Marine

I met Nate Walker in the summer of 2008 at Lake Waubesa Bible Camp. He was simultaneously one of the most serious people I have ever met, his heart set on joining the Marines and serving his country, and one of the biggest goofballs who has ever walked into my life. If you look at pictures of him, I feel like you basically see those two extremes and not much in between. 

We worked together at camp for two summers, and in that time became best friends. We spent countless hours sitting by the lake, by day or by night, discussing every issue under the sun, laughing about a good deal of it and crying sometimes too. We upheld one another in prayer and wrote letters when he was in basic training and deployed to Afghanistan. We liked each other at different times--never the same time--and that was okay because our friendship was exactly what we needed it to be. 

Seven years ago, I consciously stepped out of his life to make space for someone else. It was one of the hardest decisions I ever made, but I always assumed someday the time would come to step back in again. 

I did my best to prepare myself to lose him when he joined the Marines. I wrote Part I of the following poems as an assignment for English class shortly after he enlisted. I was scared he would not come back, or that he would come back a different man than the one I knew. "When You Go" details some of the different ways I imagined I would hear about his death, even before he left the country.

I wrote Part II yesterday as a way to process what had actually happened to him. On the one hand, Nate has not been an active part of my life for several years. I lost him long ago; I just didn't expect it to be forever. On the other hand, letting go of the hope and expectation that my best friend of seven years would one day be a close friend again is proving difficult. 

My heart goes out to his wife, who has lost her best friend in an infinitely bigger way than I have. To his children, who are so young they will grow up without a single memory of their loving and goofball father, never knowing the man he was. To his parents, who are some of the most caring and faithful people I have had the privilege to know, and who were incredibly proud of him. To his sister, who looked up to him and cheered him on. And to the countless others whose lives he touched--and saved, given the nature of his work and life. 

Nate... this is for you.

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MARINE, PART I  (2009)

PROMISE ME 

The dock is shaking. Splinters 

needle their way into my shoulders, 

but if I sit up I won’t be able to see 

the lightning. Not that it’s visible 

anyway with you dancing over me

like that. You with that goofy smile, 

crooked as it may be. Distant thunder 

plays the bass drum for your midnight 

dance, announcing the end of training 

for camp. Only June, but time needs

to slow down already. Soon you’ll be 

at another training, the one where they 

cut your hair, hand you guns, and name you 

“Recruit.” That is who you’ll be 

in two months, but I like you now, 

even if you are blocking the summer 

storm. Back and forth, back and forth, 

your hands are upside-down pendulums. 

“This is my windshield wiper dance!” 

You goof. The Marine Corps necklace 

bounces off your chest with every step, 

in rhythm with my head resonating 

against the dock. It’s jumping with you. 

Ka-plu-clunk. Ka-plu-clunk. Promise 

me something. Promise me that when 

you come back, you will still 

do the windshield wiper dance.

CONNECTIONS

As I step out of the shower, 

your necklace (my necklace?) 

is cold on my bare chest. The dull 

silver an accent mark on my pale skin, 

surrounded by goosebumps. It looks 

bigger on me than it did on you. 

You’re on the phone, returned 

from a week in the field,

sweaty, hungry, exhausted. 

They built you fake 

cities, gave you blank 

ammunition, bandaged your counterfeit 

wounds, all for a twelve-hour battle 

in the California desert. 

Private First Class Walker, 

bullet-proof vest and buzz cut, 

ready for action. Of course 

you were grinning the whole time. 

This real life video game is 

what you love. 

You had tanks, you had enemies. 

The dust stuck to your face paint 

and your pants caught on barbed wire. 

It was like Black Hawk Down, 

you say. Have you seen it? 

Yes, I’ve seen it, I say. 

People died. 

I don’t say that. 

The string has been on my wrist 

for a year now. Please 

tell me you are 

                invincible 

like string. 

I protect it like I wish 

I could protect you. 

You tied a good knot.

WHEN YOU GO

I was standing by the mailboxes 

in Harstad. Now I’m crumbling. 

Mail is supposed to be fun, but this letter 

is heavy, sinking into the carpet 

like I am. It fell before I could obliterate 

it, drown it, make a paper grenade 

and pull the pin. It screams white, 

but instead of surrender it slays 

me. Huddled against the wall, the mailboxes 

carve into my head, but I’m motionless. 

In one sentence, I was paralyzed. I want 

to fold the paper up, place it neatly 

into its envelope and send it back, demand 

a return, this letter for your life.

I’m walking by the pond, on the path 

with the two cracks that have met 

and made love and then multiplied 

into crevasses in the concrete. My body 

shudders like your mom’s voice 

on the phone. Why, why would you

ever make her say this? Color 

drains from the world around me, or maybe 

it drains from my face. I am numb, hard 

like the pavement. I want to jump inside 

the crevasse, bury my head and let my tears 

water the earth that has lost its color. 

I am in my room. No phone, no letter, but 

I can feel it. I know. Emptiness is tangible 

as the autumn air sneaking past the cracked 

window. It tickles the hairs on my arms 

and whirlpools around my soggy face. 

Every once in awhile, my heart pretends 

to try. Thump, sniffle, thump, thump, gasp. 

When I know you’re not breathing, sometimes 

I forget too. Absence suffocates me.

Funny thing is, you haven’t even left yet.

-------------------------------------------------

MARINE, PART II  (2022)

Where 

is the box? 

I rummage through 

my overcrowded, cluttered 

mind, knowing I tucked it away 

somewhere—somewhere safe, to retrieve 

at a moment’s notice, only the moment never came. 

The box full of experiences, laughter, conversations, 

tears, arguments, dances, smiles, games, jokes, 

forgiveness, memories. So many things I 

knew about you, I had hidden in the 

box for safekeeping, only now 

the box is nowhere

to be found, 

just like

you.

My eyes sting, and my heart aches

because I can’t remember your 

windshield wiper dance. 

I can imagine it, but I can’t remember it.

Which dock was it?

What were you saying? 

Was I scared you were going to

jump on my head? 

My eyes sting, and my heart aches

because I can’t remember the

moment you tied the string on my wrist. 

Where did the string come from? 

Why did you tie it on me? 

What were you saying? 

Did I consider removing it? 

Did I give you one too? 

The string that had been on my wrist

for more than a year 

came off. 

It was not invincible. 

Neither were you.

When you came back from war

I thought your battles were over. 

I didn’t know they were only beginning.

Slowly walking along the dock, 

listening to the water kiss the shore

and tickle the pier’s legs stretching 

down into the gentle waves, 

I do not hear you. 

(You are a sniper, after all.)

I see your toes first, and they

surprise me. Panning up, as

in a movie, I take in more

and more of you, standing 

three feet in front of me, until 

my eyes land on your goofy smile

way up there in the atmosphere

laughing, incredulous that I had 

not heard you coming; did not know

you were there.

You were always there. 

You would always be there. 

For years, that was the truth.

But then you weren’t. 

And neither was I. 

We are both to blame. 

I always assumed one day, one time

you would resurface in my life. 

Real best friends do that, do they not? 

It was never a question of if, 

only when, where, and how old we 

would both be when that time came. 

And now? 

You are the one who cannot resurface,

but we are the ones who cannot breathe.

I had almost forgotten

you were the one who chopped

down a tree while I was 

still in it. 

Who will laugh about that with me now?

An email washed up after

some deep-sea diving in my archives

from me to you, seven years ago. 

We never imagined this would be one

of our last conversations. 

“I’m scared of losing you,” I said.

“I love you, and I love our friendship

and I am so, so tired of things

changing and of having to say goodbye

to the people I love.”

To one of the best friends

who has ever walked unexpectedly 

into—and out of—my life, 

thank you and

(dare I say it?)

goodbye. 

Nate and I praying together before
he left for basic training in 2009.