Wait For Me

My dearest wife, I can only imagine how long this letter will take to reach you, but I hope that you will receive it eventually.

~

An explosion pierces the silence and I jolt awake, brandishing my rifle, taking a second to realize the absolute dark around me is due to the walls of my foxhole. The persistent sound of returning fire ensues and I leap to my feet, listening to the commands being yelled out. I take off at a sprint to the front line, my boots crunching against the snow as I avoid the trees rising high above my head.

~

The winter is harsh as we are low on supplies. My only comfort is knowing I have your warm meals waiting for me when I return home. I feel that that may be soon. War has to come to an end eventually, and I eagerly await it, along with every other man around me.

~

A whistling sound greets my ears and I drop to the ground, feeling the air all around heat up as the tree directly behind me splinters and flames erupt towards the sky. I touched the top of my helmet, a habit to make sure that it’s still there and then leap to my feet, sprinting towards the sound of gunfire. As I pass by a foxhole, I hear an anguished scream for a medic. I stop and turn around, peering inside to see what looks like the site of a detonated grenade. A young face stares up at me, tears tracking his grime filled face and I jump down, dropping my rifle on the ground and becoming suddenly aware of all the other cries for a medic arising out of the forest.

~

I think of you everyday. I hate myself for not even being able to be there for the birth of our first child. I know you probably already have names picked out but I was thinking that if it was a boy, we name him after your father Ezekiel, since he fought in the Great War. And if it’s a girl, Irene, after my mother. I’m so sorry I can’t be there, but I have no doubts that you will receive the best of care in my absence.

~

“Where’s your medikit?” I yell over the sound of artillery, surveying his abdomen that is leaking blood onto the dirt. As he reaches into his front pocket, I tear open his shirt to reveal the shrapnel buried into his skin. His breathing increases as he rasps for breath and I wince, wondering if his lung has been punctured. I grab the kit out of his hands and open it, taking out the morphine and ripping it open with my teeth before pouring it over his wound generously. I glance up at him, he’s fumbling inside his jacket pocket for something and suddenly he pulls out a dirty envelope, holding it out to me with trembling hands. I know what it is and I don’t move to take it, my hands hovering over his wound, preparing to take out the small wooden pieces from the tree out of his side. I shake my head no, staring into his dark, scared eyes and hoping I would never have to give that letter to whomever it’s addressed to.

~

There’s a village that we passed through before we got here. We were greeted with open arms and loud celebrating. I can’t say the male Germans have ever treated us with the same enthusiasm. We were invited into their houses for drink and food and we were more than happy to accept, not having a warm meal in months. I can almost feel my teeth rotting from all the preserved food that we are eating here. If I see another can of peaches and a box of crackers when I get home…

Anyway the hostess of the house we stayed at was an older woman, her house filled with children, all smiling and happy to pass me more of their homemade bread. I did not see a husband and I don’t want to think about where he is or how he might be, lest I feel bad for the woman and the children who so kindly fed me. The presence of so many children makes me think of you and of the family we are going to have. When I get home, I’m finding a job where I can stay at home, because if war ever had at least one good outcome, it is the realization of how much your loved ones mean to you. Your absence gives me the drive to continue fighting each day, if only to return home to you and your waiting arms.

~

He presses the letter into my already bloodstained hands and croaks out a please. He’s grasping my hand now and I lean over him, struggling to catch the words that he’s trying so hard to say. He takes a sharp intake of breath as a gunshot rings in my ear and I turn, my hand reaching up to my helmet before seeing two German soldiers standing shoulder to shoulder at the lip of the foxhole with their M-1’s aimed at our chests. The recent gunshot registers and I turn back around at the kid at my feet. Blood trickles out of his mouth and his eyes are fixed on the sky, a bloody eye gaping out of his throat. I give a roar of rage and stand up, reaching for my pistol. Another gunshot pierces the air and I feel myself being knocked back into the side of the dirt wall, falling over the body of a boy barely old enough to have left the house. I feel myself slump over, the exploding sounds of war already starting to dim.

~

The countryside here is ironically beautiful. If it were not so ravaged by war, I would consider taking you here. There are sloping, snowcapped mountains, and large green pastures. It was a shame when winter rolled in, but I find myself awestruck still, by the silence, and the crispness of the land so covered by a white blanket. Yes, under different circumstances I could see us living here and building for ourselves a family here on the countryside.

~

I hear myself gurgle, a feeling of warmth spreading through my shoulder and something trickling down my chin. Faintly, I hear them chatter in German quickly, no doubt deciding whether or not to let me bleed out. Oh please God, let them leave me here. There’s still hope.

~

God has kept me alive thus far. He must have plans for me. Have you seen my father recently? I know he is still mourning, but is he still withdrawn from the world? The loss of his favorite son and his beloved may be too much for the old fool’s heart. Lay a flower on my brother’s grave will you. I find myself thinking that my father would’ve loved me more had my brother and I switched places. I am ashamed to have still harbored this bitterness against him, even after all these years. But I’ve come to the decision that it’s time for me to tell him that I forgive him, even if he can’t bear to look me in the face, a face so similar to his first born.

~

I look into the soldier’s eyes as he levels the rifle at my chest. Those bright blue eyes so cold, no remorse for the life he is about to take. I feel my helmet slip off my head, hanging at the awkward angle it was at my slumped position. I open my mouth to make a sound but none comes out as I watch it fall, landing in front of me upside down. I breathe out, staring at the picture beneath the netting, the picture of my wife and I sitting beside a lake. Her hair shines in the sun, and her eyes crinkle at the corners in a smile. The smile she reserved for me.

~

I must close this letter now. I love you so much and I’ll be home soon, I promise.

~

I breathe in a ragged breath and cough as blood clogs my throat. I steal one last look at her before looking again into those blue eyes. There is no doubt he sees the resignation in my eyes, and I close my fingers around the death letter in my hand, hoping beyond hope that someone will find me, if only to deliver the letter to his loved one. How unfortunate for him to have given it to a dying man, but I suppose war has never been one to guarantee your safety for more than a minute.

~

As this letter may take weeks or even months to reach you, kiss our child goodnight for me when he is born.

~

Please God just take me home.

~

Whisper in his ear that I love him. And read this letter and know how much I love you.

~

He meets my gaze, jaw set in determination, and pulls the trigger.

~

I’m coming home soon, wait for me at the door.