Dear John by Nicholas Sparks Read Free Book Online Page A

sergeant in the infantry. Weapons squad.”
    “What’s it like? I mean, what do you do every day? Do you shoot guns, or blow things up, or what?”
    “Sometimes. But actually, it’s pretty boring most of the time, at least when we’re on base. We assemble in the morning, usually around six or so, make sure everyone’s there, and then we break into squads to exercise. Basketball, running, weight lifting, whatever. Sometimes there’s a class that day, anything from assembling and reassembling our weapons, or a night-terrain class, or we might head to the rifle range, or whatever. If nothing’s planned, we just head back to the barracks and play video games or read or work out again or whatever for the rest of the day. Then we reassemble at four o’clock and find out what we’re doing tomorrow. Then we’re done.”
    “Video games?”
    “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