be any better. I was, however, good at doing. Only this time, when I went to the circulation desk to actually do something, Grace was gone.
Chapter Two
Dear Grace,
Thanks for the care package. It was awesome and really, really big. I appreciate you not sending me the extra bottles of nail polish that you and Lana received from your Uncle Louis. I’m not a big fan of nail polish myself, but you can make a pretty good incendiary device with it. Don’t paint your nails near a fire, or maybe even a candle.
Today was hot—like yesterday and the day before. I don’t remember what 60 degrees feels like. It’s either brutally hot (day) or freezing cold (night). I can handle the hot. I’m from Texas after all. It’s the huge swings in temperature that are hard to get used to.
We’ve been going on a number of walkabouts that are essentially a bunch of guys going from hut to hut in a small village looking for insurgents or handing out aid. I always think that it’s ridiculous to be handing out paper and pens and candy while we are carrying assault rifles, but everyone here treats it like it’s normal.
Yours,
Pfc. Noah Jackson
P.S. You can just call me Noah.
Grace
Lana and I lived in this amazing apartment just two blocks off campus. One thing about going to a pricey and old private college was that the surrounding apartments weren’t run-down shitholes owned by slumlords. We lived on the top floor of a renovated Victorian.
It had high ceilings and oversized doors. The lights were reproductions of late 19th Century Victorian decorations, made out of iron and frosted orbs of glass, according to the apartment rental sheet. It was altogether too beautiful to be housing college students, but I guess when the annual tuition at Central was more than the price of a luxury car, the landlords expected a higher caliber tenant. Those were silly expectations. We were college students.
When I came home from the library, I forgot all those things and treated the apartment door like it was the entrance of a flophouse, throwing the heavy wood structure open with a bang, not caring that the newly plastered walls might be dented by the antiqued brass doorknob.
“Lana!” I called as I burst through the doorway, placing my padded backpack holding my camera and laptop on the floor. She shot up from the sofa as if electrocuted and a caramel-brown head of hair immediately followed. I groaned inwardly when I saw it was Lana’s boyfriend.
“Hey, what is it?” she asked, smoothing her hair out of her face. I waved my hand in front of my chest to indicate that her shirt was unbuttoned and her camisole askew, and then averted my eyes while the two proceeded to right themselves. Too bad I couldn’t cover my ears to avoid the sounds of zippers and snaps. It’s not like I’m a prude, but I just didn’t like Peter. He didn’t treat Lana right, and I didn’t like knowing they exchanged body fluids. She deserved better.
Thankfully, interrupting their intimate moment managed to stop the cycling of crazy thoughts in my head. I felt almost foolish over the panic I had gotten into at the library. Looking down at my hands, I saw they were still trembling. I pressed my palms together as rational thoughts began filtering through my thick head.
I went to the kitchen to grab a water bottle. I busied myself and tried to block out the kissing noises from the entryway that indicated an extended goodbye.
“Even God rested on the seventh day,” I told Lana after she closed the door.
She grinned unrepentantly at me and then laughed outright when I screwed my face into a fake offended expression.
“Sorry, I figured you’d go out with the library crew tonight,” Lana said. My library crew consisted of my student supervisor Mike and two others. Ordinarily, I’d meet up with them to have a post-work drink and complain about all the dickheads who needed help in the library. I think a whole set of other library students drank on another night. I had no fake ID yet so I was limited to early hours at a diner that also just happened to serve liquor. “Or be hanging around to find out if the brown haired muscled guy is your fabled Noah.” Obviously Lana had noticed my reaction to the guys in the library.
“It’s crazy, right?” I needed her reassurance. “I’m just imagining things.”
She nodded slowly. “I would think so. What