MIKE
Fuck it. You know something? Okay. (He needs to move when he talks.) Before I left for Iraq, I met this girl. April. I wasn’t living here then. I was out on the island. I’d had a couple of beers, me and some friends were at Jones’ Beach, we played volleyball opposite a couple of girls in bikinis. They were sending me away. And I remember, Chris? He was teary-eyed all night, positive I wasn’t coming back. But I knew. You just know these things. And when the game ended, we offered them some beers and then we talked and then it got dark and then it got cold and then we went home and April came, too. For the whole weekend. We didn’t even have sex until two days after we met. We just talked. Like something out of a fucking Nicholas Sparks novel, you know? And, I guess, uh... she wasn’t planning on falling for a guy at the beach. I guess she just wanted a tan. A day out with the girls. But sometimes something happens – it’s like Andy said... static electricity? It wakes you up! Something in you comes to life. Even if you’ve already dated or been in love or whatever it’s totally new every single fucking time. And I refuse to believe it’s mental. Because it’s all there, inside you, ticking away like a time bomb. Did I say the right thing? There’s butterflies in my stomach because I think I’m about to spew word vomit. My voice cracks because I’m lying. My eyes grow wide because they’re afraid to close. They’re afraid like they’ll miss something. Just a moment of her... amazing... time. So for 48 hours we talked. And talked. And then eventually we touched. And then eventually we kissed. And then before we knew it the alarm clock told me I had to leave. We hadn’t even finished what we’d started. So, I gave her my numbers, the way she could write, you know, keep in touch. Okay? She writes. Everyday. Sometimes twice a day. And they’re fucking beautiful because not only does she have this red hair down to her waist that cascades like a motherfucking waterfall she is SMART and has this way with words. And the letters start to get inside you. When you’re out there, you carry them on you all the time. Inside your coat. Because sometimes it gets so fucking scary and they’re the only thing that protect you. I’d look at her picture, too. I asked her for one. She sent me one – her and someone else... they’d been cut out of the picture, though. I didn’t care at first, though. I assumed it was an ex. Something in the past. Maybe she liked the way her hair looked here. (He’s taken it out now.) But when you spend everyday in that heat and every night scared to death a bomb’s gonna go off two feet from your head, you start to get a little paranoid. And that picture started to bother me. Who was it? (Beat.) This was... I don’t know. November, I think. We lost three guys in a carbomb that week, I remember. It was fucking tense. And all of a sudden the letters stopped. At first, I thought, you know. It’s getting hectic over here. Maybe the mail is slowing down. But evvvvveryone around me was getting them. And, uh, just like that. I knew. Just like I knew I’d make it out. (Changing his tune a little, maybe sitting back down,) So, a couple weeks go by. Months, maybe. It’s best not to look at the time out there. And eventually I get back to the states and her phone is off. The number doesn’t work anymore. Dead end. So, uh, I guess I got a little crazy and that’s what got me here.
I had the envelope. I had tons of them! With her return address written in that perfect handwriting... So, I... I just got in the fucking car and drove. Sat there for a few days. But nobody came and nobody went and then all of a sudden a car came pulling into the driveway. And they got out, took out their luggage. She didn’t carry a thing because he was the perfect gentleman. I was parked across the street and I, uh, just got out. You know. I just stood there for a while and she just stood there looking back and nobody said a word. She knew what I knew and that was that. I fucked up. He came back out to get the rest of the luggage and saw me standing there and the look on her eyes. I fucked up so much. I shouldn’t have hit him, but I did. I went fullswing and beat the shit out of him, landed him in the hospital. (Laughing,) And the prick didn’t even press charges. (Beat.) The Perfect Man. (Beat.) April visited me in the hospital once. Told me they'd just come back from their honeymoon. Walked in in a pretty blue dress with a brochure for this group in her hand. Apparently she had gone here after I left to get over me. She thought I’d never come home alive. Said that you all told her to move on.
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