Postcards from Iraq- A Short Story

Entry for the Write Tribe contest 

The twenty-fourth of December came and went, the bitter wind howling against the windows like a wild animal caught in a cage. No matter how much Anna tried to pull herself away from the cabin she couldn’t. She was always being drawn back as it was her responsibility to wait, as if it was her duty to help Kyle return home. Anna knew deep inside she couldn’t do anything to speed his return nor could she change his return date in time for Christmas. There was nothing she could do but tidy up under the tree and pick up the pine needles as they slowly fell to the floor.  Part of her wished she had stayed deployed, that she had never gotten injured and that she had never agreed to let Kyle go back. Now instead being with him and fighting beside him she now waited helplessly for his monthly postcard in the mail from Iraq, pinning each one up around the border of their small bedroom. The cards nearly trailed around the perimeter of the room,the images reminding her of her last deployment.  Instead of them making her feel better, the line of postcards did nothing but symbolize how long Kyle had been gone. Two full years had gone by since she’d seen Kyle last. Two full years of pinning up postcards, and crossing off dates on the calendar that laid across dining room table. It sat in front of Kyle’s seat almost like a place mat. The only difference between this calendar and the one hung in the bedroom was the small pennies that laid inside each white block. Each night Anna would hold a coin in her hand and do a small prayer for Kyle before placing it over the spot. At first Anna used sharpie to cross out the dates, but the black marker seemed so dark and absolute that the idea of crossing off days scared her. Kyle had always said that pennies were good luck. Anna and Kyle had flipped them together in the barracks when they were overseas a couple of years ago. He had always carried one in his pocket and had convinced Anna to do the same. The prayer itself had been something her mother had taught her, a little poem that her mother had said when Anna herself was in the service:

Dreams of gold and dreams of glass, I love my daughter please bring her back. To my heart and into my arms, protect her my father when the enemy swarms. I love her so much and I know you do too. Guide her home father to me then to you.

Anna had arranged a few of the words to fit Kyle but had most of it the same. She wasn’t sure if she believed in prayers but she knew it had worked for her so maybe it was enough for Kyle too. Anna sighed and placed the last coin over the box before Christmas, the number disappearing underneath.