With Love, From Italy
He didn't know why exactly he had done it. Signed his name in a discarded fashion, an off-hand gesture in the spirit of the moment. His team captain explaining the regulation of the program and what it entailed, his mind only taking in half of what was actually said as he was more concerned with getting lunch before the second half of field training commenced. Even though his unit had been stationed in Italy, the work was no less demanding. Six days a week they had 8 hours of exercises and practices, to keep in shape the captain said, weather it be their bodies or their accuracy with a weapon. His unit scarcely had free time but Daryl didn't mind, what would he seriously do with it anyway? He had already been around to see the sights and he had long ago faltered in his time spent with the guys clubbing or scoping out the local bars for dates. It wasn't his thing, he had told them, only going a time or two to humor his brothers-in-service. And while they had picked fun at him, calling him a 'pussy' or a 'prude' in good humor, he had made it clear that no matter what they called him, it wouldn't make him go out more. Even his scattered phone calls to Merle had proven to be pushy. Not that he was too surprised. His brother was disappointed, having wanted to swap active duty stories, as if he had expected his little brother to go just as wild and crazy with parties overseas as he did. Merle was in the Army, currently stationed at a camp in California but he had plenty of experience touring Europe a few years back. But their badgery eventually died down, his new found friends inviting him each time they went out but no longer expecting him to go.
When the clip board had been passed to him, he jotted his name without a second thought, before smacking Sanchez on the shoulder with it to get his attention. Daryl guessed he hadn't truly believe that students actually participated in the Soldiers' Angels writing program, until he received a letter. It caught his eye immediately as one of the Sargent's passed out the mail at breakfast, a standard white envelope with a name he didn't recognize sloppily written and barely legible.
Carl Grimes? He wondered if it had been addressed to him by mistake until he flipped the cover over and noticed the embroiled SA on it, vaguely remembering signing up for the pen-pal program along with half of the other soldiers.
Figuring the kid had gone through the trouble of actually writing to him, he ripped down the side of the envelope and pulled out a messily folded piece of notebook paper. Unfolding the parchment he nudged the man next to him, Samson, whose elbow was invading his personal space, indicating for him to move over. Daryl squinted at the chicken-scratch writing, leaning over his rationed breakfast as he read:
Dear Daryl,
My name is Carl and my class is doing the Soldiers Angels writing program to talk to soldiers in the military. I am in the 5th grade and I live in Georgia with my mom. My teacher Mrs. Turner says that you used to live in Georgia to. I'm not really sure what else to say so I'll just ask you questions. How is Italy? Do you miss home? What's it like there?
Love,
Carl
Daryl hadn't noticed until he folded the letter back up in its unusual shape that he was smiling. He stored the paper in his back pocket before looking down the line of soldiers at the table. A few members of his unit had also apparently joined the program and he watched as they read over their own mail. "Hey! Strike!", he yelled down the line, until the man whose attention he tried to obtained looked up from his writing, glasses slipping down his thin nose. "Sup', D?", he hollered back. "Hey man, lend me a pen n' som' paper?"
Just like that Daryl found himself eagerly awaiting each reply from the 5th grade boy from Georgia. He knew that he didn't actually know the kid but after months of exchanging letters he felt as if he did. As if Carl where a nephew he had known since the boy was born. He wrote Daryl frequently, telling him how he was doing and what new games he got at Christmas. He told him about his schoolyard friends and how he was doing in school. Carl wrote him about how his parents were divorced and how much he missed his dad, only seeing him every other weekend. Daryl noticed that the kid often wrote about the troubles with his parents and wondered if Carl found telling him about all this therapeutic in some way. Telling a stranger through writing must seem less intimidating than some adult he knew in person. He could understand that and even offered sympathy, knowing what it was like to have your parents fighting all the time.
Daryl told him all about the interesting places he had been and about the different types of training he underwent daily. He told him about the strange people he met, how his brother was also an army man, what it was like to be in the military and anything else that he thought would impress a 10 year old boy. Each letter forced a grin across his lips and often pulled even a chuckle from his lungs. He couldn't explain it but the idea of having someone so innocent to write to lit a fire in the pit of his stomach, warming him from the inside.
It was mid-May when Daryl's squad leader approached him, reminding him of his upcoming leave of absence. Time had flown by so quickly that he had almost forgotten that he had unused vacation time. The military offered him a months worth of free time after serving over a year out of the US and Daryl would be lying if he said he had something useful to use it for. Most military men used the time to go home and visit their family, having heartfelt reunions with their wives and children. But Daryl was unwed and never had any kids of his own. Even if he did go back home, there would be no one there waiting for him, what with Merle being in California. He supposed he could just go there but the thought of staying in the bustling city of LA for a month bothered him even more.
Although he hasn't yet decided where he would go for his leave, Daryl lay on his bunk in the barracks that night to write:
Dear Carl,
I bet you can't wait for school to be over. I know starting Middle School can be intimidating but don't get worked up over that. When you walk in there, let them upper-classmen know that you won't be pushed around by them. You're a tough kid and smart too. Use that to your advantage and you'll be alright.
I just wanted to let you know that I may not be able to write for a while. I've got a leave of absence that I have to use and I'm thinking of heading home for the summer. I would give you the address but I'm sure you'll be too busy hanging out with your friends since you don't got school. I may head out early June so I got time for one more letter before summer.
Say hi to your ma' for me and tell me about your plans for summer vacation.
With love from Italy,
Daryl
Daryl had actually grown rather fond of the kid and knew that he would miss his letters over summer. He was surprised however, when a week later, a reply from Carl, the postage system not usually being so quick to forward their mail so far:
Dear Daryl,
I know this may be weird but would you want to visit me in Kings County? I know you told me that your brother is in California and that you don't have any other family. I don't want you to be lonely at home over summer. I would love to meet you in person and my dad says he would be happy to have you over for dinner.
Oh! And guess what? I get to spend all of summer vacation at my dads! I'll miss mom but I see her all the time. Hope to get a reply from you before you leave.
Love,
Carl
And so, here he was, departing his final flight at Hartsfield-Jackson Atlanta International Airport. Man, did he hate flying. He had never even been outside of Georgia before joining the military, much less on an airplane and boy, did that shoot his anxiety through the roof. He couldn't quite place exactly what made him do it, give into the kid so easily. Daryl guessed he really was interested in meeting Carl. He had always seemed so enthusiastic in his writing, always making him out to be some kind of hero. But, in reality, all he did was basic training and represent the US overseas.
Once Daryl had agreed to meet Carl, the boy had been overflowing with excitement. He had included his camps phone number so that they could talk on the phone. When Corporal Eblen told him he had a phone call, he honestly hadn't expected to be met with the rattling chatter of a young child. Carl had spoken so fast, Daryl had to coax him into breathing normally for fear that the kid would suffocate. He couldn't quite make out everything the boy had tried to tell him and was relieved when his voice was soon replaced by a smoother, calmer one. It was Carl's father and after thanking Daryl for writing to Carl for so long, they were able to work out the details.
The Grimes's offered to pick him up from the airport and from there they would return to their house for dinner before allowing him to check into a hotel for the night.
Daryl wove his way through the crowd congregated at the terminal, receiving a few smiles from strangers as they regarded his camo-military uniform. He couldn't help but feel a little embarrassed by all of the attention but reminded himself that people could probably tell that he just returned home from overseas, an experience worth smiling at. He made his way through the winding airport, following the signs directing him toward baggage-claim and searched the crowd. It didn't help that Daryl didn't know exactly who he was looking for, having never met the pair before. He felt kind of silly, standing on his tip-toes, boots squeaking on the marble floor, trying to search out any thing that might give away his designated pen-pal. The soldier had just decided to move toward the wall in hopes of getting a better view when a sign caught his eye that read 'DIXON'.
A young boy with short cut black hair stood holding the sign as he too searched the crowd, a man standing close behind him with a hand on his son's shoulder. Daryl's feet suddenly felt cemented to the floor as he surveyed the pair. He hadn't yet been noticed by them and for this, he was grateful because he was sure he looked like an idiot. The moment he saw the man, his throat went dry, his eyes wide as he took in the utter beauty of him. His heart sped up as he looked the figure up and down, detecting not a single flaw, only perfection at every sharp, masculine corner. His son was a handsome young man as well, lank but clearly taking after his fathers genetics. It was then that Daryl realized he had been caught staring. The man's cobalt blue eyes, which shone through the crowd and at such a distance, locked onto him and froze. The man, Carl's father, swept his gaze over Daryl's form before settling again, his lips parting slightly. He forced himself out of his haze, trying to look anywhere but at those perfectly plump lips, as he approached them, praying that the heat building in his face was just his imagination. Not wanting to be awkward, he approached them, bag suddenly feeling 100 pounds heavier on his shoulder, as he extended his hand in greeting. Carl had noticed him before he stood in front of them and met the gesture easily, offering a surprisingly strong handshake.
"Uh, Hey, 'm Daryl."
"It's so cool to finally meet you. I'm Carl."
He had tried so hard not to, truly he had, but his eyes flicked to the kids father and was surprised to find that he had not yet taken his eyes off of him. Daryl tried desperately to swallow the lump in his throat as he now held out his hand to the boy's dad. He hesitated for a moment, apparently lost in the sky blue of Daryl's eyes as a smile played across his lips before returning the handshake, "Hi, I'm Rick."