A Letter for Home
AN: The prompt for this was a French word which meant a 'change of scenery' or being homesick. Now I just want to explain how I interpreted this. I guess you can say both the main characters of this one portray the prompt in a different way. One, Mary, misses the home she used to have and her son, Ian, is homesick in the traditional sense but is also having a certain view of things changing for him.
Now, enough with my overly explanatory explanation. Here's the story :D
December, 1942
As she and her son walked home, Mary Halter thought about what a hard day it had been. She had spent it with other volunteers, packing goods for the thousands of soldiers fighting the war abroad. Tired as she was, she was grateful for the busy work. It kept her from worrying too much, especially about…
Her reverie was interrupted when her son tugged on her hand. She looked at him with a small smile. “What is it, James?”
“Mom, do I have to stay over at Mrs. Trent’s house when you’re away again tomorrow?”
Mary sighed. James hated staying over at the neighbor’s house, seeing as Mrs. Trent was an eighty year-old woman living alone and he had nothing to do there at all.
“I’m sorry sweetie, you do.”
“Okay,” he just replied. Mary was grateful he didn’t complain, even if he had, there’s was nowhere else she could leave him whenever she was gone for the day.
When they reached their front door, Mary fished her key out of her pocket and unlocked it. She let James in first before stepping inside herself. The silence of the house was almost deafening and the unwelcome atmosphere of melancholy pressed around her unbearably. This emptiness was nothing new. It had seeped into her home when her husband died and only worsened greatly when her eldest son left them, too angry with her to even say goodbye.
She thought of how furious she had been when her eldest told her that he had enlisted himself and how affronted he was when she yelled at him for it. It was his life, he had said, his decision to make and not hers. They had said a lot of things to each other, things Mary didn’t want to recall. And finally, when the base had called for him, he just packed up and left. Probably glad to be away from her.
Now, it was just her and James.
At that thought, she turned to look at her little boy. He was standing near the doorway, looking at an envelope he had apparently picked up
from the floor.
“What do you have there, kiddo?” she asked, stepping closer to look at it for herself.
“I…mom, I think it’s a letter about Ian,” James replied, his voice rising in excitement.
At the mention of her eldest son’s name, she let out a small gasp. She took the letter from her James’s hands. It was stamped at the back, over the mailing address, to say that it had been sent to them via a military base.
“Honey,” she said to James. “Why don’t you go and change for dinner while mommy reads this?”
The boy frowned a little at being sent away, but did as she asked. When she was alone, she sat down on the couch and opened the letter.
It was in her son’s handwriting. Realizing this, she let out the breath she had been holding for fear of him. Then, she read the letter.
Mom,
I know you haven’t heard from me in a while, heck, I’m not even sure if you want to. I guess I just thought you’d at least want to know whether I’m alive or not.
To be honest, that’s not exactly the only reason I’m writing. I actually have a lot I want to say-to you, to James- and I’m hoping that, no matter how mad you are at me, you keep reading this.
A little while back, me and a bunch of the other guys in my division started talking about ourselves: where we came from, how we got recruited-all that kind of stuff. It was probably the homesickness thing but they all started talking about the people we left behind over there. This one guy, Jim, found out his wife was pregnant a day before he had to leave. Another guy, Tommy, told us about how he joined to follow in the footsteps of his old man (a general in the last war).
I guess what I’m trying to tell you is, listening to all of them talk about their families really got me thinking about you guys. I know we said a lot of not-so-nice things to each other before I left and that you hate what I decided to do, but…I just don’t want to fight with you anymore.
You told me before I left that fighting in the war wasn’t the great heroic fantasy I dreamed it would be, and you were right. It isn’t, it’s much more real than I ever thought it would be. People get shot, people get sick, people die. And it’s starting to hit me that it might be years before I see you and James again. Or maybe I never will.
I know it might not come to the worst but I just…I don’t want us to go through all this knowing that the last memory we shared is us being so angry with each other. I hate going through day after day knowing that if something happens to me, I never got to say sorry or tell you any of this.
You were right when you told me I didn’t know what I was getting myself into; you were right about how different things would be. Sometimes, just to get me through the day, I imagine being back at home where there’s no jungle I have to hide in, or mosquitos to swat, or enemies to shoot. I think about how good your roast chicken tastes or how James complains when I mess up his hair and, for a while, things don’t seems so bad anymore.
But no matter how much I want to be back there with you, I still wouldn’t change what I did. Being here means a lot more than just being a storybook hero to me now, mom. I’m starting to understand what I’ve really gotten myself into, and what I’m really fighting for out here. It sounds silly, I know, but if you could see me now I think you’d be proud. And if dad were here, I think he would be too.
I guess that’s all I have to say for now. I know I can’t tell you anything that’ll make you forgive me or try to understand what I’m doing, but I hope you will anyway. Please tell James how much I miss him and that I need him to take care of you until I get back. He’s a good kid and I know he won’t let me down.
So mom, I guess this is goodbye for now. I love you both so, so much. I know you already know that but I wanted to make sure you don’t ever forget. I hope I hear from you soon.
And I promise, I’m going to try my hardest to come home safe and sound.
-Ian
Mary felt tears coming from the corners of her eyes. There had never been any hatred of Ian in her heart, only the constant fear of losing him. She would write a reply, of course, and soon. She would tell him how she wasn’t angry, and how she would be praying for his safety every night and that she loved him with all her heart.
She looked up when she noticed James, watching her with great concern. She wiped the tears from her eyes and with beckoned him to come and sit beside her.
“Is it bad news, mom?” he asked, hopping onto the couch.
She shook her head and pulled him close to her. “No, dear. It’s a letter from your brother.”
“What does it say?”
Mary kissed her son’s head and smiled her first real smile after so many weeks. As she read the letter aloud to James, it felt like her home wasn’t so empty anymore.