Tuesday, June 5, 2012 | By: Drotuno

Coming Home Chapter 4 - Edward


From: EAMasen
To: Bella Swan
Date Sent: Sun, Apr 04, 2010 at 2:13 A.M.
Date Received: Sat, Apr 03, 2010 at 2:13 P.M.
Subject: The weather?

Dear Bella (aka Cookie Thief),

Just how many of my precious cookies didn't make the trip? Hmm? And just what did you put in them? Because I'm craving more!

If we're discussing the weather, then I'll take your dreary rain any day. The desert is dry, hot, sandy, hot, dry, and... Did I mention hot? That's in the daytime. At night, it turns cold. It makes me even miss Chicago winters. At least the snow made things look better.

Oh, my dear Watson, I do enjoy the fictional detective, as you put it. However, I'm more prone to Alexandre Dumas' adventures...Monte Cristo, Musketeers, men in iron masks. Those stories were written about a time when chivalry wasn't dead, communication was the written word, and a handshake was an honored and legal contract. Plus, the sword fighting was damn cool!

Reading makes for a pleasant distraction when out on patrols for days at a time. It takes the mind off of what's actually around us. Actually, anything to take the mind off of our surroundings would be great – crossword puzzles, or any puzzle books, for that matter.

I've played the piano for as long as I can remember. My mother played and started teaching me as soon as I could make a chord, it seemed. She called me her little Beethoven, at least until I was old enough to ask her to stop. I've always written my own music. In fact, Mom encouraged it right up until she became sick. Most of the time, I didn't even need the piano to write it down. Hey, you wouldn't happen to be able to find some composition pages, would you? Just empty lines so that I can fill my own notes in?

I'm glad my ex can make you laugh. For me, not so much. I suppose it started out okay, but her true witchy colors started to show just about the time I finished basic training. It was when the threat of coming over here loomed over us that she started becoming angry. What's that? Self-preservation? I really think the possibility of me not coming home was too much for her. Just FYI, she didn't return the remaining 55 pictures. The guys are sort of pissed off at me that they didn't get their girls' pictures back.

So...students, Miss Swan. What do you teach? Am I really just trying to hold my own against some literary professor, and you're about to make me feel stupid?

It's time to catch some sleep. My squad has another patrol run tomorrow bright and early. You wouldn't happen to have a spare pillowcase, would you? Mine is rather threadbare these days.

(Please drop the sergeant. I hear that enough around here. My friends call me Edward – or sometimes Ed, but never Eddie.)

P.S. I hate to ask, but I could really use some real coffee. Something name brand, perhaps French Roast, and really dark. The stuff they try to pass for coffee around here might be the same stuff the motor pool uses to clean Humvee engine parts. And that's before they serve it every morning.



KimiD said...

I love the sense of humor you write Edward with... great~!

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