Duly Noted

"I just found out my best friend went home without leaving me so much as a damn note. Trapper left without leaving a note, too. Is it the war that stinks, or me?"

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"Well, whaddya know," Hawkeye muttered as he unfolded the piece of paper that had been tucked deep inside his duffle bag. He let out a single laugh that expressed bemusement more than amusement. "There was a note after all."

His father looked over at him. "What was that, son?"

Hawkeye waved his hand dismissively. "Nothing, Dad. Just something I found at the bottom of my bag. Listen, I'm gonna take a break from unpacking for a few minutes and go sit on the front porch. OK?"

"Sure, son. No need to do all your unpacking the very second you get home. You take a break. I'll start getting supper ready—you're no doubt hungry."

"Thanks, Dad," Hawkeye said, but he was still distracted by the paper in his hand. He followed his father out of the bedroom and down the stairs, preoccupied and surprised and almost giddy.

Why did it matter so much? A piece of paper, sentiments put into writing… as if he didn't know how B.J.—or Trapper before him—felt about their friendship. He mentally shrugged. He couldn't exactly articulate why a note mattered, why a lack of one bothered him. He only knew that it did.

As his dad veered toward the kitchen, Hawkeye stepped out the front door, taking a deep breath of the summertime air. He sat on the wooden glider that'd been a fixture on their front porch since time immemorial, looking around and marveling at the fact that he was at home, on his own porch, in his beloved hometown. What a relief to be able to rest his eyes on green, happy, familiar Crabapple Cove, Maine, as opposed to brown, somber, foreign South Korea.

"Welcome home," he said out loud, wonder in his voice.

Then he turned his attention back to the note that B.J. had, at some point, hidden in his belongings. His heart doing a little two-step, he began to read.

Dear Hawkeye,

How do you sum up two years in just a few sentences? How do you encapsulate the kind of relationship we had in a note like this? I could write you a 100-page letter and it still wouldn't do justice to everything you meant to me, and still mean to me.

I honestly have no idea what I would've done if I hadn't found Hawkeye Pierce in Korea. How would my tour of duty gone? Would I have laughed even once? Would I have even survived?

I can't answer these questions, but I do know that I'm forever grateful to you, for the kindness, the friendship, and the love you extended to me. I arrived young and scared and impossibly naïve. You literally took my hand that first day, and wound up selflessly sharing your heart.

There was so much about Korea to hate, so much I want to forget, to put behind me. But you were the one thing about Korea that I loved, that I want to remember, and that I hope will remain a part of me for the rest of my life.

Your confidant, your colleague, your bunkmate, your friend,
B.J.

Hawkeye smiled, blinked to clear his vision, and read it a second time. Then he folded the paper and looked up as a couple of tears slid down his cheeks. He leaned back in the glider and closed his eyes, enjoying the warmth of the sun on his face and the gentle breeze blowing through his hair.

Yeah, he thought. There was a note, all right.