name. Does that mean you are special at something? We have a special board in the room where our best work gets shown. Ms. Thompson says that you have to spend the holidays over in Afgani Afghanistan. I think that is a hard word to spell. I’ll go to my dad’s for Thanksgiving. He’s got a new family now so I don’t know if I’ll have a good time. I get to stay at home for Christmas. Do you get to go home for Christmas?
I had just finished reading a few more notes, when Jon poked his head in and yelled, “Come on. Get cleaned up. We’re all going to the DFAC. They got turkey!” Others came in from their showers and the room began to fill. Thoughts of the dining facility had me stuffing the letters and goodies in my footlocker, deciding to finish reading them later when I had more privacy.
Grabbing my toiletries and towel, I ran to the showers, washing the dust and sand out of my hair and off my body. Within fifteen minutes, I joined Jon and my buddies in the service line. The scent of turkey and gravy, along with mashed potatoes filled the tent and looking around I knew the line was only going to get longer as soon as everyone figured out what they were serving. Reaching the end, I saw the desserts…pies. Looked like apple and pumpkin were left and I grabbed a slice of apple.
Weaving between the chairs, Jon and I made our way to where our squad was seated. Long rows of tables filled the room with bottles of condiments, salt, and pepper centered on each one.
Digging into dinner, Jon looked over and asked, “So who sent the package?”
Swallowing, I replied, “That class of kids. They sent some more cookies—”
“Homemade?” he interrupted, his expression mirroring a kid in a candy store. “You didn’t eat them all already, did you?”
“Sure they’re homemade and no, I didn’t eat them all yet. But there’s also Halloween candy.”
“Fuck yeah, that’s what I’m talking about!” he enthused.
As the conversation flowed all around me, I finished quickly. The desire to get back to finish reading the letters was overpowering. I didn’t understand the need, but it was a welcome feeling nonetheless to have someone to connect with. During my tours, I’d been envious of the married soldiers as they received letters or emails from wives or kids. The ones who were engaged could really get on my nerves with all their lovey-dovey shit, and the pin-up photos of hot looking girlfriends.
I was even envious of the soldiers who got letters and packages from parents or siblings. Hell, with mom gone, one sibling, and a dad that didn’t give a shit, that left me with no one back home to care enough to write. Until now.
Nodding toward Jon, I headed back out into the evening. The sun was setting over the mountains in the background. The sounds of the base all around were familiar and strangely comforting, but I looked forward to being back in the States. Sucking in a deep breath, I allowed myself to count down the months left on my tour. Seven months to go. As I arrived back at my tent, I immediately retrieved the envelope.
Dumping the entire contents onto my cot, I was surprised to find a picture that I had missed earlier, paper-clipped to the teacher’s note. Holding up the picture, my eyes roamed over the class of children, their beaming faces pointed toward the camera. But it was the woman standing behind them that captured my attention.
Dark, blonde hair, hanging down below her shoulders. Heart-shaped face. Pink lips posed in a wide smile. She must not be very tall since she was only a head taller than the boys standing in the back row. Each of her hands rested on the shoulders of the two boys nearest her. As my eyes reluctantly left her face, I noticed the relaxed smiles of the children. I’ll just bet she’s a sweet teacher…not like Mrs. Marsten!
Suddenly, now that I had a photograph, the letters seemed more real—they belonged to the faces I was staring at. Turning the picture over, I was thrilled to see the names of each child printed on the back. Now I could match up a note with a child. And there was her name. Brooke Thompson. Brooke. Damn…that name matches that gorgeous face.
Giving a mental shake, I reminded myself that she could be married…or engaged…or involved…or…fuck, stop! She’s just the teacher…nothing more!
Opening her letter, I was unable to stop the smile, already recognizing her neat handwriting.
Dear SPC Miller,
I want to thank you for answering our notes. The class was thrilled to receive your letter and, as you can see, they have lots of questions.
I sent a picture of the class (I had their parents’ approval) so this way you will be able to match up a child with their face. I wrote their names on the back for you. I thought perhaps it would seem more personal. And, if you are able to send a photograph of you, the children would love it.
The children have been busy with Thanksgiving activities and wanted to make sure that I got this out for you in time.
We would like to send you, and any of your friends, a Christmas box so please let me know what we can collect for you. We’ve been reading about what we can send and the children are very excited.
We are studying the geography, including the climate, of Afghanistan, so anything you have to say about those topics would be good also.
The children have been fascinated with the concept that your night is our day. They find is amusing that you are sleeping when they are in school and you are working when they are fast asleep. We have also been studying the solar system, particularly how the earth rotates and moves around the sun. We have a model in the room and that helps them to understand the different time zones.
Again, thank you for taking the time to share your experiences with us. Looking forward to hearing from you soon,
Brooke Thompson
I re-read the letter several times before pulling the class picture out again. Her smiling face seemed to reach across the continents and touch something deep inside. Sighing, I shook my head. Damn! It must be the holidays that’s got me so sentimental!
Shoving the letters back into the envelope, I slid the class picture into the top of my footlocker so that every time I opened the lid, the image would be front and center for me to see. An idea hit my mind and I leaped out of my bed, jogging past the dozens of look-alike tents until I came to the communications center. Stepping inside, I was grateful to see a couple of empty computers. Sliding into the metal chair, I checked my email first. Firing off a quick note to my older sister, now married with a couple of kids, I then deleted most of the spam in my feed.
Typing in Eastville Elementary School, I was pleased when their website came up with teachers’ pictures. Clicking on fourth grade, I saw her standing with four other women, all wearing the same T-shirt they had sent to me. Definitely petite, she was shorter than the others, but her smile was the same wide beam as the one with the children.
Glancing around to see if anyone was looking at my screen, I viewed everyone else’s attention plastered to their own computers. Opening Facebook, I quickly typed in Brooke Thompson. There were quite a few, but narrowing it to Chesapeake, Virginia, her prof
ile popped up.
My breath caught in my throat—her close-up profile picture was stunning. Green eyes, blonde hair, and kissable mouth sent my libido into overdrive. I searched her relationship status—Single. I had no idea why I had fixated on her…maybe I’ve been without a woman for too fuckin’ long! I spent several minutes clicking through her pictures, each one drawing me in further.
Closing down the computer, I walked back out into the night. The moon had risen over the horizon, the stars winking and, for a moment, I could close my eyes and almost pretend I was back home…anywhere but here.
Arriving at my tent, I nodded to Jon. Before he started bitching, I opened the footlocker and grabbed the pumpkin-spice cookies and tossed him the bag. Snatching them greedily, he began munching as I pulled out my paper and pen again, along with the kids’ letters. With renewed vigor, I eagerly began answering their questions.
Chapter 4
(December – Brooke)
If I eat one more piece of fudge or divinity or fruit cake, I won’t fit into my pants!
I walked into the teachers’ lounge during lunch, staring at the amount of holiday food on the counter, and almost walked out. But before I could escape, the other teachers sitting at the table called out their greetings.
Plopping down into the empty chair, I pulled my salad from my lunchbox, determined to eat healthy for once. The conversation circled around the table, each person talking about their holiday plans.
“You heading to Tennessee?” Heather asked.
Shaking my head, I explained, “This year my parents are taking a holiday cruise, so I’ll be spending the break here.”
“You aren’t going on the cruise with them? Oh, my God, I’d love to head to the Bahamas for the holidays.”
The thought of white, sandy beaches, blue skies, and warm sunshine elicited moans from the others, along with incredulous looks shot my way.
“I know, I know,” I nodded, spearing another piece of tomato. “But this is my parents’ thirtieth anniversary, and even though they invited me, I wanted them to have this time together.” I didn’t mention that while I loved my parents’ company, the idea of being the third wheel on a romantic cruise did not appeal to me.
“So what are you going to do?” Jeannie asked, her eyebrows raised at the idea of me staying in town for the holidays.
“I’ll just be at home,” I replied sharply, then tempered my response with a smile. “It’s fine…really. I’ll have my own holiday traditions.”
The conversation quickly turned from me and I gratefully shoved in the rest of my salad before making my way back to my class. The children had been bordering on unruly all week, their excitement about the holidays overflowing into our classroom. They kept asking about Specialist Miller, but so far we had no correspondence from him.
Sitting in my empty room for the few more minutes until my class returned, I heaved a sigh. I had not known how to answer their questions. Is he safe? Is he healthy? How have I gotten emotionally invested over a couple of months with just a few letters?
Hearing my door open, I looked up in surprise when the school secretary came in, a huge smile on her face. And in her hands…a thick envelope!
“Is that what I hope it is?” I asked, unable to keep the excitement out of my voice.
“I saw the mailman drop this off and I just had to bring it to you. Gloria has driven us crazy with wanting to hear from her soldier!”
The secretary’s granddaughter, Gloria, was in my class and kept insisting to her grandmother that he would surely write before the holidays.
As she handed the envelope to me, I thanked her before ripping it open. Inside were two smaller envelopes. One was marked For the Class and the other marked For Ms. Brooke Thompson. One for me?
Before I had a chance to process the reasons for a separate letter, the children rushed in from lunch, their voices raised in pre-holiday break jubilation. Standing, I gave my best teacher-look to quiet them, its success only marginal. So instead, I held up the envelope and waited until their eyes took in what I possessed.
Cries of “he wrote!” and “finally!” filled the air. The children quickly moved into their semi-circle so that we could read it together.
Taking my seat, I opened the one for the class, smiling as I recognized his handwriting.
Dear Class,
I wanted to thank you for the holiday goodies you sent. I shared them with friends and became very popular! I also read each of your letters many times. It was nice to have so many letters from back home in the United States. I tried to keep up with your questions and will answer as many as I can.
I work on helicopters. The Army uses helicopters for lots of things and the ones I work on are special. My job is to make sure they are working correctly so when the pilots are ready to fly, everything goes perfectly. We call the helicopters “birds” but to me, they look like enormous wasps.
I do have good friends here. One of my bunkmates loves your goodies as well, and I have to hide some from him or he would eat them all! During our non-work time, we can play pool, football, get on computers, read, and there is a gym for us to work out.
I know you are studying geography so I will tell you that I can see mountains right outside my tent. I am in a valley, but it is very dry and dusty here. We don’t get a lot of rain and there is very little grass where I am. It does rain here in the early spring and a little bit in the fall, but the late spring and summer are dry and hot. It can get well over 100 degrees in the summer months and close to 0 degrees in the winter. I see snow in the mountains but not at our base.
Your teacher said that she explained that I am on the opposite side of the world from you, so when you are asleep, I am working in the daylight and when it is night here, you are at school. My favorite time is night, when the stars and moon are very bright. That’s when I can pretend I am back at home in Virginia.
I hope this letter gets to you before the holidays and that each of you has a very Merry Christmas. We do get to celebrate here as well. They serve us turkey and ham, as well as potatoes and we have lots of cakes. We eat in the DFAC, which means dining facility, which is like a big cafeteria. I do miss eggnog and my mom used to make a really good applesauce cake for the holidays.
I really appreciate the class picture you sent. I made sure to study the names so that when I write to you, I am thinking of your name with your face. I am sending a picture of me in my Army uniform and perhaps your teacher can post it somewhere so that you will remember me.
Happy New Year and I can’t wait to hear from you again.
SPC Ethan Miller
With shaky fingers, I pulled out the picture, staring at it for a few seconds before the children began clambering for a view. Smiling, I stood and walked over to our map and pinned it next to Afghanistan. Lining the children up, I had them walk by, orderly, to see what he looked like, but have to admit, I could barely take my eyes off him.
He was dressed in the green Eastville Elementary t-shirt, his biceps bulging and his blue eyes twinkling as he smiled for the camera to capture. The children chattered as they passed by and immediately wanted to write back to him. Glancing at the clock, I decided that there was no other lesson worthier than their desire to send him notes…especially not in the last few hours before the holiday break.
Settling them at their desks, I moved back to mine. Sitting down, I observed the other envelope lying there, just calling to be opened. But not now. Decision made, I slid it into my purse, willing my curiosity to back off. Later…when I can focus on it…all by myself.
Emily had gone to her fiancé’s home for the weekend and had already left by the time I got home from work. I walked in, loaded down with several grocery bags, determined not to make more than one trip from my car. By the time I made it, I was glad to have a first-floor apartment. Dropping everything down on the floor, I was grateful for the upgraded plush carpet to cushion my purchases. Bending to only grab a few at a time now, I carted them into the kitchen.
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I put the ice-cream in the freezer, the eggnog in the refrigerator and all the other items away as well. I uncorked the white wine immediately and poured a glass. Licking the semi-sweet riesling off my lips, I stared at my purse, still on the floor by the front door. His letter is in there. I couldn’t pretend I was not dying to open it, but had managed to wait until school was over, the grocery shopping complete, and now…there was no reason to wait.
Bending over, I pulled the envelope out of my bag and, taking my wine glass to the living room, I perched on the sofa. My eager hands ripped at the envelope, taking out his letter and another picture. His photo fell out face down and I refused to look at it until I read his letter. Placing it on the coffee table next to the wine glass, I opened the paper, my heart pounding for a reason I could not name.
Dear Brooke Thompson,
I hope it’s all right that I am writing to you separately. I find that I look forward to the class packages and letters so much, but have to admit that after seeing your picture, it is easier to imagine you as real. I suppose there are things that I can tell you, that I am uncertain about saying to the kids, not knowing how much of war they really can understand. If you consider this inappropriate, please just let me know.
This is my second tour here and I only have seven more months to go. At that time, I’m not sure if I’ll re-enlist or not. I guess I’m keeping my options open. I told the kids that I work on helicopters. That’s true, but I didn’t tell them it was the Apache helicopters. They’re armed, attack helicopters, but I don’t know if the kids need to know that. They are used in the fighting and are a real advantage in the war. I get to work on the flight controls and cryptography equipment, and perform weapons checks. The work is intense, but it’s really interesting.
Sometimes I get bored, but I try to stay busy during my off hours. I was truthful when I told the kids what I do to fill up my time, but will admit to you that sometimes the tedium can drive me crazy. The worst thing is the constant sand and dust that gets blown into everything. We call it Moon Dust. It’s like a tan flour that covers everything. Sometimes I wonder if my lungs are coated with it.