Shall Not Sleep [bxb]

Chapter Eight

My hand on the dusty bedspread wouldn't move. The dirt... the dirt...

I pinched it between my fingers and crumbled it. It was battlefield dirt, the same dirt that clung to his letters. This dirt clung to his clothing, and he sat here...

If I wasn't already sitting, I'd have fallen over. Alastair. Alastair, there in my room. He saw the zipper on the hoodie falling out of my laundry basket. He saw the copy of Pride and Prejudice I'd been to read. He saw his own letter on my nightstand, the one opened to all his I love yous. My eyes started to prickle with tears because I was so full of conflicting emotions. The ecstatic he was here! and the devastated but I wasn't waged war in my head.

I didn't brush any more of the dirt away. I sat in it and let it make me all dusty as I read the postscript.

PS—As long as I am on my knees praying for things... might I have a lock of your hair? It is probably a hopelessly old-fashioned token in your time, but I feel like I need something tactile, something real. Something more of you now to tide me over.

I wiped at my mostly-dry tears. They pulled at my skin when I smile. A lock of hair? Weird.

No matter how weird it seemed at first, I found myself running to the kitchen and rummaging in the junk drawer for a pair of scissors and an elastic band. I tied off a segment of hair and, watching myself in the bathroom mirror, snipped it off. It fell in the sink and the newly-short lock of hair falls in my face. Crap, I kind of gave myself bangs. Damn it.

I made sure the elastic held my gingery blond hair tightly. I didn't want it to shed all over the battlefield, or all over the century between us. My little lock of hair had a long, mysterious journey to make.

I hoped it would help break down the barrier between us, because it seemed breakable at last.

*

Dear Alastair,

You were here. Your description fits my room to a T. It was my hoodie you were looking at, and my stupid Jane Austen book I have to read for class. And you left battlefield dirt all over my bed, but I won't nag you for it because it's beautiful. It's proof that you really, truly were here.

My school is so poor that we can't take our History textbooks home with us. We have dedicated time in class to do the reading for our homework. I'm skipping mine so I can use the textbook to look up stuff about WWI (the abbreviation for World War I -- your war) and other history stuff to write here.

Brace yourself. You're sure you want to hear all this?

WWI ended on November 11th 1918, a day which became a worldwide day of remembrance. By its end, there were an estimated 15 million deaths and 20 million wounded, making it one of the bloodiest conflicts in human history. The Entente forces (you guys!) ended up winning, but they took a heavier casualty toll than the Central Powers. Afterwards, basically every country in Europe had a revolution. New countries were created. New borders drawn. The map changed drastically. Basically everyone tries out the whole communism thing, which does not work out. Germany gets pretty much crushed and stepped on until 1939, which is when WWII starts with a guy named Adolf Hitler. Oh yeah, if you ever get a chance to assassinate a guy with that name, do it. Time traveling letters would be a waste without at least one request for a Hitler assassination.

I don't know how much more you want to learn. I don't know if I should even tell you that much. Since you're curious, I think that's enough to satisfy you but not freak you out.

Actually, scratch that. The 20th century is pretty damn terrifying. Good luck.

I covered my own letter with the history textbook and referred back to Alastair's letter, hidden under the edge of my desk. Writing these big, rambling letters was hard. There was so much information that organizing them felt like writing those English papers I keep accidently-on-purpose forgetting to do.