Love Letters from Yokosuka
Chapter 3
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Logan's trip to Mexico turned into an extended stay as he made his way from the airport in Colima to a seaside village near Rosarito.
The locals initially regarded him as they did all tourists who inevitably came upon their small village, with subtle distaste as they hoped he'd find his way back to Rosarito soon and leave them be.
However, as he had rented a room in one of the few apartment complexes there, there was little chance of that happening. And, he eventually became tolerated as he went about, trying to learn from them and being friendly. At the very least, he wasn't being insulted behind his back when they thought he wouldn't understand them. And, in truth, sometimes he didn't in the beginning, but swear words and insults were easier to pick out than the unfamiliar words from their regional dialect.
Through his travels, he met places as pretty as Tarrina, some even prettier. Under the pen name, Logan Stone, he'd even written about some of them, submitting them to various travel guides and magazines, hoping to spread the knowledge of their beauty. But, it was the people of Tarrina that made him feel like he should stay, at least for a little while longer.
Though frosty at first, he found them interesting and their stories captivating as he talked to them more and more, finding things about them that he'd never suspect.
There was a woman who grew up there, born on the coast of Tarrina, so close to Rosarito. She lived quite a long life. She watched as the tall buildings came up in Rosarito and was witness to the falling trees. She gave birth to twelve children altogether. But, her children left her, one by one, either to go to the city that swallowed up the trees or through death. She had been living with her second husband—her first husband had been killed in the construction of one of the resorts at Rosarito since work was sparse in their own village—until he too passed away just the year before, leaving only her.
When he asked her why she didn't go live with one of her children to make it easier for herself, she told him, Tarrina was her home, and though he personally didn't quite feel that way about any particular place, he understood. It was home.
After getting her permission, hers was the first story he submitted to more mainstream publications, wanting to get her story out there and eventually getting it featured in Reader's Digest.
And, when he wasn't too busy listening to stories from the other villagers, Logan was on the waves, sometimes surfing—which he found he liked a lot, a comforting development since he assumed he used to like it according to the surfing paraphernalia he remembered being in his LA apartment—and sometimes just sitting on his surfboard and feeling the waves beneath him.
More often than not, he found his thoughts straying to the unknown blonde. This irked him more than it should have on some days because, those days, she'd appear not entirely uninvited in his dreams. Her age varied, as did their levels of intimacy within them. He would occasionally find that he had to relieve himself of his problem some mornings after a particularly realistic dream because they really did feel like they could have been memories rather than wishful thinking. Still, he was uncertain.
It was always more reasonable to believe that he subconsciously fabricated them to trick himself into thinking that he remembered something.
Out there on the water, he sometimes entertained the idea that she was an old lover, now dead. Their pictures certainly showed that they were close, so the part about them being lovers had to be true.
But if not dead, then where was she now? Where was she when he was forced to navigate the unknown of his past life by himself. Towards the end of the day, when he was close to heading back to shore, he eventually rationalized that she was merely out of his life—most likely, they had a bad breakup—, and his past self missed her, harbored intense feelings for her.
His current self, on the other hand, wasn't sure how to feel. Whenever he thought of her, it made him ache. And, he found it extremely troubling, feeling things for someone whom he never really knew but had to have been a huge part of his life if the box dedicated to her were any indication.
Paddling back in, he usually found himself with less incentive to leave Mexico. There in Mexico, there was no mysterious woman or mysterious anyone. No one there knew the him from before, so they had no expectations. There, he had a new start, and he was already endearing himself to the villagers, or he liked to think so anyway. The children were quite fond of him, much like the children in the Vietnamese villages were, persuading him to play with them when the other adults usually brushed them off.
There was also little reason to return to LA. In the US, he did some light business, fielding correspondence for Hand in Hand, which Dinh had immensely helped with him coordinating now that he had no idea what he should be doing or what he used to do. And, he could just fly from Mexico to Vietnam whenever he wanted to join them again over there. Hell, after realizing he'd stay in Tarrina indefinitely, he already had been having his mail forwarded.
Nearing the end of summer, Logan ventured into the marketplace. He remembered the first time he came there, the accents too hard for him to begin to understand. Now, after being immersed in the language for months, he had vastly improved and understood most things said around him, working out words he didn't know from context clues.
The women in the stalls greeted him. The ones who were comfortable with him greeted him warmly. The others, politely. He was in the market to buy some groceries, but one of the women had called him over. Her name was Selene, and she had a daughter about twelve who always wanted Logan to help her build sandcastles.
Apparently, Sandy, her daughter, had been down by the beach and found a glass bottle and brought it to her because it looked like there were pieces of paper inside. Sandy thought it was a treasure map at first until they opened it to see. Inside, they found some papers with English writing, and she was going to throw them all away, but Sandy thought he might like them since he wrote about interesting things. She didn't know what they said, but she was sure he could figure it out.
Logan gratefully accepted them, and told her to pass along his thanks to Sandy as well, promising to help her build their biggest sandcastle yet.
Placing it in his grocery bag, he almost forgot about it until he got home to put away his groceries.
He sat at his kitchen counter, tapping the end of the bottle to force out the papers inside. When that didn't work, he resorted to breaking it, wondering how Sandy and her mother had gotten it out in the first place without having to do the same. Cleaning up the errant glass pieces, he settled in his seat at last with his prizes.
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After finishing them, Logan pushed the papers to the side, not wanting to stain them with the moisture that leaked from his eyes. He couldn't help but feel a bleak loneliness permeating through every word, resonating within the hollow recesses of his body and soul, and filling them their tragedy.
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Excerpt from Letter no. 1
To my baby boy,
You were so beautiful, like you were sleeping.
I tried to keep you in my arms for as long as I could. I screamed and threatened for you, but they made me give you up. And, I hate them for it. Your granddaddy, aunt, and uncle were there for me, though. All that was missing was you.
I named you Hunter. I hear you crying for me sometimes when I'm alone, Hunter. I'm so sorry, baby.
I love you.
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Excerpt from Letter no. 2
To my son's father,
Now, neither of us will ever get to know him.
It's not fair.
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Excerpt from Letter no. 3
(Not addressed to anyone)
Two months, three weeks, and fourteen days ago, I buried my son. His body, the coffin, the hole, the tombstone. Everything was so tiny.
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A/N: This may not seem as relevant now, but it will later (soon): If the time jumps and shifting perspectives seem confusing, everything will become clearer in the end, especially since I typed up the general timeline (which should definitely make things easier). But, that'll probably be posted up with the last chapter, so… there's that. I'll try my best to make things as straightforward as possible though. Just know that not everything is in chronological order when I shift between their perspectives. Thanks for your patience. I hope you've all been enjoying it still so far.
Also, oh my. These chapters are decreasing in length. Tsk, I'll have to fix that. Deciding to start writing earlier should probably help.
Fun fact: It's 2am, and I'm writing thiiiiis when I should be drawing that picture I promised to people for my oooother story. It's 3am, going on 4am.