The Multi-Genre Mash-Up Smackdown 2023

Prompt #2: I'll Be the One in Red

I frown as my fellow soldier, Matt, sits down beside me on the couch and drops a letter in my lap. My mom and sister only ever send huge care packages, not letters. When I pick it up and look at it, I see that there's no return address. For a moment, I think there must have been a mistake, but it's definitely my name on the front.

And it's doubtful that I share names with someone else. Maverick Stone is kind of distinctive.

I stick my finger underneath the flap and rip it. There are two folded pages inside. I pull them out carefully and unfold them, breathing in deeply. They smell like lavender. And not some generic spray, either. Like someone pressed lavender between the pages and let it sit for a while before putting them in the envelope.

The handwriting is pretty. Feminine. Lots of loops, very neat. I don't recognize it. It doesn't belong to my mother or sister, and I can't think of any other woman who would write to me.

As I begin to read, it becomes even more clear that it's not someone related to me.

Dear Maverick,

I'm in love with you.

You know me. Or, well, you know of me, at least. We went to school together. I'd tell you when we met, but it would kind of give it away, and I want to tell you everything before you know it's me. I'm a little insecure. I'm sure you don't mean for it to be this way, but it's worse around you, because you're so handsome. Personally, I think you might be perfect, even though I know that's a lot of pressure to live up to, and I don't want to do that to you.

I blush at the declaration, then start going through the girls from high school in my head, trying to figure out which one she is. She implies that when we met would identify her, but I can't come up with any unusual encounters.

So I keep reading, hoping for more clues.

I know there's more to you than your looks, by the way. I went to every single one of your football games. I don't know much about football, honestly, even after watching so much, but I overheard everyone saying you were a great quarterback, and we won all the time, so it must be true. Maybe you could teach me about football. Although I hope you won't blame me if I just end up cuddling you while we watch. You seem like you'd be very good at cuddling. I hope I'm right. I'd love to be held, especially by you.

Whoever she is, she's sweet. I was a decent quarterback, for high school. I never would have made it pro or anything like that. Thankfully, that was never my dream.

Cuddling during games sounds nice.

I guess I should tell you something about me, huh? I'll start with dogs. I know you like dogs, so I want you to know I do too. We can have as many as you want. I've been teaching myself how to cook. I like to make everything from scratch, and I can't wait to make big holiday meals for a family. I don't know if you want kids, or how many you want if you do, but I'm hoping it's at least two.

I do like dogs. There are a few who hang around the base here that I feed every morning. I want one of my own one day. I just can't have one right now since I'm gone all the time at the moment.

I want kids too. Two sounds perfect. And some of my favorite memories are those big holiday meals she's talking about. I'd say she's talked to someone to get inside information, but I haven't told anyone any of these things yet. I figured I'd make it through my service first before forming any real plans.

But my mystery admirer is making me want to, even though I hate the idea of someone waiting for me, not even knowing if I'm dead or alive from day to day. I feel like she would, though, and she'd never even complain, as much as she might want to sometimes.

That's what I want with you, Maverick. I want to get married, have kids, and grow old together. I can picture it clearly. You and me, standing in front of our house, holding hands by a tree we planted when our first baby came. I like the idea of planting a tree to celebrate. New life everywhere, you know? It must be harder for you since you don't know who I am, but I'm hoping you can start to see it too.

I can see it. I may not be able to see her yet, but I can see the life she wants for us, and I'm already enamored with the idea of it.

My heart is beating faster even though I'm just writing this. I keep thinking of you reading it and hoping you don't think I'm some obsessed stalker. I swear I'm not. I'm just quiet and shy. I watched you for three years of high school and just imagined and imagined, but I was always too afraid to say something.

I lick my lower lip. She said only three years of high school, and that makes me wonder why it's not four. Maybe she didn't notice me until sophomore year. Or maybe we didn't meet until then. Maybe now that she's said more, she's comfortable revealing that detail, or maybe it was a mistake.

Either way, I think I know who she is now. I grew up in a small town, and there was only one student who arrived at my high school sophomore year.

Rowan Barrow. She's smart, sweet, and pretty as a picture. Other things she said about herself fit too. She's bigger, and I know she's self-conscious about it, even though I don't think she should be. She's also an only child, so that could account for wanting at least two kids and a bigger extended family. Plus she rarely spoke. It was more common to find her reading a book than talking to someone.

Honestly, I always liked her. I just didn't think I was good enough for her. I'm flattered that she thinks I am.

I'm almost to the end of her letter. I read the last paragraph, wondering what she's going to say.

I'm sorry I didn't tell you any of this before you left. I thought about showing up when you shipped out, but I didn't, and I regret it. So I decided to write you this letter and let you know that I'm going to be there when you come back. I'll be wearing a red flower so you know it's me. Not a rose. That's a little cliché. Something else. That way, if you see me and you're not interested, you don't have to say anything. I'll know and I'll try to move on, even though it will be hard.

I actually blink back a few tears as I think of her standing there alone assuming that I've rejected her.

There's only one little section left in the letter.

I love you, Maverick. Please stay safe.

I fold the letter back up tenderly and place it in my vest pocket. I'm going to keep it with me until I go back home to tell the woman of my dreams that I'm in love with her too.