I didn’t have to beg my parents for a cell phone on Christmas of 2001; they thought it was suddenly a necessary item. Apparently, they’d want to know immediately if I was in the middle of some terrorist activity. The cell phone was the answer to all of their problems.
Just after Christmas, I gave Ryker’s dad, Bill, my new cell number, so he could give it to Ryker when he called. His unit was deployed just before Christmas, and winter break felt like purgatory, waiting for his call with nothing to distract me.
Finally, the first week in January, the phone rang with an “unavailable number.” I tried not to get my hopes up that it was him.
My voice was shakier than I would have liked. “Hello?”
“Damn, it’s good to hear your voice,” Ryker purred into the phone. I could hear his smile.
I threw my hand over my mouth to silence the tears. “Hey you,” I squeaked out.
Hearing his voice made it real. All at once. Ryker Manning—my boyfriend, Amherst College political science major, and Bill and Julia’s son—was at war.
“Heeey,” he stretched out like a parent comforting an infant, “don’t cry.”
“I’m sorry,” I quickly composed myself, “how’s . . . everything?” I felt like such an idiot. How’s everything?
“It’s weird, kind of hard to explain. Tense, boring, you know.”
“Yeah,” I chuckled, “I know. It’s boring and tense without you around.”
“How’d you finish out the semester?” He sounded nervous.
“Do you really want to talk about school, Ryker?”
He laughed. “Not really. I’d rather talk about how much I love you.”
Suddenly I was suspended in air. We’d said I love you to each other a few times before he left. He just reaffirmed that he felt the same way. I started to cry again, but worked really hard to keep it out of my voice.
“I love you, too.” I turned my back as my mom walked into the kitchen. She poured orange juice and pretended to take a sip. She hates orange juice; she was eavesdropping.
“I got your letter. I keep it in my pocket all the time.”
The day I got home from saying goodbye to him, I wrote him a letter telling him every good thing about him I was feeling that moment, and promised it would never change. I said it would probably only increase as he was gone, but that I wanted him as soon as possible. The me of today would tell the me of then to just put the pen down, or write a simple “I love you.” There were loads of promises in that letter . . .
“Will you write me more?” he asked. “I can’t explain what it’s like to actually get a letter. It’s a piece of you here with me.”
“I’ll write you every day if you want.” My mom choked a little on her juice. I really wanted her to go away. I moved out to the living room. “I miss you.” I promised myself I wouldn’t say it, but it came flying out anyway.
“God, Nat, I miss you too. It’s only been a little over a month but—”
“But you’re so far away.” I wiped under my eyes as my mom, obviously, came into the living room.
“Yeah, so far away. I love you, Baby. I’m going to keep writing you, too. Okay? I want to be there with you any way possible. Listen, I gotta go,” he cleared his throat, “but I’ll call you again as soon as I can.”
“Okay. I love you.”
“I love you, too.”
Click.
I sat in silence, staring at the phone that had just connected me with my soldier thousands of miles away and now sat blank. I didn’t care that my mom was watching, I let the tears pour down my face. I didn’t think simply hearing his voice would hurt so much.
“Honey, don’t you think you’re a bit too serious about this boy?” my mom said unflinchingly.
I turned my head slowly and found my dad cautiously entering the room. He’d heard what she said.
“I beg your pardon?” I questioned.
“You’re a mess, Dear. You’ve been seeing each other just a few months . . .”
“It’s not like he stayed in Amherst while I came home to Pennsylvania for Christmas, Mother, he’s in fucking Afghanistan!” I rose as I shouted.
“Natalie . . .” My dad raised his hand in an effort to calm me.
She picked imaginary lint off her shirt. “I just don’t think it’s good for you to be involved with a military person at this point in your schooling.”
“Soldier. The word you’re looking for is soldier. And, Dad,” I turned toward my father, “how would you feel if you found out that Gram’s mom told her to stop getting “so serious” with Grampa when he was in Korea?” My grandfather served in the Marines in Korea. That’s the closest I’d ever been to the military until Ryker.