7 March 2003
Ten years ago tonight, I drank the most important glass of rum in my then short life. I thought it would be my last. Just one more night, I thought, and then the end.
I couldn't process the thought then as I understand it now, so with her hand in mine, I led Robyn out the front door of our small three-bedroom home. I wanted to see the stars.
We ascended the driveway and stood in the middle of the street. There was no sound. There was no light but the gentle, mocking twinkle of a billion orbs of burning plasma hanging from the heavens. With each silent exhale, our breath sailed into the starry sky. The neighborhood was quiet because everyone else had already left.
8 March 2003
What I supposed would be the beginning of the end felt like every other morning. The sun had risen early and the sky was perfect and beautiful and blue. But it wasn't a Saturday I would spend in the driveway or in the yard. I instead stood in the shower to soak beneath the warmth of the falling water. I thought of the day that I raised my right hand. I swore to defend the Constitution of the United States, and now that I had to do that in Iraq, I didn't want to play. If only I could slip down the drain… I wouldn't need to say goodbye.
Robyn drove onto base through gate six and past the run-down housing reserved for Privates and new soldiers. Every door was shut. Every window and curtain was closed. Deer wandered the deserted streets and picked at grass in the front yards and doorsteps of empty homes whose wives and children had left for the company of family in other places.
The road was smooth and quiet, and as I looked out the passenger window, I felt the cool air glide over the fingertips of my outstretched hand. We drove past the 2nd and 3rd Brigade gyms and their empty parking lots. Even the Post Exchange was empty. Fort Campbell, home of the Army’s prestigious 101st Airborne, was deserted. The only remaining activity was my unit, the last of the 502nd Infantry Brigade preparing to deploy in support of Operation Iraqi Freedom.
“DAVIS! Hurry the fuck up!”
I bent down to pet my dog. She was happy and smiling and unaware. I hugged Robyn tight, kissed her, and grabbed my bags from the trunk of our car. Halfway down the parking lot, I looked over my shoulder and saw the car start up and drive away. That was goodbye. For six months, for a year, or forever.
Fourteen hours later, Headquarters Company and Bravo Company 2/502 Infantry flew out of Campbell Army Airfield on a commercial 737 airliner. After a one-stop, seventeen-hour flight to Kuwait International Airport and a two-hour bus ride to Camp New York in the Kuwait desert, I walked out of my tent and looked into the night sky. I saw the same stars, but their glow was awkward and misplaced, like an unknown gesture from someone speaking a foreign language. I wondered how Robyn would get through the next year. Would she find strength looking into the stars the way we had the night before? Would I ever see her again?
Would this be the end?
8 March 2003
What I supposed would be the beginning of the end felt like every other morning. The sun had risen early and the sky was perfect and beautiful and blue. But it wasn't a Saturday I would spend in the driveway or in the yard. I instead stood in the shower to soak beneath the warmth of the falling water. I thought of the day that I raised my right hand. I swore to defend the Constitution of the United States, and now that I had to do that in Iraq, I didn't want to play. If only I could slip down the drain… I wouldn't need to say goodbye.
Robyn drove onto base through gate six and past the run-down housing reserved for Privates and new soldiers. Every door was shut. Every window and curtain was closed. Deer wandered the deserted streets and picked at grass in the front yards and doorsteps of empty homes whose wives and children had left for the company of family in other places.
The road was smooth and quiet, and as I looked out the passenger window, I felt the cool air glide over the fingertips of my outstretched hand. We drove past the 2nd and 3rd Brigade gyms and their empty parking lots. Even the Post Exchange was empty. Fort Campbell, home of the Army’s prestigious 101st Airborne, was deserted. The only remaining activity was my unit, the last of the 502nd Infantry Brigade preparing to deploy in support of Operation Iraqi Freedom.
“DAVIS! Hurry the fuck up!”
I bent down to pet my dog. She was happy and smiling and unaware. I hugged Robyn tight, kissed her, and grabbed my bags from the trunk of our car. Halfway down the parking lot, I looked over my shoulder and saw the car start up and drive away. That was goodbye. For six months, for a year, or forever.
Fourteen hours later, Headquarters Company and Bravo Company 2/502 Infantry flew out of Campbell Army Airfield on a commercial 737 airliner. After a one-stop, seventeen-hour flight to Kuwait International Airport and a two-hour bus ride to Camp New York in the Kuwait desert, I walked out of my tent and looked into the night sky. I saw the same stars, but their glow was awkward and misplaced, like an unknown gesture from someone speaking a foreign language. I wondered how Robyn would get through the next year. Would she find strength looking into the stars the way we had the night before? Would I ever see her again?
Would this be the end?
3 comments:
A very well-written post. I read and liked the post and have also bookmarked you. All the best for future endeavors
burun estetigi
Seems like yesterday...
We were soldiers once...and young
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