Just Remember to Breathe (Thompson Sisters)

a mess. I rooted around in my purse, found a not-terribly clean napkin, and wiped my face. Then I took out my phone, and started to read.
    At first the messages didn’t make sense. Then I realized the newest ones were on top, of course. So I scrolled way down to the bottom, and started reading up. And tried to keep from falling apart.
    MARCH 24, 2012
    TO:
    FROM:
    SUBJECT: WASSUP?

    Weed,

    I’m at Walter Reed. They say I might get to keep the leg, but it doesn’t work worth a shit. What’s up with you? How’s everybody?
    I miss you guys more than you know.
    Dylan Paris

    MARCH 25, 2012
    TO:
    FROM:
    SUBJECT: RE: WASSUP?

    Holy shit, it’s alive! You get your laptop replaced? How’s Walter Reed? I’m sure the hospital sucks, but is the food at least better than here? We’re doing okay, mostly. Weber got whacked by some fucking hajis a couple weeks ago, and Sergeant Colton got hit. Colton’s back on duty already, and raising hell because we got caught with a fifth of gin in the tent. Bet he took it to drink himself.
    I miss you too, dude. For one thing, there’s no one here worth talking to. Bogey keeps going on about his fucking conquests with girls, all day and all night long. The only conquest he’s ever really had is with his hand. Which, we caught him doing, on patrol. I mean, come on, in your sleeping bag at the FOB, sure, but out in the field? Give me a fucking break.
    You ever hear from Alex?
    Write me back and soon, motherfucker. If they don’t extend us, I’ll be out of here in six more months. Or so. Whenever. I hate this fucking place.
    Ray
    I couldn’t help but laugh at the tone of the emails, even though my heart gave a twinge at the sentence, You ever hear from Alex? They sounded just like the way Dylan and Sherman talked with each other. I continued to read, slowly scrolling up after each email.

MARCH 25, 2012
    TO:
    FROM:

    Weed,
    Sorry to hear about Weber. Wow, I wish I’d had a chance to say goodbye. Or something. I’ve been thinking about going to see Robert’s parents when I get out of the hospital. But I don’t know, maybe I should stay away. How do you tell someone’s mom, “I’m sorry I got your kid killed?”
    As far as Alex goes, we’re done. I’m pretty sure she staged the whole fucking thing anyway. But seriously, I never had any business falling for her. She’s way out of my league. I hate it, but that’s life.
    Tell Sergeant Colton I had two liters of vodka in my bags, and I want that shit back. I know he took it before they shipped my stuff here.
    Dylan

    APRIL 1, 2012
    TO:
    FROM:

    Stop calling me Weed, Mr. Studmaster.
    On that topic: You need to sit back and take a good look at the pictures you have of you and Alex together. Yeah, she probably got over you. But if I were you, I’d be chasing that down. Seriously.
    With regards to Roberts: don’t be an asshole. You didn’t get him killed, the hajis did. Not your fault, dude. If we hadn’t been out on that patrol, someone else would have. And they’d be just as dead.
    So, seriously, don’t take this the wrong way. But go see a shrink. Like tomorrow. You got knocked on the head pretty hard, and the things you’re writing worry me.
    Your friend,

    Ray

    P.S. Sorry it took me so long to write back. Been out on a fucking 5-day patrol. They’re saying Lieutenant Eggers volunteered us for it, the shit.
    And bullshit on the vodka. Since when do you drink?

    APRIL 1, 2012
    TO:
    FROM:

    Ray,
    Listen, dude. We’re friends. But please don’t write to me about Alex. I’d just ruin her life. We’re too different. Sometimes I think I’m going to end up like my dad. Until my Mom got wise and kicked his ass out, he used to knock her around whenever he got drunk. Which, my friend, is why I don’t drink.
    I gotta tell you, being in this hospital, it makes me think I do need a shrink. Except for my mom, who comes to visit pretty much every day, it’s very quiet here. Nurses and docs come and go. I get tests done. And I watch TV and read. That’s about it. Lots of time to think. And think. And think. Dude, I’m gonna write some stuff here I gotta think about and talk about, and you’re elected to listen. Because there isn’t anyone else.
    Alex sent me a