LITMIR.BIZ

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am frightened of you at such times.

      BECAUSE I LOVE YOU, Brett. I love you.

      I love you and so sometimes this other—it’s like this other—is staring at me out of your eyes . . .

      It is very frightening to me. For I don’t know what I can do, to placate this other.

      I PLEDGE TO YOU to be your loving wife forever & ever Amen.

      I pledge to you as to Jesus our Savior forever & ever Amen.

      I am not ashamed of loving you. Of being with you as we did . . .

      I would not have been ashamed if I had been pregnant (as I had worried I might be, as you know) and I think now (almost) that I am sorry that I was not.

      (Are you sorry?)

      (It would be so different now!)

      I feel that I am already your wife. But I feel sometimes that you are not my husband—exactly.

      I feel that there is Brett my darling, and there is—this other.

      Sometimes.

      HERE IS THE bridal gown design.

      It’s so lovely—isn’t it? Do you like it?

      Please tell me yes. I am so eager to hear yes.

      I know it doesn’t interest you—much. Of course . . .

      Some dresses are very expensive. This is a bargain, we found online—“Bonnie Bell Designs.”

      And so beautiful, I think.

      Ivory silk. Ivory lace. One-shoulder neckline with a sheer lace back. The pleated bodice is “fitted” and the skirt “flared.”

      The veil is gossamer chiffon. The train is three feet long.

      And these are the shoes: ivory satin pumps.

      Let me hold the picture to the light, maybe you can see better . . .

      Do you think that I will look . . . pretty . . . in this?

      You’d said I was your beautiful girl. Many times you’d said that, Brett. I believed you then, and I want to believe you now.

      Please say yes.

      YOU WILL WEAR your U.S. Army dress uniform. So handsome in your dress uniform with “decorations.”

      You will wear the dark glasses. You will wear white gloves. The dress cap, so elegant.

      Corporal Brett Kincaid. My husband.

      We will practice. We have months to practice.

      (YOU’D HAD A “stateside” promotion—you’d said.)

      (All things have a meaning in the military—you’d said. And so stateside had a meaning but what is that meaning?—we did not know.)

      (We know only that we are so proud of our Corporal Brett Kincaid.)

      YOU ARE MISTAKEN—YOU do not look wounded.

      You do not look “battered.”

      You do not look “like shit”!

      You are my handsome fiancé, you are not truly changed. There will be more surgeries. There must be time to heal, the surgeon has explained. There will be a “natural healing”—in time.

      You can’t expect a miracle to be perfect!

      The ears, the scalp, the forehead, the lids of the eyes. The throat beneath the jaw, on your right side. Except in bright light you would think it was an ordinary burn—burns.

      Oh please don’t flinch, Brett—when I kiss you. Please.

      It’s like a sliver of glass in the heart—when you push me from you.

      IF PEOPLE ARE looking at you in Carthage it is only because they know of you—your medals, your honors. They are admiring of you, for you are a war hero but they would not want to intrude.

      Like Daddy. He is so admiring of you, Brett!—but Daddy has a funny way about him when he’s emotional—gets very quiet—people wouldn’t believe that Zeno Mayfield is a shy man really.

      Well I mean—essentially.

      It’s hard for men to talk about—certain things. Daddy had not ever had a son, only daughters. To us, Daddy talks. We listen.

      And Mom talks about you all the time. When you were in Iraq, in combat, she prayed for you all the time. She worried more when we didn’t hear from you than I did, almost . . .

      All of my family, Brett. All of the Mayfields.

      Try to believe—we love you.

      I WISH YOU would come back to church with me, Brett.

      Everyone is missing you there.

      We have a new minister—he’s very nice.

      And his wife, she’s very nice.

      They ask after you every Sunday. They know about you of course.

      I mean—they know that you are returned to us safely.

      There are other veterans in the congregation, I think. They don’t come every week. But I think you know two of them at least—Denny Bisher and Brandon Kranach. Maybe they’d been in Iraq, or maybe Afghanistan.

      Denny is in a wheelchair. Denny’s younger brother wheels him in. Or his mother. How’s Brett Denny is always asking me and I tell him you’ll contact him soon . . .

      How’s Corporal Kincaid. How’s that cool dude.

      No, please! Don’t be angry with me, I am sorry.

      . . . I will not bring Denny up again.

      . . . I will not bring church up again.

      Don’t be angry at me, please I am sorry.

      JUST FIREWORKS, BRETT! Over at Palisade Park.

      The windows are shut. Air conditioner is on.

      I can turn the music higher so you won’t hear.

      I said honey—just fireworks. You know—Fourth of July in the park.

      Yes better not to go this year.

      I told them not to expect us—Mom and Dad. We have other things to do.

      WHICH TABLETS?—the white ones, or . . .

      I can bring you a glass of water.

      OK, a glass of beer. But the doctor said . . .

      . . . not a good idea to mix “alcohol” and “meds” . . .

      Don’t—please.

      WE WILL PRACTICE, in the church. Before the wedding rehearsal, we will practice.

      You do not limp. Only just—sometimes—you seem to lose your balance—you make that sudden jerking movement with your legs like in a dream.

      I think it is not real. It is just something in your head.

      HAND-EYE COORDINATION. THEY have promised.

      In the video, you can see how that boy improved.

      There are many miracles. The great miracle God has provided is, you are alive and we are together.

      The doctor—neurologist—says it is a matter of neuron-recircuiting.

      It is a matter of new brain cells learning to take over from the damaged brain cells. It is neurogenesis.

      Like not-sleeping. The brain “forgets” how to sleep. Like—sometimes—the brain forgets how to control “elimination.” It is no one’s fault.

      These reflexes will come back in time, the doctor said.

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