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Levi flips the old worn coin twice in his hands, and then sets it on top of the equally worn gravestone. The silver of the coin blends in with the grey of the marble. If you were to rub your hand across the front of it, worn down letters would start to form. Not enough to create a full name anymore, but enough to know that someone existed at some point.
Levi pulls the sleeve of his jacket down over his hand, and scrubs at the dirt and grime on the grave. Slowly the letters start to show again.
Ewn mith
Below the name sits a few carved-in words and the date of their death. You can hardly see any of it anymore, but Levi can read it front and backwards with his eyes shut. For a quick second, he thinks that maybe it's his fault that you can't see the writing anymore. He's visited the cemetery so much within the last eight years; each time shoving the coin down and wiping it off.
An early winter breeze blows across Levi's neck. He pulls the edge of his jacket up and buries his hands further into his pockets. If Erwin was still here with him, he'd probably offer Levi his scarf, and then buy him a coffee to warm up his fingers. Of course, if Erwin were still here, Levi wouldn't need to visit his gravesite every day.
The days used to be worse. There were times where Levi would sit against the stone, back when it was still newly installed, and cry like a big baby. Cry for what could've been; cry for what should've been. He would sit out there for so long and eventually Petra would have to drive through the cemetery and wake him up with her headlights. She'd take him back to their apartment and he'd settle on her couch and cry some more.
But Levi is grown up now. Grown more than he was when they were in their twenties and fighting the good fight. At least, that's what their drill sergeant told them. Early in the morning, they'd be woken up to the sound of his voice telling them,
"Don't be scared of the war. We're fighting the good fight."
Levi runs his hand further down the grave, his nails running along the engraved letters. The years of Erwin's birth and death indicate that he was only 28 when he died. Too young to leave Levi alone
It was a series of events for Levi. Something like a chain reaction. Erwin was shot twice in the leg, the blood staining his fatigues. He had tried to hobble over to the sand dune that Levi was hiding under, but the grenade in front of him stopped him prematurely. Levi had tried to shout; tried to warn him not to go forward but the sounds of guns firing had made his ear's ring and his voice get lost in the air.
Levi couldn't speak for a week after Erwin's death. He tried to avoid his funeral, tried to stay home, but Petra drug him out of bed and told him in her mother voice,
"Erwin was your best friend. He didn't deserve to die, but he deserves to have you there for him."
None of what Petra had said really made sense to him, but he forced himself out of the apartment and into a front row seat at the church. None of Erwin had been blown to bits, surprisingly. He was dressed up in a suit, his pale hair parted and combed. He looked perfectly normal to Levi, almost still alive. But his skin was white against the casket, like a girl from a fairytale, a clear indication that he was dead. Levi had twirled the coin in his pocket during his funeral. Around and around it went through his fingers. His thumb skimmed over the large dent in the quarter. The very center of the dent had a cut through line in it, like something had tried to force its way through the hard metal.
A sign that Erwin had been shot before. Somewhere in his thigh, the bullet cutting straight through his pants. It had hit the quarter, then stopped, leaving Erwin with a mighty fine bruise that stayed for three weeks. When he got back from the infirmary later that evening, he threw himself onto Levi's cot and handed the coin to him.
"It's good luck. Really good luck." Then he pulled down the side of his boxers and showed Levi the bruise.
Levi kept the quarter with him everywhere he went after that. Even almost nine years later, he still shoves it into the pocket of his pants to carry it with him. Late at night, when it sits on his nightstand, Levi thinks that maybe Erwin should've kept it to himself. If it was actually good luck, it would've kept him from getting killed. Then Petra will roll over from her side of the bed and hold onto his hands and tell him that Erwin would be glad that he's still alive.
He thinks of Petra a lot too, but mostly only when he's at Erwin's grave. They met years before Levi had joined the army, while they were both still in school. Petra had been his best and only friend before Erwin showed up, and helped him regain his senses when Erwin died. Levi thinks that they're strictly platonic, even though they live together and share a bed, and well-Yeah Not really platonic. But what he and Petra have, it's not like Erwin.
Levi wasn't one for sneaking around or kissing or really being in a relationship at all, but Erwin sure was. He was childish about it. He would sit with Levi in the evenings and sing the foreign songs on their old radio while Levi tried to write letters back home to Petra. He mentioned Erwin a few times in them; but Erwin mentioned Levi to his mother in all of his letters. His mother gave a few of them to Levi at his funeral. He read and reread them until his head hurt and the words swam around on the pages. He wrote so highly of him, wrote about how attractive and strong he was, and how he really does have a nice side, he just doesn't show it. All Levi left Erwin was a few kisses and a nice stay at his apartment during Christmas when they were given a leave.
Levi feels a bit guilty for not giving Erwin enough of himself, but he feels at peace as well. In the last few years, he got married and had a gross baby to name after him. Petra agreed that Erwin was a very nice middle name.
In the distance, the sun starts to rise, the rays shining into Levi's eyes. Slowly he reconstructs himself back together again, after a few hours of tearing himself apart and reliving the terrible war. They most definitely were not fighting the good fight. They were fighting against themselves, and Levi lost Erwin because of it. And eventually, he lost himself.
Levi picks the beat up quarter off of the gravestone, and puts it back into his pocket. He keeps on telling himself that he'll put it onto a cord to wear, but not today. Not today and not tomorrow, and probably not ever.
He scrubs his hand across the letters once last time, and then walks away. Until tomorrow, until the day after that, forever. Forever visiting the biggest cemetery in New York, and forever missing Erwin Smith. As Levi walks up to his car, he thinks that maybe he'll join the army again. When he sets himself into the driver’s seat, Levi looks back to the graveyard, to the huge monuments that rest in scattered places. Then he gives his head a slight shake and starts the ignition.
"Until next time you old loser." He whispers, pulling out onto the street.