Martha's World

After reading "The Things They Carried" by Tim O'Brien I felt that one character that influenced a lot in the book but was never heard needed a chapter for her. So I wrote my own chapter.


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Martha’s World

College campuses are a world of their own, even if you didn’t have a war. They’re all green and plush with perfectly manicured lawns and nothing but young people. Most of them have never seen the real world; they came to college directly from high school. They are kids living on their own for the first time. The students they carry things too. They carry textbooks and transistor radios blaring out Dion, Elvis and The Beach Boys and Smoky Robinson. They carry opinions that they inherited from their parents. Some carry new found freedoms or independence. Most students carry goals and dreams. Martha – she carries an undeclared love.

Martha was a good kid, girl next door and all that kind of thing. She was a diligent student. I don’t think she ever knew what it was like to get anything other than a “B”. Martha was a poet and passions ran deep for her, but so did respectability. She knew her place in society and she didn’t mind following the rules. She believed strongly in the roles of a man and a woman. That’s how she was. Well, until she met Jimmy; until, there was a war.

Martha remembered their first date, she remembered their last date they only had three dates. But Martha was a decisive person. She was confident too. She knew what she liked. She liked Jimmy. She didn’t need a long time or a lot of dates to know she liked Jimmy. In fact she didn’t have any trouble imagining marrying Jimmy. You know the fantasy the two story house with the white picket fence. A couple of kids and PTA. She fantasized a lot too.

But Martha was a good girl. She believed in standards of propriety. She wasn’t especially the adventurous type. She would never do anything that might bring her shame or her family shame. She believed in the power of positive attitude too. She hated war. She hates the innocence it steals. She hates the killing and the lives destroyed. She hates the love it denies.

Martha wrapped her hair up tight in the towel and pulled the sash on her robe a little tighter as she sat at her desk. This was the best time for her write. She’s feeling fresh from her shower and the dorm is quiet because most students are either working or at the library preparing for mid-terms. Her roommate Carol wasn’t due in from her tutoring job for another half-an-hour. This was when Martha did her best writing.

Martha wrote Jimmy Cross every other night and she journaled on the alternating nights. This was her normal her night to journal but she had gotten her report on Nathaniel Hawthorne back in her Literature class this morning and Jimmy was the first person she had wanted to share all the comments from her professor with. Martha usually got A’s especially in her writing classes. Writing seemed to come easy to her; until she tried to write Jimmy. Once she got started the words seemed to flow with an occasional stumble. She chose her words carefully as she had to keep in mind that she had only gone out with him a few times and it would be so inappropriate to declare any real feelings for him “besides I think the guy is supposed to initiate this kind of thing” Martha thought to herself.

Tonight Martha only stared at the stationary for some reason she couldn’t gather her thoughts. She kept remembering how his hand had felt that night in the theatre. She hadn’t meant to scare him. If she concentrated hard enough she could still feel his hand as his fingers tried to find the edge of her skirt. “And when he kissed me” she thought to herself, “I wish he had kissed me longer but I didn’t want him to think I was a floozy”

Martha started writing again, “…today was definitely a good day. After Dr. Kincaid handed back our reports he started telling us about Emerson. I love the way Dr. Kincaid gets caught up in his stories. His passion is almost contagious. Long dead authors and poets almost come back to life the way he articulates it. I mean you could almost hear Emerson preaching and later lecturing. You could almost feel the pain the man must have carried. He had so much tragedy in his life. By the time he was in his 50s he had lost four brothers, his mother, his first wife and two children as well as his best friend Henry David Thoreau. His home and extensive library burned to the ground in 1872. Dr. Kincaid made us all feel the man’s depression and his speechlessness when his friends presented him with a new home and library as a gift in 1873. When he died in 1882 the whole town mourned. Did you know that he was buried in Sleepy Hollow cemetery? Isn’t that neat?

Carol has been tutoring for the last six months and she really is quite good. Her favorite student Theodore (his parents insist no nicknames) was repeating his algebra class for the third time when she started, now he is getting A’s and B’s. Her boyfriend says…”

Martha’s letter went on covering every day stuff. She was worried for Jimmy but she didn’t want to cause him worry. She always made sure she told him to be careful but that was as close as she could come to speaking of the war. She didn’t like this war. She had seen some of these guys when they came back. They weren’t the same. Her neighbor’s boy came back about six months ago and she could remember thinking what a mess he was. In fact “as far as I can recall he hasn’t spoken since he’s been home. He used to be so much fun I remember when our families would get together on the fourth. He had a way of making everyone feel welcomed. Now he’s kind-a spooky to be around. I hope Jimmy doesn’t come back like that.”

Martha got up from her desk and began to pace the floor. She hated to think about the war. She didn’t understand it, and what she had seen so far she didn’t want to understand it. She just wanted it to be over. She wanted the boys to come back home; for life to return to normal. Eighteen year olds are supposed to be dating and showing off cars and going to college; not killing. She didn’t want to think about Jimmy killing. She wanted to think of Jimmy on another date, perhaps walking barefoot on the beach carrying a picnic lunch. She would pack her momma’s fried chicken, she couldn’t make it as good as momma but she came pretty close and her potato salad was better than her momma’s; she would be sure to pack it. The thought of Jimmy holding her hand while they walked in the wet sand was so real she could almost feel the water rolling over her feet. She thought back to the day that she found that pebble on the shore. She had hoped that her little simile about the pebble would open the door for him. But he rarely wrote back. She assumed the war made it tough for him to write and just as tough for the letters to get through. He hadn’t even mentioned the pebble in his last letter. Perhaps it was all her but that first date she had felt something special, she thought he felt it too, especially when he kissed her on that last date before he had to report to duty.