I have mentioned before that while Matt was deployed, I was once again dabbling in my fiction writing. I can't begin to tell you how long it had been. Things I once loved doing such as painting and writing had fallen by the wayside while I went through years of trying to conceive, pregnancy, nursing and raising young children. I figured the extra alone time at night when Matt was gone would be the perfect opportunity to start seeing if I still had any creativity left in me.
I have shared a few tidbits here and there on this blog before. Samplings if you will--of our deployment experience, of Matt's time at sea, & (and an edited version) of our dreams for retirement. They were rather like short writing exercises that also served to give others a little insight into our lives. I have contemplated sharing a few bits and pieces of my new passion--romance scene writing. But alas, I realize I can not share them on here without extreme editing which just takes something away from it all. So for now, just Matt and a very trusted (and very, very brave) friend have been reviewing those for me.
Since I have been on such a posting hiatus, I figured I owed this blog a little something but I am not quite ready yet to sit down and compose the novel length entry that will cover Matt's homecoming and our lives since his return. So I figured I'd cheat a little and just give a tiny bit of a story I have been fiddling with recently. So much of this one is coming from real life, but I suppose that is not an uncommon thing. Write what you know and all of that. But I find one thing I love about writing fiction and that is how you can create characters much like people you have had in your life but you possess the ability to alter them or your interactions with them. It's all rather therapeutic. So although much of this one is drawing from my own high school years (down to the details of the actual hometown where I grew up), there will be much that is altered as I continue to work on it. I also started out with the intention of it being geared towards the adult crowd but so far it is reading as more young adult to me. We'll see what happens as it progresses. Although it begins in the high school years, the story is not going to be staying there. It is also written in the first person. A narration I find myself
favoring although my romance scenes are always in the third person
omniscient. Go figure.
I, unfortunately, had to edit out some of my favorites parts that I have written so far because I have impressionable young readers that visit here from time to time.
There is one other story I have fiddled with--one I originally began when I was about 17 years old. I found it recently and ideas began to flow once again. However, that one starts off with a bang--right to an action scene that would, once again, be deemed inappropriate so that one will remain, for now, unposted. I am rather horrified at how dark I was back then. So young and yet so twisted in my imagination. Honestly, child rearing has done little to pacify that.
And just as a final note, I have said it before and I will continue to stand by this. Sharing my fiction writing is the equivalent of me stripping naked infront of a room full of strangers and asking for honest opinions. It's a nerve wrecking and panic inducing experience. But it's time to put on my big girl undies as they say and just go for it. So although this is merely a rough draft beginning and not exactly the most riveting of stories as of yet, I have some hope that I might be able to get it rocking and rolling if I were to dedicate the time to do so. And to any family members stumbling across this, please let me remind you, this *is*, atleast in part, fiction. Not a biographical confession :)
So here we go.....naked and exposed. Some of my rough draft fiction:
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People always ask when I knew. When did I know I loved him? To be honest, I can’t remember the exact moment that I felt utterly consumed with love--when lust and enthrallment turned into something more genuine--nor can I remember the first time that I actually spoke those three words proclaiming my feelings. But I do vividly remember when I first realized I could love him. It was that night at the diner. That night when he casually slid into the booth across from me and I realized life could change. I’m getting ahead of myself though. There is no use jumping to the middle of a story when there is a beginning to be told so allow me to rewind a bit.
It was fall of my junior year
in high school. My school, which was named after the Shawnee Indian tribe that
once inhabited my small southern New Jersey
hometown of Medford,
was top in the region for its sports accomplishments but I am guessing it was
also first in its class for underage plastic surgeries and high end parentally
funded cars. Walking into the halls of Shawnee
was like walking into a sea of self conscious Caucasian beauty. Our cultural
diversity was severely lacking, and I knew, from having shared the gym locker
room for a couple years now where nothing was too secret or sacred to share,
that boob jobs, and even some rhinoplasty like my best friend Marissa had undergone a couple months back, were not unheard of. And yet,
somehow, they were just never big enough or there was still a crook to her nose
or her hair was not the right shade of blond and just look at how she burned
(and eww now she’s peeling) after spending too much time at the local tanning
salon.
Actually besides tanning and
nail salons-- commonly housed in the same building--Medford didn’t have a whole lot of other
things to offer outside of antique stores and high end boutique shops. Most of
downtown, lined with maple trees and old fashioned black lanterns, was
abounding with historic charm although that is hardly something appreciated by
most teenagers. That charm was usually something not fully recognized until
those teenagers transitioned well into adulthood There were a few cozy cafes sprinkled amongst
the family owned shops and there was also a small local library as well as a
park that backed up to the youth’s baseball league field. Although we did boast
a couple of all night diners, as most of the towns in New Jersey do, our
closest mall was thirty minutes away and the movie theater was just beyond
that. Basically Medford
was a town filled with teenagers with too much money and not enough acceptable
recreation in which to spend that wealth. That is an equation that always leads
to trouble. The smaller and less affluent nearby towns of Atco and Vincentown,
off the route 206, were not the only ones with a drug problem and a surprising teenage
pregnancy rate; Medford
was just much more clever about concealing their presence.
Shawnee was like any other high school. You
had your jocks, you had your goth kids, you had your band geeks who were, of course, separate
from your academic nerds, you had your girls with reputations who were often
seen hanging on the bad boys inbetween classes and then you had the rest of
us-the ones lucky or unfortunate enough to not fit into any clique. It all
depended on how you looked at it. The girls who were always overlooked would
wish, for once, to be one of those chicks who pulled up to school in the
passenger seat of one of those bad boy cars, hair slightly out of place hinting
that they had pulled off to make out before school. The guys that managed to
blend into the background would sometimes wish they could be the ones pictured
on the front page of the local sports section for their game on Saturday night
against the rival Lenape school. And yet I knew there were times when the
clique kids wished they could just melt away into the halls without everyone
always watching them, scrutinizing them. A girl with a reputation sometimes
wished that a guy would ask her out just because he wanted to get to know her.
Her, not her body. The academically gifted sometimes wished they could, for
once in their life, get a grade below an A just so the jock sitting next to him
in Algebra would stop threatening to kick his ass if he didn’t do his homework
for him. In turn, the jock wished he had half the knowledge of the brainiac
next to him just so he could stop sweating the potential loss of his college
scholarship. Even the goth kids sometimes wished they could ditch their look
for something more mainstream because hell, they were sick of all that eyeliner
and their dog collar was giving them a rash. It was pretty damn hard to think
of one person in these halls that was truly happy with who they were or with
their life in general. But it was so hard to recreate yourself once you were
established in a crowd so you just muddled through and prayed to God to make it
out the other side relatively unscathed.
I was pretty much one of those
kids that kinda blended in. A decade later, hell even just a few years later,
people would probably forget that I ever sat next to them in English or helped
them once in study hall. Freshmen year, I wasn’t quite goth enough to be
considered a goth kid although I tried with the spikes on my Doc Martins and
the cropped cherry cola colored hair. I managed to make a few friends with that
look, some that I still remain close with now two years later. Sophomore year I
started to ditch the old man pants and vintage guy t’s and began to dress a
little more casual with just jeans and a thermal thrown over a tank top. I
still loved to wear my Docs though. The shear thrill of driving into Philly to South Street to
throw down my carefully saved $125 was enough to keep that fashion habit going.
By junior year, I had let my paper straight hair grow out past my shoulders and I no longer dyed it an artificial color of red but rather embraced it's natural light brown with red undertones. I sometimes even threw on something tight and girly although
the best push bra in the world couldn’t have helped me in the boob department.
And my conservative parents and their equally conservative teacher’s salaries
didn’t support breast enhancement. The only thing that helped counter balance
the cruelty of being nearly flat chested was the fact that I was blessed with flat, toned stomach and easily fit into a size zero. So far none of my boyfriends had ever
cared that I had less than a hand full although I am sure they were just trying
to get in my better graces so I wouldn't turn down any of their advances. Not that I had
that many boyfriends. I hadn’t. Oh there had been a few who had been fun. They were
always up for a party on a Friday night or to go park somewhere on a Saturday.
One guy had a great sense of humor but had a serious case of B.O., one had the
beginning hints of great muscles but seemed to compliment himself more than he
ever did me, and one had this killer smile that could melt me to the floor
eventhough he had trouble forming a simple coherent sentence.. They were all
fun in their own way and filled up some boring periods in the past year or so, but
there had only been one serious boyfriend in my life up to that point and we
were currently labeled as ex’s. We were in that awkward stage where we just
could not be together anymore but would still feel the twinge of jealously if
we were to date someone else.
Dereck had been two years ahead
of me in school and roughly a year and a half older when we first started
dating my freshmen year. Looking back, I can't honestly say what first attracted me to him. His hair was cut short against his head. It was a dull mousy brown color that wasn't really worth mentioning in any other manner than to serve in the descriptive sense. His eyes were an equally average brown although they were framed with lashes so long they added an almost femnine flare. His nose was slightly too large for his face and his cheeks were just a tad too round to allow his appearance to be that of an emerging man although he tried to hide his slightly boyish looks by flashing the fact he could grow some facial stubble. His body wasn't one to drool over, a little too soft in some places, not muscular enough in others. And yet there had been an allure to him. Charisma, an air of of confidence, a touch of "been there, done that" wisdom or the fact he had a driver's license. Who knows. But something, back then, had been appealing to me. The fact he was a full two grades ahead of me meant he was also slightly more experienced in
relationships and all that they imply, but he was always more than happy to
give me a lesson or two to bring me up to speed. I still give him credit for
never pushing me further than I was willing to go and had, on more than one
occasion, showed some impressive restraint. But I do admit adding the physical aspects to a relationship
complicated things--greatly complicated them. I found out one day, a little
over a year into our dating, that Dereck had gone and fooled around with someone else. Let’s just
say I didn’t take that one so well. It began a very dark period in my life during
which my parents threw me into the sometimes less than capable hands of
numerous therapists. A lot of my days and seemingly endless nights from that
time in my life blend together now. I don’t like to think of them because it
disgusts me to realize how weak I was. I allowed a guy to determine my own self
worth and I realize now what a dangerous mistake that had been.
Dereck graduated last year and
is now working at the local diner as a waiter. My friends and I go there alot
for late night coffee and cigarettes. It is one of the few remaining
establishments that has a vending machine of smokes out in the entrance which
means being underage is not a concern. I don’t actually smoke. Well, not
regularly. The sh*t gives me a wicked headache. I just sneak one here or there
when in a group and then just blame the smell embedded in my clothes on my
friends. My parents buy it either because they truly believe me or because they
want to live in a delusional world. Delusion is comforting sometimes. Anyway,
we always end up at the diner atleast once a week—usually on a Saturday night.
And usually Dereck is working Saturdays. And usually I just happen to be
wearing one of the few outfits that Dereck had said made him hot. It’s all
coincidence. I swear. It’s inevitable we’ll run into each other from time to
time anyway because we have several mutual friends. Mutual friends who, God
bless them, had tried numerous times to get Dereck and me back together. Dereck
would always just kindly steer the conversation in another direction, and I
would just remind them all that I don’t date two timing assholes.
“Sh*t!” Marissa, who was walking a few steps head of me, managed to drag me from my wandering thoughts with her sudden cursing while also causing my heart to jump a little.
“Jesus, what?! What happened?!” I demanded. When someone causes me to panic, I tend to get a little snippy with them. I know its not fair but it’s just the way it is.
“Damn branch,” Marissa cursed through clenched teeth while leaning over to examine her shin, her courtesy of Clairol long blond hair cascading over her shoulder. “Ah sh*t! Look at this, Julia. I gashed my leg open! I’m freakin bleeding. Why did I agree to walk this way to school with you on a day I wore a skirt?!” Marissa had always been known to be on the slightly melodramatic side so no doubt this gash of hers was little more than a scratch.
“Look, I offered to call up Bradley when I saw those ridiculous platforms you’re wearing today. You know he would have given us a ride. But you insisted you could walk the trail. I wasn’t about to argue with you about it.”
“And I wasn’t exactly in the mood to watch Bradley make love sick puppy eyes at you. It’s getting old.”
It was hard to ignore the bitchy tone of Marissa’s voice, but I reminded myself of what my father had always told me: One’s anger and attitude is usually the result of inner conflict and pain. It’s a pretty obvious observation but one that is surprisingly ignored most of the time. Afterall, if someone gets bitchy with you, it’s not usually your first reaction to psychoanalysis it. You usually just throw it back in their face.
“Good Lord, Marissa. Seriously. Bradley doesn’t want me, ok? Is your leg alright or are we going to be late for homeroom?”
“I have blood oozing down my leg but yeah, I’ll be fine. Come on.” Marissa voice was snide with a hint of sarcasm but she picked up her purse, which she had thrown down into the leaves, and started to hobble down the trail.
The well worn path through the woods was a popular shortcut to school for a lot of us since it allowed us to avoid the busy main road. Occasionally you had to high tail it through someone’s backyard but otherwise it was normally a pretty quiet route. ‘Course tramsping through the woods in platform sandals wasn’t the brightest idea but I was serious about what I had said, I was not in the mood to argue with Marissa this morning. It just wasn’t worth the energy. Lately Marissa’s fuse seemed to be shorter than usual and I had no doubt it centered mainly around Bradley.
Bradley isn’t actually his first name, by the way. It’s Wolfgang. Can you really blame the guy for insisting on the usage of his last name? Most people assume Bradley’s parents are just unusually cruel but actually his dad is some semi famous pianist in the Philadelphia music circuit. And before you ask, no his middle name is not Amadeus. It’s Ludwig. His parents really are great people though. I swear.
Marissa’s conviction that Bradley is digging me on more than a friendship level is no doubt fueled by her not so secret crush on him. Or rather her lust for him. For Marissa they are pretty much one in the same. You see, Marissa is several things. One, she’s overly dramatic. We have established that one already though. Two, she’s never wrong in her own mind. Hence my usual refusal to argue with her. Three, she’s a shameless flirt and four, she’s borderline bulimic. By borderline I mean she usually bitches about being overweight and attempts to throw up but she’s just too damn squeamish to get past the finger down the throat thing. And yet she remains one of my only female friends. I just can’t seem to get along with other girls. They are always so shallow and self centered-and too damn prissy. But for some reason Marissa and I always stuck. We had known each other since elementary school and had been through a lot together. I let her dry her tears and rub her snot on my shoulder when her parents divorced in the fifth grade. In turn, she showed me the fine art of stuffing tube socks or tissues down my training bra when in 6th grade I was still sporting the flat as a plank look while most of my friends were starting to develop small mounds. Hell, we had even started our periods within days of each other during middle school. We were complete opposites and yet somehow we remained friends. We never had an issue with a guy coming between us though. I sometimes wondered if Marissa’s obsession with Bradley would be our undoing.
The snapping of a few branches behind us had me whirling around. I was slightly dismayed to see one of the football jocks making his way towards us. It took everything in my power not to roll my eyes and sigh. Mike Mallory, senior star quarterback and all around conceited asshole, could normally be seen transporting himself and any number of blonde cheerleading bimbos to and from school in his flashy red convertible Mustang. Mike, himself, was the epitome of the all American Anglo-Saxon white male. Short conservative blonde hair, piercing blue eyes and a strong jawline that just begged people, "Look at me. You know I'm gorgeous." Mike’s dad owned one of only two auto shops in town, Mallory’s Mechanics of Medford. And, therefore, Mike was like a small handful of other fellow classmates-the spoiled wealthy offspring of a successful local businessman. But if rumor was correct, Mike’s precious little cherry had met head on with a telephone pole recently. The rumor also claimed Mike had been drinking when it happened. It wouldn’t have surprised me. Actually I was pretty much betting it was the truth and judging by the still fading blue green bruise on his forehead, it must have been a hell of a crash. Mike had his black Jansport bag flung over his shoulder nonchalantly and besides his slightly baggy jeans and flannel shirt, he was also wearing a cocky, self satisfied smirk. Good Lord.
“Well now. What do we have here, hmm? Marissa, baby, looking fine and tasty as always,” Mike sneered. How a guy only a year older than us could have mastered the creepy adult pedophile leer already was beyond me. But I found it disgusting. Marissa, on the other hand, saw a male and proceeded to let brain cells ooze out of her ears.
“Mike..oh thank God! A damn branch scratched me back there. Look at this! Do you think it’ll need stitches? I’m gushing down my leg!” Marissa’s ability to suddenly become the helpless damsel in distress was a bit sickening. This time I couldn’t fight the eye roll. Luckily, Marissa was too consumed with Mike to notice.
Mike gave a little nod of acknowledgement in my direction before falling upon Marissa like a hawk on a mouse. I didn’t possess a reputation around school of being easy so Mike normally grazed over me much like you would a stranger in the grocery store. You sometimes acknowledge their presence but otherwise you didn’t give them much consideration.
“Well, sweet thang, your leg is a little cut up but I think you’ll survive. Here, put your arm around me so you can lean on me.” Mike’s hand had left its spot on Marissa’s calf and found it’s way to her back to sit low around her waist. Marissa transferred her bookbag to the other shoulder and proceeded to lean against Mike’s obnoxiously large chest. There was no way in hell that dude got that big on just good ole diet and exercise. But that really wasn’t my concern. Let that be the worry of his coach.
*****************
We're getting there--slowly but surely:
Outside my office windows, the sky is dark despite the early evening hour. The thunder is ominous and the rain is unrelenting. It is silent inside the house aside from the soft clicks from my keyboard as I type and the air conditioning that just kicked on. No one is asking for juice. Spongebob is not laughing on my TV. I can't even hear the muffled sounds of Matt's rock music blasting away in the garage. And no one has yet to demand dinner from me.
Right now I was supposed to be arriving in NJ to pick our girls along side Matt. Matt's family took them back after their visit for homecoming last week and kept them for just about 5 days. I think you all can understand now why I was so quiet on the blog the last few days. We went camping, we went shopping, we never cooked, we did house projects, we took naps, Matt got a huge new tattoo and we watched movies. Although a dream of mine was to sleep in until 9am and we both couldn't sleep past 7, it was still a gloriously perfect time together. Well aside from the fact that I ended up getting a raging UTI.
Yeah I know, that was a bit too much information but when have you ever known me to be anything other than an open book?
The mild symtoms started on Thursday. I woke up that morning with some stomach problems but also the extremely annoying UTI signs. But I knew I had a chance still to treat it at home. So we spent an obscene amount of money on cranberry pills, bought 100% cranberry juice, I drank tons of water, etc. It would come and go but I wasn't doing too badly. Sure I dreaded the trip up to NJ because I knew I'd have to urinate every 15 minutes, but I had faith I would be ok.
That is when this morning rolled around. I woke up every 30 minutes from 3:30am and on to use the bathroom. By 6:30am, it's not beneath me to admit, I was bawling my eyes out. And by 8am? Oh yeah by 8am, the first of the blood had made its appearance. I knew then this was no joke anymore. This was progressing and going very wrong, very fast. The problem? We were supposed to leave at 7am to hit the road. Instead I was curled up in a fetal position hysterically crying while also assuring Matt I'd be ok to go to the drs alone so he could go get the girls. He left a short while later to begin the long ride, and again it's not beneath me to admit I kept on crying. To be honest, I only stopped long enough to make it through my 1 1/2 hour long dr's appt so I could appear somewhat like a normal functioning human being. Has anyone with a UTI ever tried to do that? It's no easy task. As soon as I had my medicine and was back in the car ready for the 20 minute drive home, I cried again. Then cried some more when I got home. And then when the annoying aches of my lower back turned into sharp stabbing pains on the right side of my back, I screamed...then cried some more.
I'll put it this way--I've had three kids. I've had a csection. I've had an all natural marathon long labor with a malpositioned baby. I know pain and discomfort. And I will say this now...a raging UTI infection ranks right up there with it all.
It was around the time the stabbing back pains and the fever kicked in that I realized I had been a complete idiot to play tough guy. I let Matt go. He offered to try and get one of our relatives to keep the girls just one more night. He didn't want to leave me. I assured him I'd be fine. What...an..idiot..I..was.
So now here I sit--on double strength antibiotics and medicine that makes my urine something Crayola has probably named at some point over the years. I'm also taking mega doses of cranberry concentrate and Acidophilus (cause the last thing I need is a yeast infection after this) while also drowning myself in green tea and water. After I hit "save" on this bad boy, I am dragging my sorry ass upstairs to rest. Matt is in NJ now packing up the girls and getting ready to turn right around to come home.
So although this is far from the plans I had, I have to remind myself that although I am alone and very sick, atleast I am not alone and very sick with three kids running around. Gotta keep it in perspective, right? Sure I was looking forward to a road trip without kids and a puking dog cause hell I don't think Matt and I have ever done that, but things could always be worse. Now I am just praying this doesn't go any further south (or should I say north?) and turn into a raging kidney infection. The fever and back pain have me a wee bit concerned but here's to hoping my medicine kicks in sometime soon. In the mean time, forgive me once again for taking a break from blogging. I don't plan to return until my urine is no longer the color of toxic waste.
Just a few pictures from today's homecoming. A much more in depth entry will be posted in a few days :)
Part of me, as irrational as it sounds, really felt this day would never come. The day when I could say, “Matt’s coming home tomorrow.” Tonight I will curl up in bed alone for the last time. A far cry from where I was 6 ½ months ago. 6 ½ months ago, on my first night alone, I laid my head down on my pillow and the realization hit me: If, heaven forbid, something were to happen during the night, I was solely responsible not just for myself but for three children. I alone had to get them out of the house if an emergency arose. And I knew it would be that way for 200 nights to come. Try going to sleep with that on your mind.
But it wasn’t all about 200 nights spent alone. It was also about 200 days spent flying solo. It wasn’t just about cleaning the house, mowing the grass, running errands, paying the bills, school projects, soccer practices and all the other things that go into keeping a household running, it was also about those things that just tend to pop up in life--and managing to get through those things on my own. I found myself forever wishing to fast forward. Sure I felt guilty for wanting that. I knew I shouldn’t ever wish to fast forward through a day in our girls’ childhoods. And, as many people liked to remind me, I should cherish each day because it could be my last. Cliché but true. But how do you fully appreciate and enjoy each day of your blessed life when the one with whom you have created that life is 7,000 miles away?
To place everything that happened during this deployment into sentence form would create the world’s largest paragraph so let’s switch over to bullet style. The good and bad of a deployment w/ links included incase anyone wanted to take a more in depth walk down memory lane with me:
--600 meals prepared for four people
--70 hours of yardwork
--2 broken mowers, 1 broken weed whacker
--1 large tree limb that a made huge hole in the back wall of our shed and took out a section of fence
--4 stomach virus’
--5 days spent in bed while three kids took over the house
--1 very sick kitten adopted into the family which led to endless battles with kitty boogers and tapeworms
--2 very stomach churning episodes of maggots in our outside trashcan
--A pantry full of moths
--Two road trips alone with three kids (one who was potty training and had a stomach virus) and a puking dog.
--1 episode of witnessing a freaky snake threesome on my front porch
--8 phonecalls from Matt where his mere voice made my eyes well with tears
--1 Chief pinning missed
--3 birthdays, 6 holidays, 1 Naval anniversary, 1 graduation and 2 first days of school missed
--5 rooms painted/redone
--21 soccer games battling an angry stripping toddler alone
--95 books read
--Countless fevers and illnesses
--1 ER visit
--28 big Sunday breakfasts prepared alone
--1 house refinanced with a toddler
--25 empty bottles of Arbor Mist recycled
--2 bouquets of flowers and one box of gourmet chocolates ordered from 7,000 miles away.
--1 broken air conditioner during the summer heat
--1 busted in van DVD player that turned into a 2 month ordeal
--1 panic inducing health scare
And to keep record of it all:
--166 blog posts
Tomorrow it all ends. Tomorrow my husband, the love of my life, my best friend, my partner, and my rock is returning to us. This is our third long deployment and we know damn right well it won’t be our last. But to think of that is to drive yourself insane. So you don’t. You concentrate on the fact that you have him home now. He may not be here in a month or in 5 months or next year but he is here now and you just try and make the most of that time together. It is not a matter of if there will be another deployment but rather a matter of when. This is, afterall, the life of a Navy family.
Ever since I wrote that piece almost a year ago about what it is truly like to have to say goodbye to your spouse for a military deployment, I have wanted to write something from Matt's perspective. If you have followed along with my blog for the last several months, you know very well what my life is like here at home without him. You know the trials and the joys. The heartache and loneliness. But I have said very little of Matt's life on the ship. I am sure many civilians can step outside of their own worlds of comfort to imagine briefly what his every day is like, but it has been a goal of mine to write up another piece--done from his view--prior to his coming home.
While blasting music last night and finding the words writing
themselves in that eerie way that happens sometimes, I realized a lot
of curse words were flowing and I quickly realized that may be slightly
inappropriate for the blog. I have some tender readers on here or in
the very least, some adults that don't appreciate cursing. I could
claim it's just the sailor's way, but honestly, it is just the way that
it wrote itself. I will however, do that little trick of omitting a
letter or two and placing in an asterick. It doesn't take away the
curse but hey, it softens it slightly.
I have edited this thing 1/2 dozen times and am still not fully satified. I realize now I could edit it another 1/2 dozen times and it will just never be good enough. Nothing I could write could do him, or any other military member, justice for what they endure day in and day out during a deployment. But I am hoping this will atleast serve as a little insight for those that truly have no idea and a reminder for those that do but sometimes forget. However bad I have had it at home, it will never compare to the hell Matt and every other deployed active duty military member endures on daily basis.
The coffee was like mud. Thick, potent, sat on the burner too long mud. But when its all you have, you don’t complain. You just drink it--usually from a mug so stained that the guys refer to it as “seasoned”. The dark liquid was jet fuel and--along with nicotine--it was what kept him and everyone else going out here when days and nights tended to blend into one another.
He had been standing watch on his feet for six hours now but hadn’t been to sleep since yesterday…or was it the day before now? He couldn’t even f*cking remember anymore. 18 hours, 26 hours, 38 hours. Shifts out here on the sea were as long as they had to be to get the job done. Knowing you wouldn’t get paid for overtime was a b*tch but what choice did he really have? Back at home, there were three daughters and a wife counting on him. A mortgage that needed to be paid on time and bills that never failed to show up. The economy had gone to sh*t. All of his friends who had gotten out with dreams of making it in the civilian world were now living with friends or family or working two or three minimum wage jobs just to stay afloat. His oldest daughter was going to need braces soon, his middle had hopes of playing soccer and doing ballet this year, and his youngest needed a preschool tuition paid. His wife, who had spent the last decade of her life at home raising the children, had hopes of returning to school and the last cat they adopted into the family was ill and constantly at the vet’s office. Yeah, what choice did he really have?
None.
Snapping back to reality, he looked over at the officer beside him, “Sir, I’m taking a quick break. I’ll be back in 5 minutes.”
With nothing more than a nod, the officer went back to staring at the bright
monitors in the otherwise almost pitch black room.
D*ckhead, he thought. Still wet behind the ears and already a self righteous attitude to go along with the college degree. Gotta love it.
Heading down to the office, his thoughts were on home. Again. Lately the emails from his wife were becoming a bit more concerning. A bit more frantic. Gone were the days of reassurance that everyone was ok and things would be alright there at home. Lately, she was admitting to suffering breakdowns. To losing her temper with the kids and collapsing into tears. She was repeatedly saying she couldn’t do “this” any longer. He felt so g*dd*mn helpless. He was seven thousand miles away in a completely different time zone, a completely different world for all it mattered, and could do nothing more than write words he felt held very little comfort for her. They lived hundreds of miles from any family and he knew she was completely on her own. On top of it all, there were times the communication system was shaky. Emails were lost or came in hours behind. Factored in with the time difference, there were times when emails from home were from the day before.
Logging into his account, his eyes blurred for a moment before once again clearing. D*mn sleep deprivation. He needed more coffee.
He sat there once again feeling completely helpless as he read the desperate email from his wife. His youngest was sick with a 103 fever and couldn’t keep any medication down. His wife was now running a temperature, too. The cat had gotten out last night and hadn’t come back yet. And one of their typical freak Spring storms had blown in amidst all of it and dropped a large tree on their shed. As always, she ended by saying she had no idea how she was going to do this. She didn’t want to do this anymore and why had they ever agreed to this life?
He dropped his head into hands and forced himself to take a few deep breaths to calm down. Please, God, please do not let her leave me. Please give me a chance to make this ok for them. His worst fear was that one day his wife would break down for real and walk away. Forever loving him but being unable to handle the lifestyle they had chosen.
“Chief?” a voice from the doorway called in hesitantly. His guys were always hesitant with him now. As if they could sense he was treading a fine line with his anger, they walked on eggshells anytime they had to approach him.
“What is it, Petty Officer Stevens?” he answered through clenched teeth while still gripping his head as if he could get the whirlwind of thoughts to slow down. He was aware his voice came out more as a growl than anything human but he honestly didn’t give two sh*ts right now.
“Chief, a Red Cross message came through for Widener. His father passed away this morning.”
“Jesus Christ,” he replied on a deep defeated sigh.
Widener was one of the new guys to the ship. He was young and still enthusiastic about being in the military. The way he had once been. A week ago the news from home had come in that Widener’s father was diagnosed with a rapidly progressing cancer. Terminal. He had been personally counseling the kid every since.
“Chief, no one has told him yet.” Stevens said quietly, obviously worried about the reaction.
“Jesus. Christ.” Realizing it was up to him to tell Widener about his father’s death, he tried to lock away concerns of his own family to take care of what had to be done here at work. It was a constant struggle. He had his own department of men to take care of. Men that looked up to him and looked at him for direction and yet all he really wanted to do was jump off this god forsaken steel prison and swim home. Sure there would be the little matter of jail time for breaking a military contract but so what? At this point, so f*cking what?
“Thank you, Stevens. I’ll take care of it.” He leaned back in the chair and ran his hands through his hair.
When Stevens shut the door behind him, a mug flew against the wall followed by a string of curses.
Time to start seasoning another mug it seemed. The ship store was getting to know him well. But as long only coffee mugs were taking the brunt of his frustrations, he figured he wasn’t doing too badly. Lately, he was seeing a lot of fights breaking out amongst the sailors. Fists flying. Threats and curses being spat at one another. Sleep deprivation, desperation and depression will do that to you. It would morph even the most level headed of individuals into someone unrecognizable. It had gotten so bad for him personally lately that there were certain people he had to avoid because something as simple as their irritating laughter would make him want to crack them in the teeth.
Telling Widener about his father’s death, dealing with officer A**hole on the rest of watch, fighting to get a washing machine for the first time in days and emailing his wife hoping it would reach her sometime that same day had brought him to his own breaking point. He didn’t want to do this anymore. He just wanted to grab atleast a moment of peace but everywhere he went there was someone that had to speak to him or needed his signature or wanted his advice. It had gotten to the point where he could barely sh*t in peace. Eating? People everywhere. Showering? People everywhere. Taking a smoke break? People everywhere. Going to sleep? People everywhere. Going to the bathroom? Yep, you guessed it. People everywhere.
Rolling his head to crack his neck a few times, he wiped the sweat from his forehead. Running a few miles before bed always helped relieve some tension. The treadmill had been shoved into the corner of what used to be a utility room but if he lost himself in his music, he could almost imagine he was back running on the streets of his neighborhood. He was desperate for sleep but knew if he tried to lie right down after this last shift, he would only lay there for hours worrying about home, about work, about what the hell he would do after the military. Desperate to get out and yet desperate to stay in.
Heading to berthing to grab a shower before bed, he heard the 1MC crackle through the speakers,
“Potable water is secured until further notice.”
G*dd*mn it. You have got to be f*cking kidding me, he thought as he stomped down the passage way. No shower. Drenched in his own sweat and oils from the last 36 hours of working, he realized he would, once again, be crawling into his rack dirty. And for now, it also meant no more coffee. D*mn it.
Resigned to the fact that his adrenaline was just running too high to have any hope of sleeping and not wanting to lay down only to be haunted of images of his family thousands of miles away, he made his way down to the Chief’s Mess for something to eat. He had been on a diet of tuna and plain oatmeal that his wife kept sending to him in care packages, but figured he would indulge in a danish tonight. After a few wordless nods of acknowledgement, he made it into the Mess and reached for a flaky raspberry pastry. What the hell? You are freaking kidding me, he thought in frustration. Mold. On the danish. And oh Jesus…was that a roach that just ran over by the fruit? With utter disgust, he threw the pastry back on the tray. He was tired. He was hungry. He had a pounding headache and he wanted to shower. He wanted to walk through the door of his own house to the enthusiastic greetings of his daughters. He wanted to see the way his wife’s face lit up when he came home as she walked over to put her arms around him and bury her face into his neck. He wanted to curl up at night in his own bed, his wife tucked into his side, and watch stupid shows on TV and talk about what they were going to do that weekend with the kids. He wanted to wake up the next morning to fresh coffee which he would take out to his backyard while he watched their dog run around playfully.
Feeling the frustration boiling up within him, he grabbed his cigarettes and headed out to the smoke deck. It was a habit his wife begged him to quit, but he felt he completely lacked the strength to even comprehend such a feat at this point. Bringing the cigarette to his lips, inhaling and then blowing the smoke out slowly, he glanced up at the sky. The stars were particularly bright tonight. Concentrating on the shapes they formed, he thought back to all those nights when he would step outside to stand in his driveway and see those same constellations from his own yard. The realization hit him like a freight train. The next time he was able to walk outside and look up at those stars from his driveway, everything would be different. He had left when they had just put away the Christmas decorations. By the time he got back, the days of summer mowing would be over, and the leaves would need raking. When he turned on the radio, he wouldn’t be able to sing along because he wouldn’t recognize most of the songs. Every commercial on TV would be new to him and when he drove to the store, new buildings or homes would be there along the way that hadn’t been there before. It would be like having been in a 7 month long coma. One day you just wake up and someone says, “Ok, off ya go now. You can go home.” There really was no transition. All of a sudden you were driving again, going to bed and waking when you wanted, giving your kids baths, breaking up their fights and reaching over to touch your wife because she is actually beside you on the couch and not just in your imagination anymore. You ache so much for the day you are set free and yet there is an apprehension at the transition.
“Chief,” the hesitant voice came from behind him.
Without turning, he flicked his cigarette, “Yes, Stevens?”
“Divo said the work for inspection tomorrow was not completed. He wants you to muster the guys.”
“F*ck.” The 36 hour shift was looking like it was going to again bleed into another day. His eyes felt like sandpaper and his head was thumping. “Tell Divo I’m on it, Stevens.”
As he turned to head back down to the office, he said a silent prayer that his little girl’s fever would break, that the repair man wouldn’t rip off his wife for the shed, and that their cat would find her way back to the house. He said a silent prayer that Widener wouldn't beat himself up for not being there when his father lost his battle with cancer. And with a final thought, he prayed that he would find the strength to keep on going. To be everything that everyone needed him to be. A leader, a fellow sailor, a husband, a father, a son, a brother, a friend. So many things to so many people but with every passing hour, he felt he was losing more of himself. Had signing on the dotted line been worth it? Was this living hell worth the financial security, the pride in his work, the pension at retirement? Early in his career, he would have said, “Hell yes.” But now? Now, he just didn’t know anymore. He had been forced away from home just way too much. He had seen the world and yet missed so much of what was truly important to him.
With a sigh and an aching heart, he headed back inside. Back into the steel prison-- praying that the day would soon come when he would awake from this hell and be sent home.
Seeing as how reading is still my escapism of choice (what?! It's not a bottle of wine?! <gasp>), I have a few more book reviews to spit out. I've been plugging along still although am finding that it's taking me an extra day or two to get through a book since we've been spending so much time outside now.
Anita Blake--Today I am picking up the 17th Anita Blake novel from the library. It is the most recent one in the series~Skin Trade. I have almost done it. I have almost completed my goal of reading the entire series during deployment--which was no easy task since our library only has one copy of Hamilton's early books and I had to fight to get my hands on them. I decided a while back to stop reviewing each book in this series because if I were to write about them, I would end up giving away too much of what happens. I will say this though now that I am beginning the final book: This series, although slow to start, has become a whole world for me. It may seem utterly pathetic but I hear a song or see a person or hear a phrase and I think of characters from the books--"Oh, I can see Nathaniel dancing to that song on stage." or "Jean Claude has hair like that." or "Oh that is sooo something Anita would say." Seeing as how I lack the ability to bring any of these characters to life for real, I am just itching to see them come alive on the screen. Amidst the whole Twilight craze and people's obsession with Sookie/True Blood, there are two supernatural series I can't believe haven't gotten more attention--Anita being one and Black Dagger Brotherhood being the other. Hamilton and JR Ward have such incredible talent for creating worlds that become so real to the reader--characters that manage to feel like people you actually know--scenes that are so vivid that they play more clearly in your mind than a movie playing right infront of you on screen. You find yourself enthralled and worrying for the characters, caring for them and desperate for more of their story. Thank goodness neither series has an end in sight. Why no one has cashed in on these series yet is beyond me. If done correctly, they could probably blow Twilight and Sookie out of the water (and that's saying a lot since I loved both of those series as well)
I will say one final thing about the Anita Blake novels...the first books are very well done. Well written, brilliant dialogue, and just downright gruesome. They are great but there was still something missing from them for me. If you know what I like seeing in a book, you already know what element was. So you can imagine how much I loved seeing Hamilton take that step over to the dark side--that step into becoming a naughty lil author. I have read a lot of smut over the last 6 months. I think it's safe to say I've become the queen of paranormal smut amongst my friends, and although every book I have read has had some delicious scenes, *no one* can write a jaw dropping, "No, she did NOT just write that!" scene like Hamilton. Way to go, girl, way..to..go!
Lover Avenged: OMG OMG OMG!! My library actually got the newest Black Dagger book in recently! When I realized it, I almost exploded in joy and so careless was I in my haste to claim the book as my own, that I almost forgot to buckle Madi in her carseat. Must. Go. To. The. Library. NOW!
Ok the cover alone on this one rocks. Actually the dude's muscled up arm so reminded me of Matt's, that I found myself caressing the cover for several minutes. Good job on that one, guys. It's attention grabbing
This book tells the story of Rehvenge. The half sympath, half vampire brother to Bella--wife to Brother Zadist. Owner of a law breaking nightclub as well as a highly successful drug lord, he is a poor tortured lil hottie who is haunted daily by secrets he must keep in order to protect not only himself but the ones he loves. But throwing a slight complication into his life is his obsession with the vampire nurse Ehlena. Ehlena, who tries to be repulsed by the overly confident and sometimes overly sexual Rehvenge, but fails miserably. She can't help it. She just plain wants him
JR Ward writes in a way that reminds me of a soap opera with its transitions. You always have your more main characters but you move along to other side stories and yet they all tie back together cohesively. Like with a soap opera, I find myself desperate to return the main characters, but Ward never disappoints in the side stories--especially since most of them center around characters from previous books. It's nice that we never completely leave them-we are always updated on what is going on their worlds as well. And luckily none of the side stories take very long. Before you know it, you're thrust back into life with the main guys.
I'll just say it--Ward's mind is brilliant. This book was left open ended, thank goodness, because I could not stand for this series to end just yet. It is just that good.
While waiting on the last Anita Blake to become available, I picked up the first book in a relatively new series called The Nightwalkers.
Jacob: First in the series by Jacquelyn Frank, Jacob is a 700 year old demon who has the title of Enforcer. A most feared title but considered a necessary evil, he is the police of the demon world--capturing and punishing any of his fellow demons who dare break the law of becoming too closely entertwinned with the humans they live amongst. However, after centures of unbreakable control, one fate filled evening lands Isabella in the arms of Jacob--quite literally. She is thrust into a world she knew nothing about and yet very quickly feels apart of. And one thing is for certain, if separated from Jacob, both would suffer a slow death for they have become instantly dependent on one another.
How did I feel about this one? Well it won't rank up there with Lords of the Underworld or Black Daggers for me, but I dug it enough to put book two on hold at the library. It read kind of like the Immortals After Dark series by Kresely Cole for me. You have to be able to swallow immediate possessive feelings of love and obsession. It moves quickly at some points almost like Frank was just rushing through a section and yet at other times, it kind of dragged on longer than it should have. And at times the dialogue was a bit...hokey. Don't get me wrong, it was a decent enough read but sometimes I was left scratching my head at the editing or lack there of and other times was rolling me eyes at the dialogue.
And with that, I am off to the library. Anita and her harem of incredibly yummy men are waiting for me.
I can't believe I am doing this. I am posting pictures of a room that is only halfway done. I never do that. However, given the fact that it's taking me forever to find the rest of what I want, if I don't post the pictures now, it'll be a long wait.
Fresh paint went up this weekend. The color is a light grey blue. The quilt arrived and I just adore it. A little nod goes to PC Fallon--a small GA based company who carried this quilt for the cheapest price and was awesome to work with. Also you'll notice my pride and joy of this room~a large metal fish sculpture that I fell in love with at a local family owned gift shop and I just had to have.
The desk, I realize, is and will be the oddball of the room. It doesn't go with the seashore theme in the slightest. However, there is simply no where else in the house it can go and I refuse to paint it white. That would just be so very wrong.
So what is left? A headboard, nightstands, lamps, ceiling fan, corner bookcase (Matt will make that one), a frame for the great Wildwood, NJ boardwalk painting I have, an 8X10 blow up photograph of my grandmother's Wildwood shore house and a full length white mirror for the back of the door.
I can't tell you how utterly irritating it is to be doing this room in stages. My OCD side is simply screaming at me everytime I look at the room partially complete. It's a real test of my patience.
I am hoping to receive some recognition from the Psychology community for this one~my newly discovered disorder. Perhaps I'll make it into the next DSM:
Deployment Induced Psychosis (DIP for short): Temporary in nature and
varies in severity. Brought on by intense, lengthy periods of stress
and loneliness. Key symptoms are: profuse usage of profanity, erratic
and sometimes violent behavior, and moments of mumbling nonsensically to
oneself. Treatment includes reunion with loved one and copious amounts
of alcohol
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