Wake up Sledgehamma
Eugene wakes up on the train to find that Snafu has left him a note.
Wake up Sledgehamma, the note begins. Not Sledgehammer, in it's proper spelling - Sledgehamma: the way Snafu would say it in that cotton-mouthed drawl of his. No "dear Eugene", "dear Sledge," or even just, "Sledge." It says 'Wake up Sledgehamma,' and Eugene's already getting fucking teary at all the sentimental value that that three-word sentence truly holds. He's in the foxhole, and there's a face right next to his - whispering, oh, barely whispering. The words paint his skin in a small breath, cracked lips brushing the shell of his ear - wake up Sledgehamma. A small huff amongst a myriad of anarchy, but it's enough to have him shooting upward, body as taut as an arrow and hands scrambling to grab hold of his rifle. The day has begun.
The note continues saying,
We're almost home. My home. You're fast asleep and it'd be a shame to wake you just for a shit goodbye so I'll leave you with this note.
Did you know you drool when you sleep? Maybe it's only when you're sleeping as peacefully as you are now and I'm quite jealous. I had a shit nap that lasted an hour and consisted of some fucked up images, but I'll spare you the details as to not make your head as fucked as mine. You're lucky, Eugene. I can only wonder what you're dreaming about.
Thank you, Sledgehamma. For being that guy I could share a foxhole with. For coming back for me after I fell. You're a much better man than I'll ever be. You're compassionate and humane and you somehow managed to remain this fucking innocent thing you have in you, even after I thought you'd gone briefly asiatic or whatever the fuck happened to you. I knew you'd be okay cause you still had that innocence. Only if that had disappeared would I have actually been worried.
I hope you see now why I couldn't let you steal them Nip's fucking teeth. I never wanted to say it, but you were a reminder to me. A reminder that there was still good out there in the middle of all the fucking chaos. I didn't want your innocence to be marred. When you said you'd seen me do it, I wanted to hit you.
I'm a shit person to look up to. Hell, my future kids ain't even gon' look up to me and I'm okay with that. I don't want them to and I sure as fuck don't want you to. You're too good for that.
Sledge could hear him - his voice reading the scribbled words to him. Long drawn out syllables followed by consonants that almost weren't there. Murmured out so that they blended in precisely with the rest of the word. No sharp inflictions in anything.
Trying to protect his innocence. Jesus fucking Christ, couldn't Snafu had said any of this to his goddamn face? The only thing Eugene could do with this letter was tighten his grip on it and read further on in the hopes Snafu would say something very Snafu-like and things would return to the way they damn well should have been.
I think you might have been the only thing keeping me sane throughout this whole fucking hellish experience. I can never repay you for what you gave me Eugene. You don't even know what you've done for me, and shit, I don't think words can explain it. You made my head stay right, Eugene. That's a priceless gift to me.
I think the best way of repaying you is leaving. No goodbyes and awkward hand shakes when all I want to do is hug and run a-fucking-way with you. It's funny, because I'm writing down things I could never even admit to myself. I don't know how I'm going to feel once I leave. I don't want to dwell on the past too much when I'm gone. You shouldn't either.
This is our goodbye, Sledgehamma. Our last stand as Snafu and Sledgehamma. Once I'm gone, I'm Merriell Shelton, and you're Eugene Sledge. Two different folk with no hopes of some sort of friendship in the real world. We're just not cut out for that, us being complete opposites.
Don't contact me, please. I'm doing you a favor, you don't want to get mixed up in my shit. I'll only drag you down and you have so much potential. Your story needs to be told. I hope you write a book one day, detailing the adventures of good ol' Sledgehamma. Probably be a best-seller, that one. All I ask is that if I'm in it, don't mention this letter. Burn it, in fact, once you get home. Forget it and forget me. I don't want to be too much of a bother, even in the form of a memory.
We're heading in opposite directions and I'm just grateful our crosses passed for a brief time. You have made a real impact on me, and I'll never forget you.
Wishing for you to have a happy and long life,
'Snafu' Merriell Shelton.
The letter crumples between Sledge's fingers, eyes burning with angry tears. He quickly scrubs them away. The only thing worse than the letter was that he wanted the same things Snafu did - to run away with him and forget Mobile, Alabama and forget the war and just start over - and now he'd never have the chance to make it happen.
His heart is breaking slowly, rapping out the slow steady rhythm of a drum. He glances around and for a brief second, he sees Snafu, sitting across from him with a trademark smirk on his face. He knows he's only imagining it, but he lets it pan out. Lets his imagination take control because from here on out, that's all he'll have.
Imaginary Snafu is snickering, bringing a cigarette up to his lips and speaking around the smoke. "Got you."
Eugene blinks and he's gone. A painful throb settles in his chest. He smooths out the letter, before folding it properly and neatly, then slipping it into his pocket. He stares at the empty space across from him, willing his brain to recreate the image of the smirking Snafu. Still, the chair remains empty, and he sighs almost inaudibly.
"Got me," he whispers.