Past the Mission : A letter from my Dad

Dush!

Martin fumbles on the chain of the door to his dorm and gets in. The darkness inside is too quiet and numb. His neck is too bare. Friend rolls on his bed like a lion under a heat wave—takes a long breathe.

Friend's like, "Where were you?"

Martin sighs. He heads toward his desk with a slouched back.

"Hm?"

Martin's all, "None of your business."

Friend manages a tired laugh and sits himself up, all the while gathering his blanket to close folds. "I was waiting for you, man." He holds his gaze hard on Martin.

Martin pulls a drawer and shuffles through papers.

The mattress creaks under Friend's weight. Friend says, "Whatever, dude—it's late. I'm out of here."

Snap!

"AH!" Martin whips his pinky around. Stupid drawer!

Friend gives another tired laugh. Friend's like, "What are you looking for anyways?"

Martin goes, "Something."

"Dude, give me a break."

Martin pauses for a second. He's like, "I'm looking for a letter from my Dad."

Friend's expression changes to one with curiosity. He waits for it.

"His last letter ever."

Pause.

Martin suddenly punches the desk.

He then finds his control over his hand and roofs it over his eyes. It's too dark inside but Friend can still make out Martin's quivering shoulders.

Martin and his unfailing smiles rise and make him give out a tired laugh.

"Dude…?" Friend shakes his head with his eyes showing incredulity.

Martin's like, "It's been three months since he died. Diana doesn't know."

Pause.

Sighs.

Unfailing tired laughs—getting uptight now.

Friend goes, "Dude, why?"

Martin's all, "I can't let Diana know."

Bed's queue. Martin throws himself backwards on it, on the far end away from Friend, and bounces with the resulting vibration of the mattress. He utters, "I don't know…"

Friend says, "Come on, man. She needs to know. She's your sister."

"She's my stepsister."

"Still."