Page 6 of Wannabe in Wyoming
My chickens have settled in, and last Saturday morning I got to eat my very first fresh-from-the-chicken-coop egg. I don’t know if I’m imagining things, but damn those things are better than any other egg I’ve ever had. Not to mention, the yolk is such a dark yellow! I always figured an egg was an egg, but apparently not. I also learned that I don’t have to refrigerate them as long as I don’t wash them after I collect them. That’s taking a lot longer to get used to. I keep thinking I’m going to get salmonella if I don’t put them in the fridge. How’s the food where you are? I’ve heard about those MREs, and I hope you’re not living on those. They sound pretty nasty.
On the Any Soldier site, it said that care packages are always welcome. I was thinking of putting something together for you. Any requests? I know chocolate is a no-go because it melts all over everything, but is there anything special you need, or are craving, that I can send you?
It is beautiful here, and once I get a printer for my computer on my next trip to Walmart, I’ll send you some pictures. In the meantime, I’ll do my best to describe it, and you’ll just have to use your imagination. I’m sitting on the side porch swing I hung yesterday. The chains creak a little as I rock. I’ll have to remember to put some WD-40 on them tomorrow. Right now, the sun is setting, and the colors are like something out of a dream. Pinks and reds, mixed with oranges and just a hint of purple above the hills. There’s a breeze blowing through the fields, rustling the tall grasses against each other. The air smells fresh and sweet, like flowers, grass, and dirt.
It was creepy when I first moved here, but I’ve gotten used to the different noises. The frogs and crickets are loud tonight, and lighting bugs are blinking all around through the fields by the barn. It’s beautiful and serene. I can’t see another house or building other than my own. I’ve never known peace like I feel here. The chickens were clucking and carrying on earlier, but they’re in bed now that it’s dark outside. I need to make sure the coop is locked up once I finish writing this, so no predators can get at them.
Nights like this make me feel maudlin and restless. I’ve been alone a long time, and it normally doesn’t bother me—I enjoy my own company. Tonight though, I wish there was someone I could sit with on this swing and just enjoy each other’s companionship.
I know I didn’t mention who I inherited the ranch from in my first letter, because I’m still trying to come to terms with it. I never knew my father, but he still left me everything he had. My mother rarely talked about him and only if I asked. Even when she did, there never were any details, not even his name. All she would tell me was they weren’t meant to be, and he left before I was born. She was sixteen when she had me, and I now know he was twenty-two at the time. Despite their age difference, I did get the impression she’d been in love with him and having me was something she never would’ve changed. Mom always made sure I knew I was loved and wanted. She’s been gone a few years now, so I can’t even go to her for more information, although I’m not sure she would’ve given it to me, even with what I know now.
Growing up, I tried to imagine what he looked like and what his personality was like. I wondered if he knew about me or if he didn’t know my mom was pregnant when he left. Again, she was never forthcoming with details and always changed the subject when I asked about him. Hell, I only found out his name a few weeks ago, when his lawyer called me to say my biological father had passed away and left me his ranch. Now, I know his name, Jason Hillcrest, and what he looked like from his driver’s license—it was in his wallet that I found in his bedroom. I think I have his eyes. I’m hoping there are other pictures of him in the trunks and boxes I still have to go through and some information on his family. Maybe I’ll find something about his parents and if he had any siblings, although his lawyer said I was the only living heir.
The only other thing I’ve discovered about him, so far, is that he wasn’t the nicest guy in the world. The words I’ve heard a few times to describe him since I’ve gotten here are “cranky,” “eccentric,” and “curmudgeon”. (I actually had to look that last one up, since I’d never heard anyone called that before.) Thankfully, a few people I’ve met have determined I fell far enough away from the paternal family tree to not have the same personality as him. Some other people in town still look at me funny—probably because of the tattoos and my nose stud—but others have started to warm up to me.
So, what about your family? Are your parents alive? Do you have any siblings, cousins, aunts, uncles, etc.?
I know I told you I had pink hair—it’s actually just the tips of my spiked hair—but I’m letting it grow out. It wasn’t intentional at first, but there’s only one hairdressing shop in town, and it’s owned by one of the people who hasn’t taken a liking to me yet. When I met her at the feed supply store, she turned her nose up at me. I’m afraid if I ask her to color or cut my hair, it’ll be a disaster. Maybe on my next trip to Walmart (forty minutes away), I’ll stop at their hair salon and get a trim.
You asked about my tattoos. I have a full sleeve on my right arm that has a bunch of things in it. I’d describe them for you, but honestly seeing them would be easier. I have ink from my right wrist, up my arm and shoulder, and across onto my upper chest and collar bone area. A lot of it is stuff that has special meaning to me or random things from Philly that I love. I even have a small cheesesteak tattooed on the inside of my forearm. LOL. I know, weird, right? But if you’re a Philly native, cheesesteaks are like a staple in your diet. I can’t imagine you were able ever to get a REAL cheesesteak in Colorado.
Your questions about this town were dead on. There’s a hamburger joint a block in from the edge of the main drag (which doesn’t have a single traffic light on it), a gazebo in the middle of the town square, and a theater that only shows one movie at a time. Apparently, Wednesdays is when they show classic films—this week’s oldie is Casablanca. The closest drive-in is about twenty-five minutes away, so still doable. I’ve never gone to a drive-in, but I don’t think I want to go by myself—that would be just too pathetic. I’ve made a few acquaintances here, but I’m not close enough to anyone yet to say we’re friends. My neighbor, Jeremiah, who bought the cattle and horses from me, has been really nice and helpful. He’s about forty years old and single, not that I’m interested in dating him or anyone else I’ve met so far, but I can see us becoming good friends.
There will be a parade AND a barbecue in the town square (no big carnival, but there will be some games and stuff) this coming weekend for July 4th. I’m sure I’ll be meeting more of the townspeople then.
Well, I’m going to wrap things up for now. I hope you’re safe and that this letter brings you a measure of joy.
Sincerely,
Willow
Wannabe Rancher
P.S. Fred says hello and that his new favorite snack is carrot tops.
Chapter Six
Staff Sergeant Nathan Caseytucked Willow’s letter into his shirt pocket, keeping it safe against his chest, before slipping on his body armor and helmet. She may never know, but her letters were saving his sanity. Days of training, hauling gear, unbearable heat, and the constant grit of dust were wearing him down—and he wasn’t the only one ready to get out of this hellhole. His buddies were itching to get back home too.
When their unit’s mail clerk had come around two months ago, he hadn’t even looked up, knowing there wouldn’t be anything for him. Much to his surprise though, he’d been handed an envelope addressed to “Any Soldier.” He knew about the program, of course, but he’d never been picked to receive a letter. He hadn’t realized until then how much mail from anyone, even a stranger, would make him feel. As he’d read the words Willow had written, he’d felt an instant connection to her that’d caught him off guard. He’d then counted the days until he might hear from her again. It took seven-to-ten days for her to get his letters via snail mail, and then another seven-to-ten for him to get one back from her. Two to three weeks between her letters, and that was if she wrote him back right away. Since he didn’t get any personal mail from anyone else in the States anymore, he savored every word she’d written, reading the letters over and over again.
Checking the time, he temporarily pushed Willow out of his mind and finished getting dressed before heading out for breakfast. Slinging his weapon over his shoulder, he locked his door behind himself and prepared for yet another day in this God-forsaken country. He’d had enough of the sand, the dust, and the high temperatures, not to mention the blood. He didn’t even jump anymore when he heard a distant explosion. They had to be a lot closer to get a reaction out of anyone who’d been there over a month or two.
Hueys flew overhead, the vibration from their rotors shaking the ground beneath his worn boots as he headed to the mess hall to grab some breakfast. The stink of smoke from the burn pits and the thick acrid stench of diesel exhaust hung in the air around him, the heat baking the smell into everything. His mind briefly flashed to a sunset-lit porch and a swing.
Entering the mess hall, he got in line, quickly loaded up a tray, then located an empty seat at a table with a few of his buddies. Running late, he wolfed down the food as fast as he could force himself, washing it all down with a cup of coffee strong enough to burn a hole in his gut. The faster you ate the less you tasted it. That was his theory anyway.
Willow had asked for care package ideas, and he was already compiling a mental list—beef jerky and chew being right at the top. He wasn’t a smoker, but chew helped keep everyone awake on long shifts. As disgusting as it was, it was another tool they all used. Nathan would probably never touch the stuff again after his discharge.
After he reported for duty at his station, he struggled to pay attention, which was a problem he’d never had before. Being distracted while on duty was dangerous for him and, more importantly, everyone around him.
Thankfully, his buddies didn’t notice, or he’d never hear the end of it. He thought ahead to what life would be like once he was no longer in the Army. The only thing he was truly going to miss was the tight-knit brotherhood he had with the men of his unit, even though they busted each other’s balls at every available opportunity. The humor got them through the long days and nights.
Why was he so messed up over her letters? He kept replaying her words in his head, thinking of what he was going to write back. A broken record of “I should tell Willow . . .” or “I wonder what Willow would think about . . .” was on a near constant loop in his head. It’d only been two letters, which shouldn’t be a big deal at all, even considering the fact he never got personal mail anymore while deployed. But for some strange reason, itwasa big deal to him.
After work, which included a rocket attack and a small engagement with the enemy, followed by a debriefing and reports, he’d decided to spend some extra time in the gym, hoping to sort through his feelings. There wasn’t much else to do over there anyway. Work, exercise, sleep, rinse, and repeat.
Was that why he was so hung up on Willow? The novelty of something different in his routine?
