feet to the floor with a soft thud . She pushed up from the
bed and walked into her closet. Tossing her head back, she stared up at the
box on the top shelf. She retrieved the small step stool from its hiding place
and set it on the floor. Then she reached up and pulled the box down,
balancing it on her shoulder as she stepped off the stool. Carrying it to her
bed, she gently set the box down as if it contained the most precious of
jewels. She put her hands on the lid, poised ready to open it.
Maybe she should get some coffee first.
Maybe she should give up this ritual.
Her hands remained still on the top of the lid. Where was
her nerve today? She never hesitated this much before.
Deciding to put this off for a few more minutes, Niki walked
down the hallway to the kitchen. She started some coffee. Her gaze bored a
hole in the pot as she waited for it to brew. When it finally did, she poured
a cup, drowning it in caramel flavored creamer. Two swirls of the spoon and
the liquid was the perfect color. She leaned against the counter, sipping the
brew. When she looked up, her eyes went to the picture of Jack on the wall.
Jack. I don’t think I can do this today. I know this is
the day every year that I remember you, mom, and dad—but I…
She swiped at the tear rolling down her cheek.
Nothing has ever been the same since you left. I don’t
even know where you are. Marcy says there is some kind of life after death.
Is that where you are? In heaven? Or was your existence a mere twenty-two
years and then nothing?
Niki finished off the first cup of coffee and poured a
second. Walking back to her room, she shut the door, hoping to shut out the
thoughts. She set the mug on the flat footboard of her bed. She sat on the
edge of the bed, still hesitating. After jumping up to grab some tissues, she
settled back on the bed and stared at the box.
She opened the lid then slowly removed each treasure.
Jack’s flag from the Air Force—the one draped over his coffin—now neatly folded
into a triangle and preserved in the cherry frame. She lightly ran her fingers
over the glass case. If only a flag could comfort you. If only a flag could
watch you graduate, or give you desperately needed advice. But no flag could
replace her brother. She gently laid the flag beside the box, letting the
tears flow. She was a mess and this was only the first item.
Reaching in, she pulled out the picture of Jack’s graduation
from the Air Force boot camp, mere weeks before they lost their parents. She
propped it against the flag, then took out the next tangible memory.
Mom and Dad’s wedding picture. Ironic that it was the one
picture of them she kept in this box considering their marriage was so rocky.
Had they not been killed, it probably would have ended in divorce. But, this
picture meant something different for her. She didn’t keep it because it
symbolized her parents’ marriage. She kept it because it was constant. No
matter where they moved, no matter how long they lived there, this picture was
always displayed. It was one of the few unchanging and reliable things in her
life.
Laying the picture aside, she pulled the most sacred, most
treasured pieces next—the letters from Jack while he was deployed in
Afghanistan. She still found it odd that he would have written so many,
especially after writing next to nothing when he was in basic training and
technical school. Maybe he somehow knew she would need these more.
She pulled the first one from the stack—the first one he
wrote.
September 28, 2001
Nickels,
Sorry this is the first letter I’m getting out to you. We’ve
been swamped getting set up. You wouldn’t believe it. How these poor people
live. It’s heart breaking.
Funny thing—you know how we always talk about those religious
fanatics in the service—you know, Christians. I’m bunking next to one. Joined
at the hip with
bed and walked into her closet. Tossing her head back, she stared up at the
box on the top shelf. She retrieved the small step stool from its hiding place
and set it on the floor. Then she reached up and pulled the box down,
balancing it on her shoulder as she stepped off the stool. Carrying it to her
bed, she gently set the box down as if it contained the most precious of
jewels. She put her hands on the lid, poised ready to open it.
Maybe she should get some coffee first.
Maybe she should give up this ritual.
Her hands remained still on the top of the lid. Where was
her nerve today? She never hesitated this much before.
Deciding to put this off for a few more minutes, Niki walked
down the hallway to the kitchen. She started some coffee. Her gaze bored a
hole in the pot as she waited for it to brew. When it finally did, she poured
a cup, drowning it in caramel flavored creamer. Two swirls of the spoon and
the liquid was the perfect color. She leaned against the counter, sipping the
brew. When she looked up, her eyes went to the picture of Jack on the wall.
Jack. I don’t think I can do this today. I know this is
the day every year that I remember you, mom, and dad—but I…
She swiped at the tear rolling down her cheek.
Nothing has ever been the same since you left. I don’t
even know where you are. Marcy says there is some kind of life after death.
Is that where you are? In heaven? Or was your existence a mere twenty-two
years and then nothing?
Niki finished off the first cup of coffee and poured a
second. Walking back to her room, she shut the door, hoping to shut out the
thoughts. She set the mug on the flat footboard of her bed. She sat on the
edge of the bed, still hesitating. After jumping up to grab some tissues, she
settled back on the bed and stared at the box.
She opened the lid then slowly removed each treasure.
Jack’s flag from the Air Force—the one draped over his coffin—now neatly folded
into a triangle and preserved in the cherry frame. She lightly ran her fingers
over the glass case. If only a flag could comfort you. If only a flag could
watch you graduate, or give you desperately needed advice. But no flag could
replace her brother. She gently laid the flag beside the box, letting the
tears flow. She was a mess and this was only the first item.
Reaching in, she pulled out the picture of Jack’s graduation
from the Air Force boot camp, mere weeks before they lost their parents. She
propped it against the flag, then took out the next tangible memory.
Mom and Dad’s wedding picture. Ironic that it was the one
picture of them she kept in this box considering their marriage was so rocky.
Had they not been killed, it probably would have ended in divorce. But, this
picture meant something different for her. She didn’t keep it because it
symbolized her parents’ marriage. She kept it because it was constant. No
matter where they moved, no matter how long they lived there, this picture was
always displayed. It was one of the few unchanging and reliable things in her
life.
Laying the picture aside, she pulled the most sacred, most
treasured pieces next—the letters from Jack while he was deployed in
Afghanistan. She still found it odd that he would have written so many,
especially after writing next to nothing when he was in basic training and
technical school. Maybe he somehow knew she would need these more.
She pulled the first one from the stack—the first one he
wrote.
September 28, 2001
Nickels,
Sorry this is the first letter I’m getting out to you. We’ve
been swamped getting set up. You wouldn’t believe it. How these poor people
live. It’s heart breaking.
Funny thing—you know how we always talk about those religious
fanatics in the service—you know, Christians. I’m bunking next to one. Joined
at the hip with
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