And So It Begins
“It’s my last time driving the
truck,” he remarks with a smirk and clicks the seat belt across his chest. “For a while, anyways.”
Our three week old baby is asleep
in the backseat and we pull out of the driveway. I watch my husband’s head turn as he scans the
neighborhood. The camcorder is focused on
the man driving and I ask basic questions so that the moments will never escape
us.
“Where are we going?” I say
flatly.
“Well, we are going to drop off
my bags, grab some chow and then I’m going to Kuwait for a short little while,”
he answers as though he were talking to a reporter. “Then I have to work for a little bit in a
place called Iraq. I hear the people are
pretty nice over there.”
“What are you doing to do?” My
voice now sounds hollow and restrained and I don’t want to hear the answer.
“Take care of some bad people,”
is the first thing that comes out of his mouth.
A few more statements follow about training border patrol agents and foreign
army leaders. “And miss you and the
little guy and Chewy,” he adds, throwing a glimpse my way and we pull out onto
the main road.
The camcorder slips in my hands
as I attempt to dry my face. My lips
feel sore. I haven’t been able to stop
crying all morning.
“Mommy’s just so happy I’m
leaving,” he jests with a forced smile.
I can’t see his eyes but behind his sunglasses I know that they’re just
as red as mine. He throws the question back
my way, “and what are you gonna do?”
I can barely choke out the
answer.
“Try and raise a baby.”
“Try!?” he exclaims with his eyes
on the road.
“I don’t know how,” I say in
defense.
“Well, you've been doing just
fine so far.” He’s not looking at me. “ You've put up with me for eight years, I think 12 months with a little baby you’ll be
fine. They do exactly what you want them
to.”
I hitch a slight smile. Rich green pine needles fly past the window
and the sunlight flickers across his face.
I want the truck to turn around and head back to our home.
He doesn't know that I've turned
the camera back on but I’m watching him through the viewfinder. He’s standing at the back of the truck
tightening a black strap on a huge camouflaged bag. After a few minutes I move around to the
tailgate and ask him what’s inside.
“Oh, you know,” he says without looking at
me. “The usual. Body armor, helmet, extra uniforms.”
The bag is so big he’s cranking a
ratchet attached to the front. “All this
stuff,” I say aloud as I film the bed. “Not
the stroller through.” The stroller
stays with me.
Two large white semis are parked
in the middle of the asphalt lot next to the gas station. There’s a Subway on the corner and Soldiers
with backpacks are waiting around in small groups. A few people in colorful clothes break up the
scene and reveal that the preparations aren't for a training exercise. Through the window, I capture my husband who
is now twice his size as he walks towards the semi. “So strong,” I comment figuring that he’s
carrying at least his own body weight.
He gracefully slips underneath a white string and adjusts a green duffel
bag. It’s riding atop the gigantic one
on his back. “I want you to remember how
your daddy is right now,” I say to the lump in the backseat.
A group of men wearing
camouflaged pants and tan shirts are loading gear into the back of one of the
semis. Half of the men are in the truck
catching and tossing identical bags towards the front. It’s amazing that they can tell them apart. Past the trucks I see a set of stairs on the
far side of the parking lot. I zoom in
on it and capture a pregnant woman resting and running her hands in circles
over her stomach. We’re the lucky ones.
He’s standing in his office,
hovering over his oak desk and shoving more things into yet another bag. Various files are spread in front of him along
with other camouflaged things and a thick book of crossword puzzles. The room needs to be cleaned out because
he’ll be changing positions overseas and right now we have two hours to kill. His tattooed forearm crosses over his head
and he wipes his sweaty hands over and over again on the front of his tan
shirt.
“There’s just so much crap,” he
says as he puts a smaller camouflaged bag into the larger one. I tell him I’ll turn off the video in a
second but first I want to see his tattoos.
I don’t know why I say this but suddenly I want to see all of him in the
flesh and I realize that his son may never know what his father looks like
without his shirt on. He holds out the
word “Patriot” on his forearm and then lifts his sleeves, turning each deltoid to
the camera. His chest appears and
proudly displays a few military symbols and a heart with my initials. He lowers his shirt, grabs an air freshener
off the top of a locker and hands it to me.
“You’re gonna need this.”
The parking lot is grey in the
moonlight and soldiers with rifles congregate under fluorescent lampposts. Packed white trucks will soon be replaced by six
empty busses. Cones now separate the loading
area from the gas station and the parked cars make it impossible to fill up even
if you wanted to. I know that three
different units are heading out on this deployment and most of our friends left
earlier in the week. I don’t recognize
any of the families around and stand by myself with the stroller underneath a
lamppost. My husband walks up the
sidewalk and into the frame.
“Show me your gun,” I say and he
holds it up with a smile that belongs on a little boy. We stand there for a few minutes and neither
of us says anything.
“What are you doing?” he finally asks.
“I don’t know,” I reply. I don’t want to stop recording. He grabs the camera and flips it around and
more than my voice is now a part of the eternal moment. My conscience fights between being glad to be
in it and the embarrassment of bearing extra weight. Feeling the need to justify my appearance, I
pull the sleeping newborn from the stroller and hold it up to the camera while little
arms stretch out in sleepy refusal.
My husband sits down on the
ground holds the sleeping lump on his lap.
He tells his son to be good. To
laugh and to smile every day or he’s going to get it when Daddy gets back. Big fingers tickle the small tummy as though they’re
softly kneading dough.
“Any advice for him?” I ask.
“Just take care of your mom,” he
says without looking at me. “Always
respect her and always love her. “ He
raises his head and looks out. “Always
be good to everybody you meet.”
The Soldiers are paged to the
middle of the parking lot. They
collectively move like a swarm of bees and assemble in a formation to wait for
the busses. A sea of grey is created and
I have no idea which bee is mine.
Sniffling and whimpering is all around me and the people in colorful
clothes are fighting to cherish these final moments. I’ve gone through my stash of tissues and
have resorted to using my sleeve.
The bees stop moving and stand in
straight lines while someone counts them.
My eyes comb the rows with desperation for a final glance at the other part
of my soul. I know that they’ll be
released for one final goodbye but how will he find me? I weave through crying bystanders and push
the stroller up towards the top of the hill for a better look. Nestling the child into my shoulder, I press
into the crowd and make it to the railing that overlooks the procession.
My eyes frantically dart up and
down the ranks, looking for a Soldier of smaller stature who stands with
confidence. It’s useless. They’re all standing like that right now. My concentration breaks as a young woman to my
right tries to strike up a conversation.
“I don’t know what I’m going to
do without him for a whole year,” she pines.
I ignore her and continue my
search.
“He’s just everything to me, you
know?” her unsolicited remarks continue.
I politely turn my head and nod at the brunette. Her fresh eyes are wide and tearless. My child’s inch of hair is soft under my palm
and I can feel him wiggling into the warmth of my chest.
“I’m going to be so lonely,” she
says and I think I spot my Soldier.
“We’ve been dating for almost four months and now I’ll be all alone.”
My body tenses and I clutch the
child protectively in my arms. Is she
serious? Fury starts to boil in my
stomach and my back teeth grind together.
My eyes are burning a path to the shortest figure in the third row and I
memorize which section of the formation he is in. I back out of the crowd, grab my stroller in
one hand and hightail it down the hill.
They’re
not even married,
I think as my tired wrist attempts to navigate the clumsy wheels around a curb. She has no right to stand there and
sulk. I have spent the past eight years
building a home. It took me two years
but I can finally cook eggs they way he likes.
I know not to pick a fight before bed because he’ll just close his eyes
and ignore me. We created a child together
and now I have to take care of it, all by myself, and I don’t even know
how. How dare she infiltrate my
world? She will be young and beautiful
over the next 12 months and I will be covered in poop.
“Two minutes,” I hear a man say
across the crowd as I make it to the bottom.
The bees disperse and waves of grey hit the barricades. I have lost sight of my husband and all
around me the quiet sobbing has erupted into torturous cries as loved ones find
each other for a final goodbye. With
savage need I push my way to the front.
What if he can’t find me? I
should have stayed where I was. We
should have agreed on a spot, I didn’t think this would be so chaotic. For the past three weeks I haven’t really
been thinking at all and now I’m going to miss my last kiss, my last embrace
and his father will be gone without a final goodbye.
“Babe!” I hear him cry out above
the noise. Oh, thank God, he found
me! He closes the gap in two quick steps
and his hands are on mine.
“I didn’t think I would get to
say goodbye,” I choke out as the panic leaves my face.
“I found you,” he says calmly and
past his smile I can see a hint of panic draining away from his. “I’ll always find you.”
Our lips are together. Hands are moving up and down, shoulders and
arms wrapping around each other and squeezing tight as three souls search for a
connection that has to outlast this test.
We press our foreheads together and all I can think is, “this is love.” Right here.
This moment. This devotion to
duty and commitment to each other.
“I love you,” he says with
purpose as tears roll down his cheeks.
“I love you, too,” I
whisper. “Please come home to us.”
The quick blast of an air horn
rings out. The buses jump to life and a deep rumble
courses through the crowd. Forced smiles
are on both of our faces and we nod to each other as if agreeing to an unspoken
pact. He takes two steps backwards and
then signs “I love you”. I repeat the
motions with one arm and soothe our now crying baby with the other. We watch him turn away and then he disappears
into the swarm of grey.
In the comfort of the nursery I
watch my newborn baby coo sweetly through the viewfinder. I say nothing but capture him suckling on a
bottle. I want his Daddy to see that his
boy is okay without him, at least for the first night.
© Copyright 2012 S.C. Matthews
