Return Address

The midmorning breeze blew leaves around the front yard of the New England style cottage. Jo sat on her front porch, sipping her coffee like she had done every morning since she returned home. The coffee must have some form of magic warming capability because the cool weather had no effect on her.

Jo returned home rather recently from a deployment to what would eventually become known as “The Region,” a place seared by the damages of war. That was behind her now. This was her time to decompress, enjoy her time off and spend some much-needed time with her husband, Jack.

Like Jo, Jack too spent time in “The Region.” Where he was wounded in action and evacuated back to the states as Jo traveled to the war zone. His injuries, although severe, were not life threatening. Jo had not seen Jack since he departed their home almost 13 months ago.

The sound of small propellers buzzing through the chilled air snapped Jo back to the present. She looked up as a small drone hummed toward the porch, carrying a cardboard box beneath its small metal frame. As it approached the front door, the drone released the package on the mat before performing an immediate 180 degree turn and flying away towards the end of the driveway. Jo watched as the little machine disappeared.

She rose from the porch swing and walked toward the package. Upon inspecting the name on the address label, she saw Jack’s name. “Well,” she said to herself, “must be nice to be special enough to get a care package at home.” She let out a short laugh, remembering all the packages she received from friends and family while being deployed. Jo looked at the return address, hoping it was from someone she knew. It wasn’t. The address indicated it was from a processing center in Dover, Delaware. Not knowing who it was from, and the fact that it was addressed to Jack, she decided to leave the unopened box right where the drone had dropped it. Jo took another sip of her coffee, but it had become cold in autumn air and poured what remained into the shrubs at the end of the porch and headed inside. She made her way to her favorite chair, near the window that faced the southern sky. She grabbed her book off the table, cuddled up with her blanket and began to read.

Several minutes had passed when she heard footsteps coming onto the porch. From her chair by the window, she could see that it was Jack returning from his morning walk. She smiled, ready to jump out of her chair to embrace him with a warm hug. He stopped and looked at the package lying on the porch. Jack picked it up, headed towards the swing, and sat down. Jo watched her husband as he read the label, his facial expression changed. Jack opened the box and began slowly running his fingers through its contents. Jo sat there in her chair, not knowing exactly what he was doing or what to do herself. Jack held up what looked to be jewelry and looked at it intently, followed by a grey hoodie. He lifted the sweatshirt to his face and breathed as deeply as he could. As Jack lowered it into his lap, Jo could see that he was crying. He returned the clothing and jewelry back into the box, gently placing it on the floor. Jack stood, looked through the front window at Jo, then walked off the porch and disappeared around the corner of the house.

Jo placed her book on the table to her right, tossed her blanket on the floor, and headed towards the front door. She walked onto the porch and approached the box that Jack had placed on the floor. Reaching inside, she picked up the hoodie. Jo recognized it. It bore the name of the college she attended, the University of Pittsburgh. She placed it on the swing and once again, reached into the box and pulled out the necklace. Only it was not just a necklace . It was a chain with dog tags hanging from it. She lifted them to eye level and saw the name stamped onto them; Joann Ferlman, 1st Lieutenant, USMC. Her dog tags. Then Jo pulled out a journal, photos of her and Jack, and a packing slip, which also indicated the box’s origin as the Dover Air Force Base Mortuary.

She didn’t understand. Why would they send this to them? Had she forgotten all of this when she left to come home from deployment? She began to panic. Jo ran inside to grab the blanket she threw on the floor; it was not there. It was folded nicely on the chair she was sitting on only moments ago. Her breathing intensified as she looked at the chair she was sitting in while reading her book. No book was on the table, it was nowhere to be seen. “That can’t be,” she thought. “But I just placed the book there not five minutes ago.” Jo searched the bookshelf but could not find it. She then remembered that she took that book with her to read on deployment. She ran for the porch and started removing the rest of the contents from the box. At the bottom, wrapped in a plastic bag, was her book. The same book she had been reading as she watched Jack open the box. “What the hell is going on?” She had to find Jack. Jo raced off the porch and around the corner of the house. She saw Jack sitting at the edge of their yard under a large Sugar Maple. Jo yelled to get his attention, but he never moved. She reached for Jack, that's when she saw it. The nicely landscaped ten by ten plot. In its center, a headstone. Joann Ferlman.

She took a moment to gather herself and it sank in. Jo has no memory of coming home. No memory of the events before her morning coffee. Seeing Jack return from his morning walk was the only time she remembers seeing him in recent memory. Jo does not remember what happened to her while being deployed but she realized that she is in fact, dead. It makes sense now. The mysterious box. Her book. Jack not coming to her when he became upset. “But what were you looking at when you looked through the front window?” She asked, knowing he wouldn’t respond. Jo then realized it was not her that he was looking at. It was her chair. The place she would sit and read books and drink her coffee. He was looking at the memory of her, that’s all she is now, a memory. She sat with him for a few minutes as he calmed himself down. She had never seen him like this. Vulnerable. Jack dried his tears, stood, and looked at his wife’s grave. “I love you honey.” He said as he turned and headed toward the house.

Jo sat there for a moment. Looking at the spot where she was buried, admiring the care her husband went into choosing her resting place. She smiled and said, “I love you too.” The wind carried her words in the direction of her husband. Jack stopped and turned, looking back at the bench Jo was sitting on. He smiled, walked around the corner of the house and through the front door.

The wind continued and Jo stood up from the bench. She headed for the house as well. Walking up the front steps and through the door. Jo sat in her favorite chair, cuddled up with her, blanket, and grabbed her book. She opened it, removed the bookmark, and began to read. Thinking to herself, “It is so nice to be home.” The memory of the box, the realization that she was no longer alive and the sight of her heartbroken husband fading away. Jo sat there, sipping her coffee, waiting for her husband to get home from his morning walk.