The Summer Deal

Two - Two funerals, one wedding and a promotion.

Noah Jordan's POV:

I covered my mouth with a blue scarf quickly, wore my cap, and unzipped my tent. Outside, the wind howled, shrieking louder and longer as the air got heavier with dust and sand, and the skies turned orange. Men around me were drilling holes on the ground, securing our equipment and tents, while some were helping the locals in gathering their cattle and keeping them safe.

Sandstorms in Syria were a common thing.

I made my way to a tiny brick hut with a single closed wooden window and a door. I knocked once and entered. Goats bleated at me, upset with an intruder ruining their haven by opening the door to the upcoming storm. In the center, there was a single, weakly constructed wooden table with an oil lamp and papers. A man in his early forties was standing behind it, concentrating on a half-goat-eaten sheet in his hand.

"Sergeant," I saluted, "you requested my presence?"

"Ah, yes," his eyes met mine, and he put down the paper, "Jordan. Mail just arrived."

My lips thinned as the howling outside increased more. "Apologies, sir. At this hour? Nielsen must have gone insane," I said, referring to the person who usually brings our letters.

"He had already left the base before the notice came about this freak storm. The poor guy has been coughing and wheezing since he arrived. We'll take him back for medical attention as soon as the storm passes by." One of the goats tugged my cargo pants, and I jerked. "That's Julie," Sergeant Henry's lips tugged up, and he waved that eaten piece of paper at me, "she loves to eat. Pet her. She likes it."

I tickled the brown goat on top of her head. She maaah'ed at me, wagging her tail. Adorable. "Is there anything particular on why you asked for me, sir?"

"Yes," Sergeant Henry picked up an envelope from the table, "mail just arrived, and you have a letter."

My chest constricted. The last time I received a letter from home—that was six years ago, I learned about my father's demise.

Who died now? My mother? She was the one who hid my father's health condition from me. She's already dead to me.

"Oh,"

"Now, don't get your hopes down, Jordan," Sergeant handed me the letter and clasped my shoulder in an assuring manner, "this actually proves that there is someone out there who still cares for you. Well, besides us, Julie and her friends."

Not wanting to remain in suspense anymore, I ripped off the seal like a band-aid and read the letter. My eyes skimmed over every word and alphabet written in a handwriting I didn't recognize until I read the sender's name along with words like: "middle school" and "promise" and "wedding" with an address. My heart leaped in joy. "I can't believe it," I murmured in surprise. That little fucker remembered. "It's my old friend, Dennis Fox. He's getting married."

"Fantastic!" The sergeant exclaimed. "You're leaving with Nielsen."

"But the wedding is a month from now." I informed him.

"Nonsense! Go home, Jordan. You have served your nation enough for six long years without going home. Take a break," he shooed away Julie and some of her friends from stealing and eating papers from the desk, "who knows? Maybe you'll find a good woman there and make a wife out of her."

Funny. The sergeant's trying to be funny. I met Dennis Fox when we were in pre-school. We were young and dumb, and we made a silly oath in middle school that no matter where we would be, we would attend each other's weddings. That was shortly before his father got a new job, and his entire family moved to New Zealand and then someplace else in the world. In between everything, we lost contact with each other. I still can't believe he remembered me and our silly promise after all these years.