The Charlotte Chronicles – Chapter Thirty-five

I can’t tell you where I am. I can’t tell you what I’m doing. I don’t even know if I can tell you who I’m doing it with, although you can probably guess. Looking back it’s possible that my letter writing never took off because I never had much to say. What I know is I miss you like mad. You said that these letters would make us feel more connected, but they only remind me how far away you are. The morning after we learned you had cancer, you woke before me. The sheets were cold, and I had this terrible fear that you were gone.

Fight hard for me baby. I can’t imagine this life without you.

Missing you,

Nate

Dear Nathan,

You were right. If you had told me when I was in Switzerland that you were going to enlist, I would have thrown myself at your feet and begged you to stay. I realize now why I got sent away. It was because I wasn’t strong enough to stand on my own two feet. At sixteen, though, few of us are, so I’m not going to beat myself up over it. But I leaned on you and Nick far too much.

In hindsight it is so obvious. With an ocean between us, I could concentrate on my sole mission of getting better. When I was near you, I wanted to pretend that I was a normal high school student who could keep doing all the things she had been doing. I’m sorry I placed the burden on you. And yes, it was a burden, even if you protest that you wanted to carry it. We were all too young for those kinds of expectations. And I was too fearful of everything. 

Radiation and chemo are a lot easier this time around. I know what to expect. There’s no real uncertainty. It doesn’t hurt that I have such an amazing view. And your mother has been tremendous. Two days ago, she came in with her box of letters and read a couple that your dad had sent when he was deployed. He was so poetic! I think I made him blush with all my compliments about his mad correspondence skills. 

I’m sleepy now. I need to be ready for surgery in a few weeks, so I’m going to put away my writing materials and get some rest. Learning to pay attention to my body is a lesson I’m still learning. 

Love you,

Charlotte

Dear Charlotte,

I don’t know when you’ll receive these letters. The mail doesn’t go out on a regular basis. Although that’s probably more than I should be saying. Did I ever tell you that Cab reads poetry? His mom is a high school English teacher, and she got him hooked on Walt Whitman and E.E. Cummings. Whitman, if you aren’t familiar with his work, didn’t believe in rhyming. I told Cab that I was more of a Dr. Seuss man myself. 

Not much makes Cab recoil in horror, but that was one of them. Since our first deployment, he’s been shoving Whitman down my throat. We’re bunking together, as we always do, and he’s reading it out loud. There’s a whole section in Leaves of Grass about love. I think we skipped that in American Lit at North Prep. The only poet I remember is Cummings because Nick and I laughed like the juveniles we were at his last name. Cummings. HA HA HA. Right? 

I also remembered he’d written that poem about fog and a cat. Oh shit, apparently that’s not Cummings but Carl Sandberg. Your mom told me this in the kitchen after I snuck out of your room after spending the night. Our first night. Should I be proud that I know the names of more than one poet or ashamed that I’m messing them all up?

Cab says the perfect passage for you isn’t Whitman at all but from Alfred Tennyson. 

Love your now learned husband,

Nathan

Dear Nathan,

You wrote me poetry.

You wrote me poetry!

Yes, I realize that you were transcribing someone else’s words but poetry? In a letter? I about orgasmed on the spot. Yes, orgasmed. 😉 <- that’s an old school smiley face. I have to type my letters because holding a pen in my hand is a little challenging. It’s cramped from over use. Hmm, what’s the evil smiley face? 

Don’t worry though. Masturbating is never going to be as good as you touching me. Are you scandalized I’m writing this? I can’t help it. God, it just occurs to me that maybe someone prescreens your mail for security purposes?

I should just go all out. I miss your body, the warm drag of your lips along my skin. I love your big hands and how they make me feel protected and delicate. When I close my eyes, I replay a few of our interludes. I have favorites, but I’m not going to tell you what they are until you get back because I’m evil like that. 

Hornily yours,

Charlotte

Dear Charlotte,

Jesus Fucking Christ, baby. If poetry gets you to write dirty letters to me, I’ll just copy the entire volume of Leaves of Grass in each letter. No, my letters aren’t prescreened, and if they were, someone just got an unfortunate boner.

Mine is also unfortunate. The worst part of deployments or missions is the lack of privacy. You almost always bunk with someone unless you have “admiral” in your title. If there’s one reason to be an officer, more privacy would be it. I can’t tell you how many times I’ve heard some random squib jacking it. Welp, that’s probably more information than you wanted to hear and thinking of my teammates walking the dog, so to speak, has killed my own boner. 

Keep rubbing them out. The endorphin release is good for you. As for me? I’m saving it all up. Be prepared. Eat a lot of protein and drink a lot of water because it’s going to be a marathon. 

Nate

Dear Nathan,

I’ve been cleared for the resection of the tumor. This makes me all kinds of happy. Isn’t it funny, though, how no one uses the words amputation at the hospital? It’s all “tumor resection” and “radical intervention” but no “we’re cutting off your limb!”

At first, I was very upset at the idea of losing my leg because I was struck by the vanity of it all. But each day that passes with that diseased thing still attached to my body, the more I want it off. Dr. Bhoraskar keeps telling me he’s positive it will be a below-the-knee amputation, but I want him to cut it all off if it means I’ll be cancer free.

It’s been beastly hot up here. There’s no wind and the lake looks like it’s made of glass. Nick came up after the last of the preseason games. He’s excited to start the new season. They are saying really good things about his team. Lainey traveled with him, and they could not take their eyes off each other. Grace and I wanted to keep Cassidy with us for the rest of the summer so that the two of them could fight or fuck away their issues. Probably a little of both. I haven’t been able to convince Lainey yet, but I think she’s coming around to the idea. She could use the break. 

Watching someone else’s relationship drama is a lot more fun that experiencing your own, that’s for darn sure.

Happily bored with you,

Charlotte

Dear Charlotte,

Wait, we’ve barely been married for a month and already you are bored? Write me another dirty letter. Or better yet, let me tell you in exact and explicit detail what I want to do to you when I see you.

I’m going to eat your pussy. For hours. Long, endless hours. There will be no part of your cunt that I will not have explored, tasted, licked, at least five times. I am literally going to devour you. Fuck, I miss the taste of you on my tongue and the feel of your body beneath mine. I plan to take you in a hundred different ways. 

I want you completely drenched and ready because my dick is so hard and huge that you need to be wetter than you’ve ever been . . . shit, I just snapped my pencil in half. 

Baby, I can’t wait to see you. I’m going to come inside of you for a century. 

Then we’ll see how boring our marriage is.

Nate

Dear Nathan,

I am completely scandalized. I had to read your letter three or four times I was so shocked. Write me more. 

Hungrily awaiting you, 

Charlotte

Dear Charlotte,

We’re writing postcard sized messages now? I deserve more than that. 

Nate

Dear Nathan,

I humbly request that you forgive me for the brevity of my previous response. I was so physically and emotionally overcome by your message that I was not able to compose myself sufficiently to respond appropriately.

The whole family has moved, en masse, into your home. By that I mean Mom and Daddy, Noah and Grace, Reese and Cassidy. Lainey has given her up for a few weeks. Her ostensible excuse is that she needs to devote more time to holding my business together. 

This is undoubtedly true, but I’m guessing that it also has something to do with Nick as well. I’m being careful not to say anything because I want this to happen for them. I think they make the perfect couple! 

I’ve had Mom’s attorneys draw me up a new business agreement. I’m making Reese and Lainey true partners. After surgery, I need to spend most of my time focusing on therapy and recovery. Travel will be particularly difficult. Plus, there’s you with your promise of sexing me up nonstop. I can’t be in, say, Seattle while you are in San Diego. You have a big penis, but it’s not that big. (And thank God for that).

I’m going into surgery in three days. I’m terrified but hopeful. I want this to be over, and God, I wish you were home with me. I didn’t want to write that to you because I worry it will make you feel guilty about being away. Don’t feel guilty, but do know that I’m half a person without you.

Love you so much,

Charlotte

Dear Charlotte,

I had a long day and didn’t think I would have the energy to write tonight. I had just enough in my tank to dump a bucket of water over my head and then fall into bed. I still had my boots on, but even though my body was exhausted my mind kept telling me I couldn’t sleep yet because I hadn’t written you. I picked up the pen and started writing your name over and over again—dear charlotte, dear charlotte, dear charlotte—until I realized that those words were my heartbeat. 

I fell asleep on the paper and woke up in the morning, pen still in my hand, your name scrawled all over.

It kills me to be away from you. I hate that you are scared and I’m not there to hold your hand. Remember that you have power in your fragility. 

Lean on our families. We’re stronger because of our connections. Draw from their love and strength when your reserves are low.

Know that I’m with you. That I love you. That I’m so proud of you. 

Stay strong, baby. I’ll be home soon.

Nate

Dear Nathan,

I do feel you on the other end of the pen. I envision you opening a letter and holding the paper in your hands. Your eyes moving back and forth as you take in my little writings. In that moment, we’re together. No matter how far apart we are, our hearts are connected. 

The surgery went well. I feel so much better, as if a dark mantle has been lifted. Preliminary results look very good but, of course, I’m told not to read much into it. (I’m reading everything into it. Going to live until I’m 101. Going to climb a mountain. Going to swim the English Channel.)

I’ve moved to San Diego. The whole family has. It’s as if I have my only little entourage. Our parents are currently searching out the exact right home for us. There’s a lot of disagreement as to what that might be. Mom is in love with this place in La Jolla that costs more than an arm and a leg. <- gimp joke. I can make those now. 

We’re not living in La Jolla, but the idea of being able to see the ocean every day is kind of irresistible. I’ll keep you posted. 

A friend of yours came to visit me. Ford Hughes? He said he was a prior teammate of yours who left to join some other military group with a lot of letters in the name. He told me that you are the best guy that he ever knew. And that I should wait for you. And not fall in love with any of the other guys in the ward.

He went around and told everyone I was taken. We had a good laugh about it. There’s a story in his eyes. I don’t know what it is, but it looks interesting.

I’m doing mirror therapy now. I place it between my legs—no, not to look at my vagina—to make it seem like I have two limbs. The goal is to trick my mind into believing that the mirrored image actually exists. If the brain thinks I have a limb, my phantom pain from cramping goes away. 

I don’t really understand how it works, but as long as I start believing I have a leg then the stupid fake cramps will go away. Hurrah! At least that’s the theory. Our brains are wild, right?

In two weeks my sutures will come out and they’ll fit me for my prosthetic. I’m excited about that. 

You stay strong too. I’m here waiting for you.

Your loving wife, 

Charlotte

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