[He doesn't hold his breath waiting for the next letter, knowing that it was possible Bucky didn't even get his letter. He's able to breathe more easily, actually, knowing that Bucky is out there and remembering.
He keeps working, keeps writing in his journal, keeps seeing his therapist.
When the next letter arrives, he opens it with shaking hands.]
It's been a long time since I've been to church but if that was God asking you to pay off a debt, then you have more than earned a quiet life.
Back when I kept trying to enlist, I knew it was hurting you. But I couldn't let you go and risk your life without me. I always used general terms talking about it, but when I said guys were risking their lives, I meant you.
You absolutely helped me survive, I know that. But I think you needed me just as much, in a more subtle way. Everyone always thought you were a golden boy, you could do whatever you wanted and hang out with whoever you chose, but that was just your public face. Yeah, you were funny and kind and charming, but when it was just us I could see how you'd get stuck in your own head, stuck in dark thoughts.
I knew because it happened to me, too. And we kept each other out of it, as much as we could.
You got drafted, and the first thing I thought wasn't that I was scared you'd die, but that I was scared whatever it was that ate at you would get you, and you'd have no one to get you out again.
After I pulled you off Zola's table, I should have paid more attention. I tried, but there was more to focus on than I thought possible, and I took it on faith that when you said you were okay, that you were telling the truth. That you'd twll me if something was wrong.
Well, I was wrong. And I'm so sorry. I wonder, sometimes, how things would have been different if I'd sat you down and had a good talk once in a while. If maybe we could have figured out what had happened and been more careful trying to get Zola.
I have a lot of regrets. When I told you I couldn't let you go, that was why. I'm selfish. I'm always making it about me, and forgetting to listen. I'm doing that right now.
no subject
He keeps working, keeps writing in his journal, keeps seeing his therapist.
When the next letter arrives, he opens it with shaking hands.]
It's been a long time since I've been to church but if that was God asking you to pay off a debt, then you have more than earned a quiet life.
Back when I kept trying to enlist, I knew it was hurting you. But I couldn't let you go and risk your life without me. I always used general terms talking about it, but when I said guys were risking their lives, I meant you.
You absolutely helped me survive, I know that. But I think you needed me just as much, in a more subtle way. Everyone always thought you were a golden boy, you could do whatever you wanted and hang out with whoever you chose, but that was just your public face. Yeah, you were funny and kind and charming, but when it was just us I could see how you'd get stuck in your own head, stuck in dark thoughts.
I knew because it happened to me, too. And we kept each other out of it, as much as we could.
You got drafted, and the first thing I thought wasn't that I was scared you'd die, but that I was scared whatever it was that ate at you would get you, and you'd have no one to get you out again.
After I pulled you off Zola's table, I should have paid more attention. I tried, but there was more to focus on than I thought possible, and I took it on faith that when you said you were okay, that you were telling the truth. That you'd twll me if something was wrong.
Well, I was wrong. And I'm so sorry. I wonder, sometimes, how things would have been different if I'd sat you down and had a good talk once in a while. If maybe we could have figured out what had happened and been more careful trying to get Zola.
I have a lot of regrets. When I told you I couldn't let you go, that was why. I'm selfish. I'm always making it about me, and forgetting to listen. I'm doing that right now.
I hope you're well.