Sorry it’s taken me this long to write back. There have been some things going on here. I’ll try to answer all your questions. First off, I’m glad you liked the dog charm. I’ll keep my eyes peeled for others, but I can’t guarantee I’ll be anywhere like that shop again. I was there with a buddy of mine who was getting something for his wedding anniversary.
As for your questions, I’ve lived in Killeen for almost three years. I think there’s less than two hundred thousand people in Killeen, but don’t quote me on that. To be sure, you’ll have to search that on the internet. Growing up in Chicago, I would say that Killeen is nothing like that city. It’s hot as hell here, for one, and a lot smaller, for two. There are good parts and bad parts, like Chicago, I guess, but it’s definitely not as metropolitan. There’s not a lot to do here, to be honest. There always seems to be something happening in Chicago. Sometimes I enjoy that aspect, but other times, it’s kind of a claustrophobic feeling.
Before that, I was in California, then Georgia and, prior to that, Germany. I spent a few years in Afghanistan, training Afghan police officers. I didn’t enlist to be an MP. It ended up being something I sort of fell into, if that makes any sense. I have the skillset for the job. I enjoy it most of the time. There’s never a dull moment, that’s for sure. And, yes, I’ve got stories. I’ll try to think of one to share with you before I close this letter.
To be honest, I’ve been contemplating whether I want to re-up again. That decision will need to be made in the next couple of months. The dilemma lies in what I’d do if I decided to move on. I’m not sure I want to join the Chicago PD. There’s always the FBI, but that doesn’t seem like the right move for me either. As I mentioned above, I enjoy certain aspects of my job but not all of them. To choose to continue on in the same field, well, that doesn’t appeal to me. The thing is, I don’t know what I want to do.
Correction, I know I want to do something worthwhile. I don’t know what that looks like, though. Maybe it means helping other people, but my degree is in criminal justice. Unless I want to be something like a parole officer (no thanks), I’ll have to figure out how my degree, experience, and time in the service will all fit together. I guess starting my own business sounds appealing, but I don’t know what that business would be either.
Damn, I sound like a freaking indecisive moron. I think I used this letter to work through some things—not that anything is resolved, but I guess writing it out has helped me see something. I have been thinking more and more about what I’ll do after I leave the service rather than what I’d do if I stayed.
If I stayed, I could request a transfer to another post, but I’m tired of traveling around. I miss Chicago. I miss my brothers. The good thing about this location is I get see my parents from time to time—more than I do my brothers anyway—since they now live in Arizona.
I asked you in my first letter if you’d heard from Vicky. I’d like to ask that again because Anthony hasn’t responded to any of the ten texts I’ve sent him in the last month. Something is up with him or with them. My parents and my other brothers are encountering the same wall. If you talk to her or her mom, can you let me know? I’m getting worried.
All right, here’s a story for you. This happened not too long ago. My partner and I were on patrol one Saturday night, doing our usual—driving around the post—when we saw something white jump in front of our vehicle and dart off. It happened fast, neither one of us could see what it was. We drove around until we spotted it again. Turns out, it was a white male, naked, and drunk off his ass. The sad part about it was I had to pursue the dumbass on foot. When I got close enough to identify myself, he tried to take off again. I didn’t want to shoot the poor bastard, so I raced after him and tackled him to the ground.
Did I mention he was naked?
We took him in to the trauma center on-post wrapped up in an army-issue blanket because he was skinned up from head to toe. I wasn’t around when he woke up, but word at the station was he admitted that he did it on a dare.
Dumb but funny, I guess.
Truth is, even when I was his age, I never did shit like that. I knew better. Maybe it has something to do with being the oldest kid or something. I saw my little brothers do enough dumb shit to last a lifetime.
Well, that’s all I’ve got for now. I think I’ll close by asking you a few questions. Have you always lived in Chicago? Do you like your job as a telemarketer? What kind of things do you telemarket? (Is that the right way to say that?) How is Shep? Is he ready to get adopted? I’d sure like to be there when you give him to a vet. I bet that feels amazing. How’s your dad?
That’s all I have for now. I look forward to hearing from you again, Matilda. Your letter made me smile. Those are few and far between these days. Keep ’em coming.
Take care,
Alec
“Muffin, are you listening to me?”
“Yes.” I wasn’t. I was too busy thinking about the letter—you know, attempting to make my point. “But can you say it again to be sure?”
“I said”—Dad frowns—“that your brother was wrong. He has issues about his own self-worth. He should never have placed those feelings onto you. He didn’t see you and Alec together.”
“Dad.” I reach out and place my hand on his forearm. “He’s right. There’s nothing going on between us, and it’s for the best. I like Alec”—who wouldn’t?—"but, if I keep thinking there’s hope, I’ll end up sad and alone.” As usual.
My sweet father is looking at me with such intensity. I feel like he’s going to say something profound. “You’re as stubborn as a damn mule, Matilda.”
Insulting, yes. Profound, nope.
“I’ll tell you what….”
I wait. This is going to be interesting.
“You keep writing your letters.” He sets down the wadded-up letter that I’d placed in the garbage earlier. “If you do, he’ll keep writing you back. Then we’ll just see what happens.”
I know what’s going to happen. One day, he’s just going to stop writing me back. End of story.
“Keep using your mother’s stationary. It’ll mean she’s getting sent along with your words. Let her help you in this endeavor.”
Oh shit, I’m not going to cry. Not right now. “This isn’t anendeavor,Dad. I’m not out to land Alec Marchesani. I didn’t ask him to write in the first place.” I did tell him I loved the notion of handwritten letters, but that wasn’t an explicit invitation to write to me. Not at all.
“Trust me.” He leans down and kisses me on the forehead like he used to when I was little. “Things will work out for the best. They always do.”
