I'd Paint the Desert for You

Silent and still, not a single movement the moment I see it. After scanning through the junk maybe a dozen times a day, here it is. Finally. My eyes begin to move while I hold my breath.

“Still Alive”

So thankful. We’ve got a lot more to go.

“Moved me around the bases a couple times”

You’ve only been gone for five days, is that normal?

“I'm in the process of learning how to drive an MRAP vehicle”

What’s that? I need to learn military jargon.

“A very safe very well protected 70,000lb truck”

That makes me feel a little better. You’re precious cargo to me.

“Not much to see here . . . just miles of sand . . . I miss greens, blues, and any other color”

I’d paint the desert for you if I could.

“Not sure when I’ll be able to make a phone call”

I miss your voice.

He says phone contact and e-mails will be limited because he’s currently living out of an 80-person tent. I cringe at the idea. I can’t imagine what he’s experiencing.

Chris closes by telling me that he misses me, that a year of separation will be horrible. For the first time since I opened his e-mail, I take a breath. I readjust my position in my kitchen chair. I start his message from the beginning. I do this six more times, because I miss him too.

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Photo by Jayel Aheram
Note: Jayel is currently serving in the United States Marine Corps. He has an entire album dedicated to his deployment to Iraq showing that, even in the ugliest places and times, beauty can be found.

Sometimes Tardiness is Well-Timed

Photo by jgarber

A large dilapidated box arrived, blocking the entrance to my house. We’d been receiving packages over the last week and this was just one more to add to the pile. A small piece of me hoped, but after several days of searching the mailbox and the space by the garage where deliveries like to hide, I knew it was safer not to. How stupid of me.

Dinged up from its travels, slumping victoriously, there it was: better late than never. Chris’ birthday present to me was finally here, my face aglow with the biggest smile I’d had in days.

Before Chris left, he’d given me the arrival date of my gift. Had it come on time, one week before today, Chris would've been home when I received it. Until now, I have never been grateful for a late delivery. Though he is not permitted to contact anyone just yet, he is communicating now, no words necessary.