We agreed early on to be honest with each other, right?

Dear Trevor,

We agreed early on to be honest with each other, right?

I think you are acting like a chicken. I don’t think you are a chicken.

You may think this is one of those workaround phrases that grown-ups like to use to avoid their true feelings. It’s not. I’m just trying to be precise. Even with our beautiful English language, saying what I feel is an awkward, stumbling exercise. When words connect to thoughts, it’s usually by accident.

I have acted out of fear so many times in my life. Fear is intricately wrapped up in so many of my days. Fear is part of my great shame. I am no hero.

I mostly joined the service as a way to pay for college, but like every guy in there, I knew I might actually see some action. I was fortunate enough to be in between any wars of note. I don’t think the government had much of a clue what to do with us at that time, so they stationed us on places like Johnson Island, where I ended up. We patrolled the thoroughly unthreatened shores, kept the never-used equipment running, and occasionally practiced fighting against each other, just to stay prepared for the real thing, should it ever happen.

A few times, a USO tour would come to our base with some tier-four starlet from a movie none of us had ever heard of. Or they’d fly in an unfunny comedian or fresh-out-of-the-minors ball player. And these guys or girls would get up on our little plywood stage and tell us how proud they were of us, how we were willing to sacrifice ourselves for our country, how we were the real heroes, not them.

I’d just sit there in my folding chair stewing. Thinking, if they knew what kept me awake at night. Thinking, if they knew how scared I was every time I went on patrol, even though there was no enemy to even be afraid of. Heck, even in World War II when the Pacific was hopping, Johnson Island never saw any action.

It didn’t matter. I was still afraid.

You’ve got these fears that seem to make you sick. The couple you’ve mentioned that I recall are Will Mudgett and jumping off the marina. I never jumped off that marina, by the way. Trevor, don’t let the way you act in these couple of moments define you. Unlike me, you’re still alive. You’ve still got a string of moments stretching out ahead of you. No single moment defines you. If it did, all your remaining moments would have no choice. Your actions would be preordained. They’re not.

Each moment of every day, you choose. If you let Will Mudgett make you piss your pants on Tuesday, on Wednesday, you can rush into traffic and push an old lady out of the path of a city bus.

I don’t think you’re a chicken.

I wish there were someone you could talk to. Maybe that Pastor Drew guy you mentioned before. Nah, I’d skip him. Maybe your English teacher. If she teaches English, she must be a reader. She’s got to have picked up a little wisdom in all those books.

Dad