"Until he was shot..."

“Until he was shot, Ted Lavender carried…” 

- Tim O’Brian, “The Things They Carried,” Pg. 252

Pack. Gun. Poncho. Rations. Extra clothes. Ammo. Tranquilizers. Forty-two and one-half pounds, they say - the weight we have to hump across this swamp. Feels like more than that on my shoulders sometimes. That constant fear of getting killed always adds a couple pounds. Plus some other stuff. It’s really bad now - a buncha pictures and letters feel like they weigh a pound each. One of ‘em weighs ten all by itself. 

Some guys shout “Pick it up, Lav!” “Come on, Lavender!” from behind me. I’m moving slow. 

Yup, I have somebody back home waiting for me. Had. The guys don’t know about it - I’m not an idiot like Lieutenant Cross, always off in his own head sucking on that pebble and thinking nobody notices. Nah, I keep everything close to my chest. 

I got a couple pictures of us smiling that I can’t bear to look at anymore. Plus the letters. The salutations of those papers I carry tell a story, in their own sad way. “Teddy, my love…” “Dearest Theodore…” “My Teddy…” “Dear T…” The last one says “Dear Ted,” but it means “Dear John.” 

Worst part of it is, I’m not afraid anymore. Having her waiting for me, I didn’t wanna die - I knew we had something, and I had to make it back so we could pick up where we left off before they called my number. Now, what do I have to live for? I used to take tranquilizers to help my fear. Now they dull my sadness. 

We trudge into the marsh outside of Than Khe. Cross says we gotta blow up some more tunnels. I had to go in there once, and I barely made it out - imagining the tunnels caving in really got to me. Now I almost wanna draw that number 17, whadda I have to live for anyway? But Lee drew it instead and hops down into that rabbit hole. Now we wait quietly. 

It’s the worst now, when I’m alone with my thoughts. Didn’t she miss me? Did she even love me? Did she find somebody else? A tear runs down my cheek, but none of the guys notice. I gotta get a hold of myself. I used to have to check if Cross was watching before I took out the pills, but he’s so far off in dreamland I don’t hafta worry about it. I pop a tranq, pull on my pack, and mutter something about going off to pee. 

Once I get a little away from the guys, I pull out the letters and photos. Tears fall freely now, staining the pages as I read them. 

After a minute, a sense of calm comes over me. It’s fine, it’s fine, it’s gonna be fine. I got my guys, and my guys got me, and isn’t that all we really need? We got shipped across that ocean, barely men, to march around marshes and get shot at, but at least we got each other. I mean, little Tommy Jansen shaves twice a month, once too many. Somebody’s gotta look after him. We all look after each other. And you know what? We’re gonna be fine. 

I drop the papers in the mud. I’m past it. I take a deep shaky breath and pull my pack back on. For once, I’m ready to face the day, the enemy, the world. 

I should go back and see if Lee got crushed.

I turn to head back to the fellas, leaving the letters behind me. For the first time in who the hell knows how long, I even crack a smile. It’s gonna be fine. 

I don’t even hear the shot.