So, this has been sitting here for two years.
And I have finally revisited it.
It's been haunting my thoughts daily...so I came back, re-read it, edited it and I'm going to post and finish it.
I can't handle it being in my head anymore!
So...please, enjoy.
I dreamt of him again. I dreamt of strong arms, and scorching skin, beautiful skin that was a deep russet color, the most beautiful color I'd ever seen. His face wasn't clear, it never was and his voice was muffled, as if I were underwater while he spoke. I had no idea who he was, but somehow, he was still beautiful beyond words.
I sighed, pushing these thoughts from my head as I stirred the eggs in the pan, glancing at the stairs as my father walked down them slowly, texting away on his PDA.
"Morning daddy," I smiled, walking over to him as he entered the kitchen, kissing his cheek. It was a morning ritual.
"Morning darling. Eggbeaters this morning?" He asked, smiling warmly, not looking up from his phone as he sat down at our kitchen table.
"Yes, not much time. I have to be at the high school at 8:25 to give a presentation about the holiday donation drive for the troops and I have English at 9:30 today." I sighed, pouring the steaming eggs onto a plate, sitting it down in front of him.
"I'm proud of you, Livvi. Don't let your old man keep you, I can clean up. I'll be late tonight, a client wants me to revise their final blueprints." My father lifted his fork as he glanced at me, smiling at me, "Love you, drive safe."
"Love you too, daddy. Don't add salt to those eggs, I know what the doctor said about your cholesterol." I pointed my finger at my father menacingly as I grinned, grabbing my car keys from beside the stove as I jogged out of the kitchen and through the living room.
I slid into my car, the engine purring to life as I turned the key in the ignition. I backed out of my driveway smoothly, shifting into drive, driving to the end of my road.
Traffic wasn't too bad as I drove to my old high school, Chaminade-Madonna College Preparatory, a private Catholic school. Even though I wasn't a practicing Catholic, my father refused to send me to any public school in North Miami. My graduating class had 167 students, and all of us had a 3.0 or higher. I was proud of that.
I parked in the teacher/visitor parking lot, feeling odd as I grabbed the CD with my presentation, slamming my car door.
I walked into the front office, signing in as a visitor, getting my pass.
"Olivia Patavonio?" A soft voice asked, and I glanced up as I stuck the sticker to my shirt, a wide grin spreading across my lips.
"Mrs. Dawson!" I exclaimed, and my English teacher grinned back, opening her arms to me.
I hugged her, still grinning, "I am so glad I get to see you, how are you? How are the classes going this year?" I asked as we started walking toward the auditorium together, her hand resting on my arm.
"I'm good, Livvi, I'm good. Thank you for asking. They're going well, all the students are so bright, I'm so glad that God chose teaching here for me. How are you? So, you're our big speaker today?" Mrs. Dawson smiled at me, genuine.
I nod as we turn, "I'm well, Mrs. Dawson. Yes, I'm trying to get some care packages and donations for Thanksgiving and Christmas for the troops for my father's organization. I was hoping that some of the clubs here could pick it up and spread the word. CMCP always was generous when it came to non-profit organizations."
"I'm so glad to see you out there doing Jesus' work, Livvi, it makes me feel so proud that you learned a little something here besides English and math." Mrs. Dawson patted my arm gently, still smiling.
The rest of the walk to the auditorium was in comfortable silence, not that I minded. I was shaking inside, butterflies flapping all around my stomach. I was nervous, I was always nervous before speaking in front of a crowd, no matter how big it was.
Mrs. Dawson held open the door to the familiar auditorium for me, and I smiled lightly as I walked through the doors. The room was large, and filled with the chatter of the hundreds of students, happy to be out of class or away from the chapel for a moment. I remembered, seminars and guest speakers were always my favorite time, too.
I walked on to the stage, handing my CD to the tech-lab intern, waiting beside her patiently as she loaded my presentation. As I was waiting, she clipped a little microphone onto my blouse, smiling politely before handing me a little remote to the projector. She gave me a single nod, and I exhaled.
Just like you practiced at home.
I put a smile on my face as I turned to face the now silent crowd that was full of my past teachers, and once peers, hoping my face was looked cool, calm and collected and not a hot mess.
I clicked a button on the remote, the sound of American Solider by Toby Keith started to play in the background, as pictures of troops started to flash across the screen, the title of song passing across the screen in a red script.
I waited a moment, before taking a deep breath, finally starting to speak as Toby Keith started to sing. "My name is Olivia Patavonio, I was in the graduating class of 2008, and I was the salutatorian. I attend Johnson and Wales University in North Miami. I'm a sophomore there, I'm majoring in Baking and Pastry Arts with a minor in business management. I take mostly honors courses, thanks to my GPA in high school. I chose this because of my passion for cooking, even though there were thousands of other better things I could be doing.
"In my spare time I'm studying at the library, at home trying out new recipes or hanging out with friends. I volunteer for community and church projects and I help tutor junior high students that are struggling with their studies. Most Sundays you can find me at church, listening to the priest and receiving the blood and body of Christ. Every day, I thank God for the fact that I am alive, and that I can do these things without having to fear for my life. I thank God for giving us our troops, for giving us our freedom."
I stopped, letting the lyrics of the song fill my silence, and the pictures flash across the screen, hoping to get my point across.
You can bet that I stand ready when the wolf growls at the door;
Yeah, I'm solid;
Yeah, I'm steady;
Yeah, I'm true down to the core.
And I will always do my duty;
No matter what the price.
I've counted up the cost;
I know the sacrifice.
And oh, I don't want to die for you;
But if dying's ask me,
I'll bear that cross with honor;
'Cause freedom don't come free.
I'm an American soldier;
An American.
Beside my brothers and my sisters;
I will proudly take a stand.
When liberty's in jeopardy;
I will always do what's right.
I'm out here on the front lines;
So sleep in peace tonight.
American solider;
I'm an American soldier.
The music faded out, and a quiet murmur spread across the auditorium. I smiled to myself, maybe I was doing good…or maybe this was going horribly.
"For all of you that have never heard that song, it's American Solider by Toby Keith. Those were photos that my father's organization, Gifts for G.I.'s, gathered on trips to Iraq and Afghanistan to deliver their donations to our troops. Gifts for G.I.'s is a non-profit organization that sends care packages, medical supplies, Blankets of Hope, among other things to our troops.
"My father is a retired Gunnery Sergeant. It took him almost 15 years to earn that rank. I was 12 years old when he was promoted; I was 13 when he retired. We moved down here to Hollywood, and he became an architect, but I never forgot the reason why you and I are where we are, and I never forgot the reason why we live in a free country.
"Being an ex-Marine brat, I lived on various military bases with my father. Luckily enough for me, he only toured once, when I was too young to understand, and he wasn't hurt. I never had a place to really call home, I never really had close friends, that is why I stand in front of you today," I clicked the remote, Gift's for G.I.'s flashing onto the screen in bold print, "to tell you about Gift's for G.I.'s. "
"They don't have their spouses to talk to every night before bed. Some of our troops don't even get to see their children take their first steps, or say their first words. Our troops eat M.R.E.s, and for those of you lucky who don't know what those are, it's a meal ready to eat. They don't get the luxuries we get, and sometimes, they don't even get the thanks they deserve."
There were pictures flashing across the screen of fallen soldiers, and pictures of their families, Come Home Soon by Shedaisy playing quietly as photos started to flash across the screen, this time of fallen soldiers. The song fades out, Bumper of my SUV by Chely Wright flowing in easily, filling the spaces it left.
"They risk their lives for us, for people they don't even know. They risk their lives so we can have freedom of speech, so we can worship God, and Jesus Christ. They give us the American dream, and some of them lose their life fighting for it." I took a breath, clicking the button again, the music still playing as a list of things showed up on the screen. "I'm here to ask you to donate, whatever you can to Gifts for G.I.'s. New clothing, books, magazines, snacks, Tylenol, bug spray, suntan lotion, personal hygiene items, or your own care package for a solider you choose to adopt."
"Right now, I'd like if the teachers would start handing out the packets that were already prepared. Inside, you'll find a list of items you can donate that was just on the screen, things that are usually found in the common care-package. There is also a list of medical supplies that we accept, and there are a list of soldiers that are up for "adoption". When you adopt a soldier, you can be their pen pal, either regular mail or e-mail, whichever you chose. You can send them care packages on your own, or through Gifts of G.I.'s. I hope you spread word, and you help us this year. We also accept volunteer work that CMCP accepts when you need to fill your time quota for volunteering. In the packet, there is a list of numbers to contact if you'd like to volunteer, or donate money to. To get your items donated or have your care packages sent, there are a list of teachers that will have collect boxes in their rooms until December 10th."
I stopped, a smile on my face as I exhaled, clicking the remote. The screen went black and loud applause spread across the room. I must not have done too horribly after all.
"Thank you, Ms. Patavonio for that wonderful presentation on Gifts for G.I.'s that I urge all of you to donate to." Ms. Ramos, the principal was next to me in a moment, a large smile on her face as she shook my hand firmly, glancing at the student body, "Are there any questions for Ms. Patavonio?"
I sighed as I watched a line form, realizing this was part of public speaking, not that I minded.
I smiled as I glanced at the small girl with glasses that had been in line first, nodding, "What's your name and question?" I asked, polite as she started to talk.
Early October 2011
Jacob was tired, and worn out, but there was nothing new to that. It was a constant state for him, one in which he could function quite well.
His old bunk was a welcomed change from the thin sleeping bag he'd been using for the past three weeks on assignment, but then again, he was used to that, too. It was what he'd signed up for, right?
As he walked into the barracks, still using a towel to dry his hair, his face lit up. There were three envelopes on his bunk that hadn't been there when he'd left to get a shower.
"Brought them in when I got mine Jake, figured you'd want them," Liam announced from his bunk, reading his own letters.
"Thanks." Jacob said, not forgetting his manners as he sat down on his bunk, dropping the towel next to him.
He smiled as he ran his fingers over Bella's familiar scrawl, ripping open the envelope hurriedly.
Dear Jacob, September 19, 2011
How are you? I miss you. UW is going good. I had mid-terms last week, which I passed thankfully. Charlie's well, he said to tell you hello.
I made it back last weekend for my birthday to see my dad, and we went up to La Push to celebrate. I saw your dad and sisters.
Billy says you're not writing anyone, so I don't take your slow responses as personal anymore. What are you doing over there? I hope it's not too dangerous. I worry about you, you know. Drop me a line, I got a new e-mail address if you can get your hands on a computer.
I miss seeing you, Jake, wish you well. Stay safe.
Bella
Jacob ran his eyes over her writing a few times, inhaling. It smelled like her, it smelled like the home he'd left behind. He folded the letter up carefully, moving to the next. It was a large manila envelope from Rachel, one of his sisters. He pulled out the paper and pictures, reading the letter first.
Little brother, September 10, 2010
Dad's good, he's been spending a lot of time with his new lady friend Beth. She's nice. She wants to meet you. Dad says hi. Please write him, Jake, he worries about you. Truth told, so do Becca and I.
How does Uncle Jake sound to you?! Becca's pregnant now, six months along to be exactly. She finally came to see dad. She's so cute with her little belly, well, it's actually not so little. It's twins, two boys. She doesn't have any names picked out, she says they'll come to her at the right time. She's staying here with Josh until they're born. She still can't cook. I'm so glad they're here, Jake. I wish you were here, too. I hate that you can't be right now.
I'm dating Paul now. His advances were too much to resist. He's nice. Well, you would know…you are one of his best friends. He told me to send you greetings. Sometimes he is a dork. Before you get all brotherly on me, Jake, he's not going to hurt me. He knows you and dad would murder him.
I've been spending my time cooking for dad, Becca, Josh, Paul and his friends. (Quil and Embry included. They told me to tell you hi, too! So did Paul and Sam. We all miss you!) He has an older friend, Sam (the guy that was discharged from USMC for medical reasons) who has the nicest fiancé ever, Emily. I think you know of her or at least heard about her; she's the one that got mauled by the bear right before you left. Anyway, I've been spending some time with her, too. I get to be a bridesmaid in the wedding with Leah Clearwater!
I finished school early. I wish you could have been at the graduation. I sent pictures. I sent one of Bella that I had found, I figured you'd might enjoy that.
Jake, please write me. More importantly, please write dad. We all miss you, especially Dad. I love you, little brother. I'm so proud of the man you've become. Yes, I have to tell you in every letter). You should have heard the way I bragged to all my friends after you left from your last R&R. I think you might have a few dates lined up when you get back. Yes, you can thank me now!
I love you. Stay safe, baby brother. You're always in my thoughts and prayers.
Love ya,
Rachel
Jake smiled, folding his sister's letter up, putting it back into the envelope before going through the pictures. There were 12 photos of his family, 6 at Rachel's graduation, the rest at his old home. He stared at the photo of his dad, sisters and Josh, a wave of sadness washing over him. He'd missed more important events. He quickly pushed the sadness away, no regrets.
He went through the rest of the pictures. There were pictures of his friends, Quil, Embry and Paul. They all looked…different. Larger would be more appropriate word. Had that much changed since he'd left? He seemed to miss so much.
He sighed, shuffling to the last picture, running his fingers over Bella's familiar features. He smiled to himself, stuffing the pictures into the manila envelope, leaving Bella's picture out.
He put the envelope down next to Bella's, lifting the last one, it was from his dad. Jacob took his time opening it, taking a deep breath as he unfolded the letter. It was only a week old.
Son, September 24, 2011
How are you? I'm fine, can't complain. Becca and Josh are here, but I know Rachel already told you that.
I've been spending time with Charlie on the weekends (not like that's shocking), along with Sue. Her and Charlie fit together good, Harry would be happy. I met one of Sue's friends, her name is Beth. I know Rachel already told you about her to, even if she didn't say anything to me. I know she was bound to. Don't jump to conclusions, son. Beth isn't a replacement for your mother in any way. It's just nice to have the companionship of a woman, I know you can understand this.
Becca's taking it a little rough, but that's understandable. She's warming up to Beth, I'll give her credit. She took your mom's death the hardest. Rachel, however, could not be happier. She keeps inviting Beth over for dinner, or any other excuse she can find. I can't wait for her to meet you, Jake. She's heard a lot about you, she's excited.
Bella and Charlie came up for Bella's birthday last Saturday. She's still the same old Bella that you remember, trust me, still as clumsy and hard-headed as ever. She misses you, Jake. We all do. It's not the same without you.
You'd think after two years I'd grow used to the fact that you were serving our country, but I haven't. I still remember you as a little boy, I still remember you as my son. It's hard to except that you're a grown adult, and that you don't need your old man the way you used to. I love you, Jacob, and I am so very proud of you. I wish I could explain to you how proud, but you will never be able to understand until you have a child of your own. You mother would be proud of you. I feel as your father, I have to tell you this, because she can't. Always remember that if you remember nothing else, remember how much we both love you, and how proud we both are. You've become a better man than me, you've granted every hope and prayer I had, son.
The girls may be here, but you aren't. Wish you were here, the house isn't complete. I hope to see you soon, hope to hear from you even sooner. Stay safe, son.
Dad
P.S.: You don't have to write me back if you don't want to. I know Bella and Rachel brought it up to you. Woman worry too much.
Jacob laughed at the last line, shaking his head. His dad was still the same, and he was glad. He reached under his bunk, grabbing the pad of paper and pen he kept there. He opened to a blank page, pulling the pen off the cap, starting the response to his father.