Jessie & The Tornado Ch. 03

P.S.: Right now, I really do feel like your nickname for me might be the most accurate – Leatherbrain.

I finally hit send, turned the computer off and went to bed at the station.

I had only been asleep about three hours when the alarm went off, indicating we had another emergency to deal with. Our dispatcher reported a house fire, and within two minutes we were leaving the station. We didn't get back until almost noon.

After cleaning everything up, hanging wet hoses up to dry, and loading on dry hoses it was almost 2 pm. Just four more hours to go.

It was with a feeling of dread I finally checked my e-mail.

Yes, there was something from Jessie.

Do I read it now, learn how much she despises me, or do I wait until later?

That decision was actually made for me, when we got another call for a traffic accident.

By the time we got back from that, it was nearly six, so I just decided to wait until I got to my house. I'm very glad I did.

My Dear Samuel O. Walker,

My Dear, Dear Sam (My Leatherneck),

I honestly don't know that I could ever find anyone that has more in common with me than you do, but you just don't know it yet. And as I am about to explain, I have aged a lot in the past 21 months.

You also said that you hope we can "someday" be friends again. That is not really possible since as far as I am concerned we still are friends.

And since it has almost become obligatory for us to exchange little insults (God I love that part most of all – I never knew how much fun it was!), let me say this. I know how difficult it is for someone of your advanced age to remember things, but if you REALLY, REALLY try, you might remember that in my very first hand-written letter to you (necessary because the big brave Marine chickened out on coming back home) I mentioned that my friends always called me a wall-flower and had to force me to talk to guys.

I was really serious about that part, more than you would believe. I really have NEVER been as forward with anyone as I was with you that first day. I think my soul recognized someone else who was in as much pain, perhaps even more pain, than I was.

Yes, part of that pain was probably because I had just knocked you out with an incredibly powerful soccer kick, but once I was FINALLY able to get your eyes to look anywhere but my breasts I could see the deeper pain that mirrored my own.

Let me be honest here and say it really used to PISS ME OFF when "friends" would come up and express condolences about "my loss" then say they understood the pain I was going through. BULLSHIT! If you haven't been there, then "Back Off Bessie," because you don't understand ANYTHING!

Do I understand the pain you are going through? No!

I wasn't married for six years to my childhood sweetheart. My parents told me about that. I guess you, or someone in your family mentioned that to them at the memorial service for your wife.

My childhood sweetheart was murdered two days before our wedding.

So, do I understand the pain you are going through? No. But I understand SOME of the pain you are going through because I am still going through it as well.

If I wanted to be selfish here and look back, I could say that at least you had six years of marriage with someone you loved. That would be six years longer than I had. But NOW? I no longer want to look back.

So, do you understand the pain I am going through? No. But you understand SOME of the pain I am going through.

I want to be honest here. Up until recently I WAS looking back. At what could have been? Do you know when that changed a little? Believe me, there are some days I still DO look back.

But it started to change when I knocked out this dumb-ass Marine. Maybe I need to do it again?

This coming June 4 will be what was supposed to be the second anniversary for John Bennett and me. He was killed on June 2. I am usually very depressed for a lot of June.

I have not been out with anyone, and have hardly even talked to any guys since then.

Until I knocked you out!

On my soccer team, they call me the "Ice Queen." Partly because I am tall, partly because I am blond, partly because of my Scandinavian heritage. But mostly because they also say I am unemotional about anything but winning.

Right now, I am more emotional than I have been in the past two years. Tears are streaming down my face as I am typing this – because of some dumb-ass Marine!

Looking back at my last few e-mails, before "The Big Silence," I see the error I made.

Please note: I did not say "our first date." I said "kind of like our first date." I thought I was fairly safe using words of mostly three and four letters since I was writing to a former Marine.

In all fairness to you Sam, one year ago if someone had written something to me about "kind of like our first date," I would probably have freaked out as well. I understand Sam. I really do. I just wasn't thinking (and don't say ANYTHING about that not being unusual for a blonde) when I wrote that.

Sam, please let us at least give it a try. Please, for both of us, say "Yes."

Do I love you? No, of course not. My pain is still too deep as well. It may be that we are NOT right for each other, but do we give up before we even try? For the first time in nearly two years, I can at least IMAGINE what it might feel like to be in love again.

For that alone, no matter what happens between us, I will always have a little piece of you inside my heart. You made me hope, at least a little, again.

And, more importantly, you have made me laugh for the first time in nearly two years. Thank you for that.

I also realize I have several advantages here.

One, I have had an additional year-plus more than you to come to terms with what happened.

Two, I am about to graduate from the University of Georgia, one of our nation's top schools of higher education, and the oldest state-chartered university in the nation. What college did you attend? Oh, I forgot. You didn't.

Three, I am a blonde! Blondes are smarter than ex-Marines.

Four, I have never been a Marine.

Five, I have a brain – oh, wait, are four and five redundant? (Do you need to look that word up?)

Six, if you don't say "Yes!" then I'll knock you out – AGAIN!

Your FRIEND,

Jessie

P.S.: What does the "O" in your name stand for?

P.P.S. My father tells a story about HIS grandfather, my great-grandfather. Great-grandpa was a farmer, and had a mule named Midnight. Midnight was the hardest working mule in three states. Every day, he would pull a plow from sunup to sundown. But every morning, my Great-grandpa would have to start the day by finding a really big stick and hit Midnight right between the eyes. The first time my father told me that story I was horrified. "Why did he have to hit him every morning?" I asked. My father said Great-grandpa always said that every morning, first you had to get his attention! Do I have your attention yet, Sam? Or do I need a bigger stick?

While reading, I immediately remembered that first day, just after Jessie had brushed her lips against mine. I remembered seeing tears in her eyes, before she turned away and walked back to her parent's home.

I read her e-mail a second, then a third time. After I finished crying I hit respond:

My Dear Jessie,

Question #3: Did you hear about the blonde who was attending the University of Georgia? One day, she was bragging in class that she knew the capital of every state in the Union. So the instructor decided to give her a test. "What is the capital of Wisconsin?" he asked.

You have definitely got my attention.

In answer to YOUR statement number six, Miss Johansson: "YES."

Your FRIEND,

Sam

P.S.: "That's easy," said the blonde, "the capital of Wisconsin is "W."

P.P.S.: I really wasn't thinking when I pondered what restaurant you would want to eat at. McDonalds? Of course not. Chuck-E-Cheese here we come.

P.P.P.S.: Are keyboards waterproof? Mine is practically floating now from my tears, after reading your e-mail. I am so sorry. I sometimes forget that other people have had equally horrific tragedies in their lives.

P.P.P.P.S.: Just how revealing is your bikini?

P.P.P.P.P.S.: Did I ever tell you that you remind me of the Venus de Milo?

P.P.P.P.P.P.S.: At the University of Georgia, how do they get the sheep away from the Sex Education Class in order to make your diplomas, i.e., "Sheepskin?"

P.P.P.P.P.P.P.S: I may be the big, bad-ass Marine who served two combat tours in Iraq, but you have shown me more about the word courage tonight than I ever knew. Regardless of what happens, Jess, there will always be a little piece of you in my heart as well.

P.P.P.P.P.P.P.P.S.: When does it stop hurting?

I hit send.

I only had to wait about 30 minutes for a response.

My Dear, Dear Sam,

If someone had asked me a month ago, "When does it stop hurting?" my answer would have been that I don't know because it still hurts just as bad.

Of course then I met you. Lying face first in a flower bed.

Now, my answer would be, "I still don't know when it STOPS hurting, but I think I know when it begins to stop hurting so much."

I think it BEGINS to stop hurting so much when you can start smiling. Not all the time, but find moments when you find yourself smiling in spite of yourself.

I think it BEGINS to stop hurting so much when you can start joking and laughing with someone you care about.

I think it BEGINS to stop hurting so much when you can stop focusing on yourself quite as much, and start focusing on someone else.

When I read your e-mails, with all your juvenile attempts at humor, all your fifth-grade level insults, all your use of big words that you probably have to Google: well, for a few minutes I am smiling, I am laughing and I am planning my revenge on you. And for those few minutes it stops hurting.

Does the pain come back? Yes, especially late at night. There are some nights I still cry myself to sleep. But there are a lot more nights now when I think about what you have written, and find myself smiling, and even laughing out loud at something idiotic you wrote.

It is much nicer to fall asleep smiling than crying.

I think it BEGINS to stop hurting so much when you start caring about someone else.

I think that is what they call FRIENDSHIP.

Now, in no particular order:

Chuck-E-Cheese might be your ideal location for dinner, but not mine.

Very revealing.

Hold your keyboard upside down and let it drip-dry. It worked for me.

Wow! Venus de Milo? The statue of Aphrodite, the Greek goddess of beauty and love? Thank you, kind sir!

We tell the sheep either they are going to be made into sheepskin, or we will sell them to the Marines. They always choose death.

Sam, I am so scared at times it almost paralyzes me. You and I know, more so than anyone else, that nothing is guaranteed in life.

Your FRIEND,

Jessie

P.S.: So, what DOES the "O" stand for?

After reading, I hit respond:

Dear Jessie,

No jokes this time. I am so tired I can hardly keep my eyes open, so I have to go to bed.

Thank you, Jessie, for being here when I need you. When I need a FRIEND.

Your FRIEND,

Sam

After hitting send, I turned the computer off. I did not read her response until the next morning.

Dear Sam,

Right now, I really do wish I was there with you.

I would love to just sleep in your arms. Just sleep, for one night.

Jessie

The next morning, when I read Jessie's last e-mail, I again questioned myself. What was I doing? Was I being fair to Jessie? Then I went back and re-read her letter when she mentioned about her fiancé being killed two days before her wedding, and the follow-up about when it stops hurting.

I still didn't know what I was doing, but I wrote another letter.

My Dear, Sweet Jessie,

Why does it take longer to build a blonde snowman?

I think I had been in kindergarten about a week, when one day our teacher announced we had a new student, whose family had just moved back to North Carolina after being gone for a few years.

In walked just about the tiniest little person I had ever seen. She had long red hair, and green eyes, and I thought she was so pretty. Just like a doll.

Her mother walked her over to where our group was sitting on the floor, and the new student sat down.

Our teacher said, "This is Deborah, and her mother, Mrs. Watson. Both of Deborah's parents are school teachers. Everyone say hi to Deborah."

Of course we all said, "Hi, Deborah."

As her mother started to leave, the new girl started crying, then almost screaming.

Her mother took her out into the hallway and must have talked to her for several minutes.

She came back inside and sat down, and her mother sat down in a chair near her.

I walked over to the new girl, knelt down and whispered, "Hi, I'm Sam. I am so scared I think I am about to start crying too. Will you let me sit down beside you so I won't cry?"

Deborah looked up at this rather big, chubby kid with her incredible green eyes for a minute or two, smiled and then patted the floor beside her.

After I sat down, Debbie reached over and held my hand.

"I'm a little scared too," she said, "but maybe we can hold hands and keep each other from crying."

A few minutes later her mother got up to leave.

As I looked at Debbie, her bottom lip started trembling and I could see her eyes begin to fill with tears. I squeezed her hand. She looked at me, then looked into my eyes. I could see her bottom lip stop trembling and she stopped crying. She was gripping my hand so tightly I almost cried out, but I didn't.

After that, we always sat together, and would usually hold hands for a while. And she didn't cry.

Debbie never mentioned that first day of kindergarten until years later, just before we were to start high school as freshmen.

As usual we had spent the whole day together, and it was early evening. Debbie turned to me and asked, "You weren't really scared that first day of school were you?"

I had to admit I wasn't.

"I didn't think so," she said, "I knew you were just saying that to help me. That was when, that very first day, I fell in love with you."

Then she leaned over and kissed me, but unlike our previous kisses, this was full on lip-to-lip and it quickly turned into a tongue-in-mouth kiss.

Do I believe her when she said she fell in love with me, way back when we were only five?

Yes, because I also fell in love with her that day.

In fact, when I got home that day from school, I remember I got so MAD at my mother. I asked Mom how old you had to be before you got married, and when Mom told me you had to be at least 18 I got very upset thinking I would have to wait 13 years before I could marry Debs.

It HURTS so much to think about Debbie. But at the same time, it does feel better to share this story with someone else.

Would you like to tell me about John Bennett?

Your friend,

Sam

P.S.: First you have to hollow out the head.

P.P.S.: Yes, Aphrodite is the Greek goddess of beauty and love, so yes, there is that similarity. But actually I was thinking that, since you are (1) a blonde, and (2) soon going to graduate from UGA, you might want to be very careful. You have already said how much you love exchanging insults with me. I am only afraid that if you try to engage in a battle of wits with me, a war of words, then – like the Venus de Milo – you might be unarmed! I also love puns!

After that, Jessie and I started exchanging at least one, and usually two, three or four e-mails every day. Each day I would either have blonde jokes or University of Georgia jokes (usually both), and I would also frequently include a little story about Debbie and I.

One of my favorite things I sent Jessie was a supposed list of "Yankee Medical Terms." I especially loved this one because of my medical training.

Yankee Medical Terms and their proper University of Georgia definition:

Terminal illness -- Getting sick at the airport

Cauterize -- To make eye contact with a woman

Pharmacist -- A person who makes a living in agriculture

G.I. Series -- A baseball game between teams of soldiers

Benign -- What you are after you be eight and before you be ten

Scalpel -- What you stand on to clean windows in high rise buildings

Vein -- Conceited

Varicose -- Nearby

Dilate -- To live long

Colic -- A sheep dog

Enema -- Not a friend

Congenital -- Friendly

Node -- Was aware of

Tumor -- An extra pair

Morbid -- A higher offer

Hangnail -- A coat hook

Pelvis -- A cousin of Elvis

Fibula -- A small white lie

Coma -- A punctuation mark

Seizure -- A Roman emperor

D&C -- Where Washington is

Anti-body -- Against everyone

Secretion -- Hiding something

Rectum -- Dang near killed 'em

Post-operative -- A letter carrier

Labor pain -- Getting hurt at work

Protein -- In favor of young people

Paralyze -- Two farfetched stories

CAT Scan -- Searching for the kitty

Urine -- The opposite of "you are out"

Nitrates -- Cheaper than the day rate

Impotent -- Distinguished, well known

Genes -- What you wear cutting grass

Barium -- What you do after the patient dies

Bacteria -- The back door of a cafeteria

Outpatient -- A patient who has fainted

Cesarean section -- A district in Rome

For some reason I can't explain, Jessie had some rather negative comments about that list, but would always either have a Marine Corps joke, or an old age joke for me. And she would usually include a story about John Bennett.

For the first three or four e-mails from Jessie she would always ask what the "O" stood for in my name, and when it became obvious I wasn't going to tell her, she started asking about specific names, such as: Oliver, Oscar, Octavius, Olsen, etc.

After a week or two of receiving Marine Corps jokes from Jessie, I decided I would share a couple of my favorite Marine Corps jokes with her. One of those jokes is as follows:

The Navy Invented Sex

A Marine and a sailor were sitting in a bar one day arguing over which was the superior service.

After a swig of beer the Marine says, "Well, we had Iwo Jima."

Arching his eyebrows, the sailor replies, "We had the Battle of Midway."

"Not entirely true," responded the Marine. "Some of those pilots were Marines, in fact, Henderson Field on Guadalcanal was named after a Marine pilot killed at the Battle of Midway."

The sailor responds, "Point taken."

The Marine then says, "We Marines were born at Tunn Tavern!"

The sailor, nodding agreement, says, "But we had John Paul Jones."