Dear Edward - Heather Parsons (smart books to read .TXT) 📗

would encourage his students but most of all, not make life harder on them. Brianna especially. He thought about her a lot over these last few days. She'd been at school on Monday but hadn't returned until that Friday, when the letters were due. And seeing her on that day, with the bruise on her face, her eyes teary and sad, he thought he'd made the mistake of many with the assignment at hand.
While thumbing through the letters, one in particular, caught his eye. This one was from a soldier with the same last name as his, the same handwriting as his son's but it couldn't be, he thought. Last he'd heard Jason was missing, presumed dead. But right here, sitting in front of him laid the very letter he'd waited for, for months. Tears brimming his eyes, he ripped open the envelope and laid the letter down flat.
Halfway through, he couldn't fight the tears off, his son, the only one he had, wrote such heartbreaking things. About death and destruction, losing friends, praying for forgiveness for things he'd done, shattered his hope. Mr. Thomas sat staring at the words, hoping and praying silently that he was still alive and being taken care of.
Brianna entered the classroom early, needing to talk to Mr. Thomas about the assignment. But the minute she saw his face, saw the letter that captivated his attention, she forgot the reason why she'd come here to begin with. Tears streamed down her face as she remembered what words her mother had written. Standing stock-still, grasping the wall for support, she cried for Jason's safe return, for all the soldiers safe returns.
Stirring in his seat, hearing Brianna's silent but loud in his ears, cries, broke him. Mr. Thomas picked the letter up, as if it were dynamite and tucked it into his briefcase. Taking in a deep breath, he looked to where she stood, holding in his own pain and approached her.
Clearing her eyes of the pain she felt, she reached out and held on to him. “Mom always said he was the strongest of his platoon and more determined than anyone else, he'll be fine. You'll see, he'll be walking in that door with a big goofy smile on his face and ready to embrace you.” she whispered words of hope. Praying inside that, that would truly happened and believing nothing else.
“Thank you Brianna. But I'm not sure, that's what will happen. He's missing.” Mr. Thomas cried.
“Missing isn't dead, missing isn't captured. Someone will guide him home, I'm sure of this.” Brianna looked up towards heaven and prayed silently for God to place his hand upon Jason, guiding him home.
Clearing his thoughts of his mixed pain and conflict, he let loose of her and smiled. Through tear soaked eyes, he saw one thing in hers that brought back hope that he desperately needed. Hope that he'd installed in her, for her mother's safe return. How'd she'd turned it around and made him feel it, he didn't know but he was grateful to her for it.
The bell rang, door opening and entering the students who looked more worn down than they should. Mr. Thomas returned to his desk, scrambled through the letter again, picking out the one he'd best thought suited and placed it on the projection screen.
Everyone took their seats, looking blankly in front, some with tears already brimming their eyes while others sat silently and waited. Flipping the lights, Mr. Thomas watched their faces with concern as they all looked up at the letter. Brianna was the only one that didn't look up right away and he knew why. It was the same reason he couldn't look up at it, too much pain had entered their lives and this was just a reminder of it.

Dear Someone,
I'm sorry I wish I could be more cheerful about writing but doing it and knowing that no one will ever write back, is mute. I know I've been told many times that writing will help dissolve the pent up anger but it doesn't, if anything it enrages it more. Just thinking about everything that's happened over the last few months, I can't stop seeing it.
I don't want to be here anymore. Thought it was to help our nation and bring peace but with all the destruction and death, who's it helping, really?
And then I try to think of blue skies but here the sky is never blue, always covered in thick black smoke, the air smells of death. I can't remember what anything back home looks like, all I see is what's in front of me.
Okay after several minutes of looking up to keep the tears from soaking the only paper I have, I'll write about something else. But what? What would you possibly want to know? If I knew one thing about you then writing would be so much easier.
One thing about me, you ask, okay my name is Winston Page, I'm twenty years old and am in dire need of a soda and cigarette. Ha, ha. Anyway, this letter will be short, I've to take my position again. Take care and God bless.
PVT Page, Winston

Lights flickered back on and there wasn't a dry eye in the room, cries could be heard from all around but mainly it was what Mr. Thomas didn't see that bothered him. Brianna and Lindsey's seats were empty, vacated sometime within the twenty minutes the lights were out. Since he stood by the only door in and out of the room, he knew they didn't leave. So where are they? He wondered.
Brianna could barely read the words standing out in front of her, tears fell from her eyes the moment the lights went out and soon she was out of her chair, running from the pain. Finding a dark corner at the back of the class, she held herself together and cried. Lindsey soon found her and held on, comforting and crying along.
The girls huddled together in the back of the room, Lindsey holding Brianna hands together, tears stained their faces, crying out silently to each other. Neither knew how much longer they could deal with the pain each other felt. For Brianna each letter hit directly home, to her heartbreak. And Lindsey just seeing her friend break every time was enough to cause her, her own heartbreak.

FOUR

Wednesday rolled around it was Memorial Day, you could hear cries coming from everyone, everywhere. Everyone in town gathered together, holding each other for support and paying respect for those who lost sisters, bothers, mothers, fathers, loved one's in the war.
Woodland, Texas, a small town, surrounded by ample forest, population a measly two hundred was hit hard by the war. Many sons, fathers, mothers, sisters, joined the service to fight for freedom, many have never returned and those who have come home, came home in caskets. There's only one who's came home alive but the look in his eyes, the empty stare, the pain, sadness envelopes you, immediately.
Their Memorial Day was and always has been a different kind of a celebration, flags flying at half mass, everyone gathering together, holding on to one another and telling stories of pride, joy and admiration of those who died. Reminiscing about the good times.
Memorial Day and 9/11 are the only days that the teachers allowed their students to skip school. The group of student that did gather together, all had one thing in common, loss. Brianna held her head up high, tears streaming down her cheeks and stared around, never making eye contact with anyone, but searching for that one she wanted to see, her dad. He'd never come outside today, she knew this but still she hoped.
Lindsey stood beside her, her own heartbreak spreading, her own pain etching deep in her heart. Oliver, her brother, died while on a rescue mission. She along with her mother, received a formal letter in the mail about him, about his plane crashing and other things Lindsey couldn't force herself to read. But here she stood, next to her friend, next to others who've lost too.
Adam stood off to the side, every year was the same for him. He couldn't bring himself to except the fact that his twin brother, the one who fought beside him, was dead. He was eminently proud of Aaron for what he did but now he couldn't help wondering why. Why did he come home alive? Why did Aaron have to die?
Mr. Thomas kept his head down, staring at a patch of grass, keeping his tears and pain to himself so he could be there for his students. But something out of the corner of his eye caught his attention, Christopher, had for the first time since Ella died, come out to join us, to join his daughter.
Sighing deeply, Brianna stared at her dad as he stumbled towards her, drunk. Of all the days he drank, why today? Why did he feel it necessary to do it today? And as much as she wanted to run away from him, not to be seen with him, she couldn't. He'd shown up, she thought, it was a good thing, a step in the right direction.
Contemplating for hours, Christopher finally figured he'd join his daughter today, of course the courage to do so didn't come until after his bottle was empty. But he was here, outside in the sun, for all to see and he couldn't turn around now, no matter what happened, he couldn't leave Brianna to face this alone, for another year.
Stumbling, tripping, he made his way to her and wrapped his arm around her waist for support. He blinked several times, keeping the tears a bay and tried his hardest to hold onto his reasons for doing this, for coming outside.
“It's okay, dad.” Brianna cried, seeing him fight back his tears.
He just shook his head, no. Unable to form the words to tell her, it wasn't. Afraid she'd be disappointed in him for his lack of control.
“Dad,” she whispered looking up to him, catching his eye and seeing something that terrified her. “Please don't.” He dropped his arm that held her close and started down a road she knew would never end.
“Nothing is okay about today! My wife, my Ella had to die. For what?” He screamed, his face bright red with rage.
“Dad,” she said in an unsteady voice, crying and praying that he'd stop.
“No Brianna! I've stayed quiet too long, I'm not doing it anymore. This is bull, everyone here has someone who's died over there and what is anyone doing about it, nothing! I can barely get up in the morning, face another day without her and what did I get! A