I’m not going to ask what happened today. I know you can’t tell me, and I know it hurts. Just know that I’m sitting right here in the quiet of my room, holding your letter, and thinking about you. You’re not carrying that heavy day entirely by yourself. I’m carrying a piece of it over here.
But I need you to listen to me right now. I need you to read these next words over and over until they sink in. You arecompletely, entirely wrong. People would love the real you. I know this because I already do.
I don’t care about the tough guy soldier armor you have to wear for the military. I don’t care about whatever mistakes you think you made today. I love the beautiful, gentle soul who draws little ducks in the margins of his pages.
That is the real you, Splash. He is the most incredible person I’ve ever known, and he deserves to be loved, not hidden away in the dark. I see him. I want him. And I am going to spend every single day reminding you of how special he is until you believe it too.
The bakery in Houston sent a double batch this morning. They’re packing up now. Hold on, my soldier. Better days are coming. I promise.
Jackson
35
Letter
Splash,
You will never guess what happened after practice today. Donovan found a stray tortoise-shell cat hiding behind the dumpsters near the rink. Instead of calling animal control like a normal person, he snuck it into the locker room, fed it some of my expensive pregame salmon, and named it ‘Puck.’
Coach walked in on fifteen massive, heavily padded hockey players sitting on the floor in a circle, baby-talking a cat. I thought his head was going to explode. He threatened to fine us all if the cat wasn’t gone by tomorrow, so naturally, I am now the temporary foster father of a very sassy feline who is currently judging me from the top of my refrigerator.
It made me think—do you guys have any base animals over there? Please tell me you have a highly trained tactical camel orat least a lizard you’ve named after your commanding officer. I need to know.
I threw a bag of peanut butter cookies in this box. Puck tried to sniff them, so they have the official feline seal of approval.
Always,
Jackson
36
Letter
Jackson,
First of all, tell Donovan that naming a cat ‘Puck’ is completely unoriginal for a hockey player, but I’ll let it slide since the cat got your salmon. Please tell me you kept her. I’m having a hard time picturing a six-foot-plus pro athlete being bossed around a kitchen by a seven-pound kitten, so I’m going to need updates on this.
To answer your question: no tactical camels, unfortunately. But we do have a base dog. He’s a scruffy, one-eared street dog that the mechanics took in. They named him ‘Sergeant Major’ because he spends all day sitting on a plastic crate outside the motor tent, barking at anyone who walks past without a helmet. Even the actual officers don’t mess with him.
Brody tried to steal the peanut butter cookies out of my rucksack while I was cleaning my rifle yesterday. I had to use arolled-up field manual to guard them. He claims he’s just doing ‘quality control’ for the unit, but I told him to get his own pen pal. Calling you a pen pal, it just doesn’t feel right. I mean, you’re more than just a pen pal to me.
Hearing about your team sitting in a circle, baby talking to a cat made me smile, Jackson. Truly. It’s loud and dirty over here today, but picturing your locker room made the noise fade out for a minute. Take care of Puck.
Splash
37
Letters
Splash,
I am writing this from a sketchy hotel room in Detroit at 2:00 AM. I can’t sleep because the pillows feel like they’re stuffed with actual rocks, and the only thing on the TV right now is a rerun of a terrible reality show about people who build giant tree-houses for a living. I am currently deeply invested in whether or not Kevin gets his zip-line installed before the storm hits.
Also, I had the absolute worst cup of coffee of my life this morning. It tasted like hot dirt and regret. It made me think of your last letter, where you said your coffee tastes like battery acid. I think the universe is trying to make me suffer with you in solidarity.
What’s your favorite thing to do when you can’t sleep over there? Don’t tell me you just do push-ups, because that willmake my aching body feel incredibly guilty. I hope you’re staring at the stars or drawing more ducks.
Yours,
