Blue
The desk drawer squeaks as I slide it out, and Keegan shifts a little.
I freeze, watching her settle back under the covers.
She’s got one leg sticking out, curled around a pillow. She mumbles something, and I smile. I love watching her sleep, especially when she’s naked.
I’d love to crawl back in bed and take her in my arms, make love to her again and again. But I’ve got a letter to write.
I pull out a sheet of the hotel stationary and an envelope, along with the flimsy hotel pen, and ease myself into the desk chair.
My phone provides just enough light; I don’t want to risk waking her by turning on the lamp.
My heart’s beating fast, like I just ran up a flight of stairs.
What is wrong with you?
I know the answer to that question. I’m about to tell the girl I love—I mean really fucking love—that I never want to see her again. Kind of.
I’m going to do what Keegan’s dad asked me to do: Let her go.
I’m going to give the letter to Holmlund, telling him to give it to Keegan if I’m convicted and only after they’ve taken me away.
According to my lawyer, court-martial sentencing is done immediately after the verdict is read. And that could be as early as today; tomorrow at the latest, I’m guessing.
I look over at Keegan again and have to wipe my eyes because I’m crying. Because it’s hitting me all over again that might be our last night together.
Grow the fuck up, Blue.
My old man’s voice again. I don’t know if I will ever stop hearing it. But this one time, he’s right.
I press the pen against the empty paper.
The thing is, this letter is me finally growing up. It’s the last thing in the world I want to do. But it’s the best thing for Keegan.
I have this one piece of paper and whatever words I can come up with to convince her of that. I start writing.
* * *
Yesterday was brutal, even worse than the first day.
All of these people had to hear how I lied over and over again, how I ran away from what I’d done, how I skipped off to college to live in a party house and play in a band like some carefree, guilt-free kid.
I could barely stand up when it was over, could barely scrape my eyeballs off the floor long enough to look at Keegan and my mom, at the guys’ family members, at all these people wearing the uniform that I’d disgraced.
That I continue to disgrace by trying to weasel out of the punishment I deserve.
Sitting at this desk in the dark, I slide my hands down my face, wanting it all just to be over with.
Later today, Holmlund will get up and try to defend me, try to persuade the panel that I deserve to walk away a free man.
And sweet Venla, who came all of the way from Finland, will get on the stand and tell them it wasn’t my fault.
We’ve met with her a couple of times here at the hotel to go over everything. She didn’t want to attend the prosecution part of the trial. She said it would make her too angry, too sad. She said it’s not fair that I’m being court-martialed.
She’s got a soft heart.
Part of me just wants this day to end so we can get tomorrow over with and the next day over with, and somehow, for all the days that stretch in front of me to not be weighted down with this disgust that I can’t get away from.
It’s weird and pathetic, but I didn’t feel as bad about myself until I met Keegan. I’d managed, for a while, to shove everything out of mind and pretend like Afghanistan never happened.
At least when I was awake, I’d gotten good at pretending. I guess I actually thought I could wipe away what I did and just go on with my life.
I am ashamed as hell about that now.
It wasn’t until I met Keegan, until I had somebody like her think I was something special, that my delusions vanished.
It was as if someone took a rake to a room full of cobwebs.
I can hear birds chirping and see the first faint light of dawn peeking around the heavy hotel curtains.
I hold my phone over the letter so I can see it clearly. I want to read it through one more time:
77Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡOVQzoTD7nZ
Keegan,
I should have had the guts to tell you this in person, but I just couldn’t do it. I couldn’t stand to see you cry or hear you argue with me about it, and I know you would have.
You’d have told me I’m wrong about this. You’d have sworn to wait for me forever, just like that girl did in that movie you made me watch. One of the movies you made me watch. The one you always swoon over, where Brad Pitt’s always riding around shirtless on a horse? You’ll know which one I’m talking about.
Anyway…
If you’re reading this, it means I’ve been convicted and I’m on my way to Leavenworth. Even before I know the verdict for sure, my gut’s telling me that’s what’s going to happen. Maybe it’s not even my gut. Maybe it’s just plain old common sense.
I can see it in the eyes of the panel. I can hear it in the words of the judge. I have to pay for what I did. Even with Hellfire Holmlund as my lawyer, even with Frasier Bryson singing my praises, I don’t think I’m going to be walking out of the courtroom as a free man.
And I don’t deserve to. We both know that, Keegan.
So I need you to walk away and not look back.
Forget about me. Put yourself first. Go out there and set the fucking world on fire.
Find somebody better than me who will make you happy. Somebody who is worthy of you.
Please. Keegan, PLEASE. Do what’s right for you.
Become the person you were meant to be. You can’t do that if you’re waiting around on me. You can’t. I’ll just drag you down and I cannot live with that.
I love you. I wish I had better, stronger words to say it in some way that doesn’t sound weak and inadequate, that could do justice to how I feel.
But those are the only words I have. I love you. And if you love me, you will do this for me. You will walk away.
Blue
77Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡCzjnyditQA
I fold the letter and slip it into the envelope, then write Keegan’s name on it and lick the back to seal it. I walk over to my jacket and slip the letter into the inside pocket.
Keegan shifts again, and the sheet slips away so that I can see her breast. My hand tingles as I move to stand over the bed. I want to touch her so much.
The sex last night wasn’t what I would want a last night to be. We were both so stressed, and it felt almost forced, like we knew we had to do it.
We could both feel each other’s fear and dread. Not the memory I wanted to leave her with. But it’s all I had.
I slide into the bed and curl against her body. She mumbles something and then, clearly, says my name.
“Shh...” I whisper. “Go back to sleep. I’m here.”
~~~
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