Part Four

Saturday, February 7
The deployment ceremony for the brigade was today. The stadium was packed, and the ceremony was impressive. The sight of 3,600 soldiers standing at attention in desert camouflage literally took my breath away.

Monday, February 16
Dan left for the National Training Center at three yesterday morning. He didn’t expect to have cell phone reception in the middle of the Mojave, but we’ve lucked out again—I’ll get to talk to him for another two weeks.

We’ve been fortunate this deployment. I’ve seen him every two or three weeks since he left in November, and talked to him almost every day. It’s been nice to see him so often, but it’s made my life a blurred cycle of work, sleep, and trips up and down the I-5 corridor. The house has descended into chaos, with laundry mounding in the bedroom, the bed unmade, and papers and books covering every flat surface in the living room. The cat shows unmistakable signs of a developing an abandonment complex.

Saturday, March 6
Dan called at eleven tonight—he’s getting a twenty-four-hour pass; can I come down? So I called Sarah and woke her up, asked if I could make the visit we’ve been planning a little early, and went online to buy a plane ticket, book a room in guest lodging on Ft. Irwin, and reserve a rental car. I can’t sleep.

Sunday, March 7
Two senior NCO’s in another batallion left their sidearms unattended, and the weapons disappeared, so the entire brigade is in lockdown indefinitely. Not getting to see Dan again isn’t so bad—I’m more or less used to being yanked around—but spending all that money for no reason is really frustrating.

Tuesday, March 9
Since the plane-ticket was non-refundable, I flew to Vegas yesterday, picked up my rental car, and headed for Fort Irwin. I was eating a frozen dinner when Dan called—they still haven’t found the weapons, but for some unknown reason, they’re off lock-down anyway!

His pass isn’t effective till two this afternoon, so I walked over to the Commissary this morning to get some exercise and some groceries. It’s funny—you can spot soldiers in training from a mile away because only their hands and the lower half of their heads and faces are sunburned. They look like pink and white raccoons.

Wednesday, March 10
I’m at Sarah and Mike’s tonight. I dropped Dan at the gate this afternoon expecting to see him again this evening, but he called a couple hours later to say he wouldn’t have any more time off—they’re leaving tomorrow. I did get to tell him goodbye though—he forgot his dog tags on the bedside table, and I had to drive out and give them to him.

I’d been planning to leave tonight, rather than tomorrow, to avoid sitting at the airport for six hours waiting for Sarah to get off work, so when he called again at eight to say they might get released again after all, we decided I should just leave anyway. We’ve said goodbye enough.

Friday, March 12
Dan left today—they left California at 1:30 a.m., and flew out of Maine, where they’d stopped to refuel, around ten. He wrenched his back loading gear onto the plane, and I’m worried about him.

Friday, March 19
It’s nice to sleep in my own bed again. Dan called this morning while I was boarding the plane home, and I couldn’t get to my phone before it stopped ringing. He called again tonight, though. His back is much better; they’re not doing much, just waiting for the rest of their gear to arrive on the boat.

Tuesday, March 30
It seems longer than eleven days since I got home. I’m avoiding the news and trying to get back into the swing of normal life—work, garden, walk, start a new remodeling project, and not think about the Army, or Iraq, or Dan being gone. Ignoring the elephant on the coffee table works well for me. But his family, understandably, wants to talk about it, and our friends, understandably, want to know what’s going on, and the family support group for Charlie company is asking for volunteers, and I just want to run away and hide. I feel selfish—this is how other people cope with things—and at the same time, defiant—it’s not how I cope, and I shouldn’t have to. As usual, some sort of middle-ground is probably the solution, but how do I find it?