Nicholas Sparks - Dear John

“I work out and read. But my buddies are experts at games. And the more violent the game, the more they like it.”

“What do you read?”

I told her, and she considered it. “And what happens when you’re sent to a war zone?”

“Then,” I said, finishing my chicken, “it’s different. There’s guard duty, and things are always breaking and need to be fixed, so you’re busy, even when you’re not out on patrol. But the infantry are the forces on the ground, so we spend a big chunk of our time away from camp.”

“Do you ever get scared?”

I searched for the right answer. “Yeah. Sometimes. It’s not like you’re walking around terrified all the time, even when things are going to hell all around you. It’s just that you’re… reacting, trying to stay alive. Things are happening so fast that you don’t have time to think much of

anything except doing your job and trying not to die. It usually affects you afterward, once you’re clear. That’s when you realize how close you came, and sometimes you get the shakes or puke or whatever.”

“I’m not sure I could do what you do.”

I wasn’t sure if she expected a response to that, so I switched topics. “Why special education?” I asked.

“It’s kind of a long story. You sure you want to hear it?”

When I nodded, she drew a long breath.

“There’s this boy in Lenoir named Alan, and I’ve known him all my life. He’s autistic, and for a long time no one knew what to do with him or how to get through to him. And it just got to me, you know? I felt so bad for him, even when I was little. When I asked my parents about it, they said that maybe the Lord had special plans for him. It didn’t make any sense at first, but Alan had an older brother who was so patient with him all the time. I mean always. He never got frustrated with him, and little by little, he helped Alan. Alan’s not perfect by any stretch—he still lives with his parents, and he’ll never be on his own—but he’s not as lost as he was when he was younger, and I just decided that I wanted to be able to help kids like Alan.”

“How old were you when you decided that?”

“Twelve.”

“And you want to work with them in a school?”

“No,” she said. “I want to do what Alan’s brother did. He used horses.” She paused, collecting her thoughts. “With autistic kids… it’s like they’re locked into their own little worlds, so usually school and therapy are based on routine. But I want to show them experiences that can open new doors for them. I’ve seen it happen. I mean, Alan was terrified of the horses at first, but his brother kept trying, and after a while, Alan got to the point where he would pat them or rub their noses, then later even feed them. After that, he started to ride, and I remember watching his face the first time he was up there… it was just so incredible, you know? I mean, he was smiling, just as happy as a kid could be. And that’s what I want these kids to experience. Just… happiness, even if it’s only for a short while. That’s when I knew exactly what I wanted to do with my life. Maybe open a riding camp for autistic kids, where we can really work with them. So maybe they can feel that same happiness that Alan did.”

She put down her fork as if embarrassed, then set her plate off to the side.

“That sounds wonderful.”

“We’ll see if it happens,” she said, sitting up again. “It’s just a dream for now.”

“I take it you like horses, too?”

“All girls love horses. Don’t you know that? But yes, I do. I have an Arabian named Midas, and it kills me sometimes that I’m here when I could be off riding him.”

“The truth comes out.”

“As it should. But I’m still planning to stay here. I’ll ride all day, every day, when I get back. Do you ride?”

“I did once.”

“Did you like it?”

“I was sore the next day. It hurt to walk.”

She giggled, and I realized I liked talking to her. It was easy and natural, unlike with so many people. Above me, I could see Orion’s belt; just over the horizon on the water, Venus had appeared and glowed a heavy white. Guys and girls continued to tramp up and down the stairs, flirting with booze-induced courage. I sighed.

“I should probably get going so I can visit with my dad for a while. He’s probably wondering where I am. If he’s still awake, that is.”

“Do you want to call him? You can use the phone.”

“No, I think I’ll just head out. It’s a long walk.”

“You don’t have a car?”

“No. I hitched a ride this morning.”

“Do you want Tim to drive you home? I’m sure he won’t mind.”

“No, that’s okay.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. You said it was a long walk, right? I’ll have Tim drive you. Let me get him.”

She raced off before I could stop her, and a minute later Tim was following her out of the house. “Tim is happy to take you,” she said, looking way too pleased with herself.

I turned toward Tim. “You sure?”

“No problem at all,” he assured me. “My truck’s out front. You can just put your board in the back.” He motioned to the board. “Need a hand?”

“No,” I said, rising, “I got it.” I went to the chair and slipped on my shirt, then picked up my board. “Thanks, by the way.”

“My pleasure,” he said. He patted his pocket. “I’ll be back in a second with the keys. It’s the green truck parked on the grass. I’ll meet you out front.”

When he was gone, I turned back to Savannah. “It was nice meeting you.”

She held my gaze. “You too. I’ve never hung out with a soldier before. I felt sort of… protected. I don’t think Randy’ll give me any trouble tonight. Your tattoos probably scared him away.”

I guess she had noticed them. “Maybe I’ll see you around.”

“You know where I’ll be.”

I wasn’t sure whether that meant she wanted me to come visit again or didn’t. In many ways, she remained a complete mystery to me. Then again, I barely knew her at all.

“But I am a little disappointed that you forgot,” she added, almost as an afterthought.

“Forgot what?”

“Didn’t you say that you’d teach me how to surf?”

If Tim had any inkling of the effect Savannah had on me or that I’d be visiting again the next day, he gave no indication. Instead he focused mainly on the drive, making sure he was heading in the right direction. He was the kind of driver who stopped the car even when the light was yellow and he could have sailed through.

“I hope you had a good time,” he said. “I know it’s always strange when you don’t know anyone.”

“I did.”

“You and Savannah really hit it off. She’s something, isn’t she? I think she liked you.”

“We had a nice conversation,” I said.

“I’m glad. I was a little worried about her coming down here. Last year her parents were with us, so this is the first time she’s been on her own like this. I know she’s a big girl, but these aren’t the kind of people she usually hangs out with, and the last thing I wanted was for her to be fending off guys all night.”

“I’m sure she could have handled it.”

“You’re probably right. But I get the feeling that some of these guys are pretty persistent.”

“Of course they are. They’re guys.”

He laughed. “I guess you’re right.” He motioned toward the window. “Which way now?”

I directed him through a series of turns, then finally I told him to slow the car. He stopped in front of the house, where I could see the light from my dad’s den, glowing yellow.

“Thanks for the ride,” I said, opening my door.

“No problem.” He leaned over the seat. “And listen, like I said, feel free to stop by the house anytime. We work during the week, but weekends and evenings are usually clear.”

“I’ll keep that in mind,” I promised.

Once inside, I went to my dad’s den and opened the door. He was peering at the Greysheet and jumped. I realized he hadn’t heard me come in.

“Sorry,” I said, taking a seat on the single step that separated the den from the rest of the house. “Didn’t mean to scare you.”

“It’s okay,” was all he said. He debated whether to set aside the Greysheet, then did.

“The waves were great today,” I commented. “I’d almost forgotten how fantastic the water feels.”

He smiled but again said nothing. I shifted slightly on the step. “How’d work go?” I asked.

“The same,” he said.

He lapsed back into his own thoughts, and all I could think was that the same thing could be said about our conversations.

Surfing is a solitary sport, one in which long stretches of boredom are interspersed with frantic activity, and it teaches you to flow with nature, instead of fighting it… it’s about getting in the zone. That’s what the surfing magazines say, anyway, and I mostly agree. There’s nothing quite as exciting as catching a wave and living within a wall of water as it rolls toward shore. But I’m not like a lot of those dudes with freeze-dried skin and stringy hair who do it all day, every day, because they think it’s the be—all and end—all of existence. It isn’t. For me, it’s more about the fact that the world is crazy noisy almost all the time, and when you’re out there, it’s not. You’re able to hear yourself think.”

This is what I was telling Savannah, anyway, as we made our way toward the ocean early Sunday morning. At least, that’s what I thought I was saying. For the most part, I was just sort of rambling, trying not to be too obvious about the fact that I really liked the way she looked in a bikini.

“Like horseback riding,” she said.

“Huh?”