Happy Days, He's home!

I woke this morning with a knot in my gut and the wired feeling of an 80’s Wall Street trader high as a kite. He is coming home….he’s coming home…he’s coming home, kept rolling through my mind. I called into the boss, gave her my notice that I wouldn’t be there and started to get things done.

I had one essay question to finish on my midterm and sat on the couch in an outfit that no one should ever attempt again. My hair was done, contacts in (which were older than dirt and hurt like hell – but I looked good so it was worth it), a nice top, it fit well with just enough cleavage, but not too much, a pair of sweats and my “hooker boots.” They are a pair of nice suede boots that come up just below the knee with a 3 inch heel – hooker boots are just the what most of my friends would jokingly call them.

The first call came in, “Sorry it’s so early, they are on their way.” I knew I had a little time to keep writing on my essay and just keep myself in check. The second call came in a couple of hours later, “Sorry, they have been delayed. The new show time is 1400.” I actually breathed a sign of relief I could, work on the paper a little more. An hour after that I got a call stating that they made up some time and would be landing in an hour.

I changed out of the sweats and into the skirt, grabbed the brownies I made last night, a sign for the man and a sign for a friend, my camera and kissed the dog goodbye. I then proceeded to go to the bathroom, like six times before I even left the house. The last time I was this nervous I was eight and my mom was piercing my ears. I think it took twenty minutes between ears because I kept having to “go” when I really didn’t at all.

I finally arrived, reconned my seat so no poles would get in the way while I took photos, and sat down. You could feel the emotions in the air and cut them with a knife. Everybody was damn happy to be there and we all were bursting to see our soldier. Every time someone came to the podium the crowd instantly hushed, no one wanted to miss what was said. General West wandered about, introducing himself, asking who we were waiting for and what section they worked in. I snapped a few of him talking to other spouses just because I could and I like taking photos of people. And we just continued to wait.

As that hanger door opened I jetted out of my seat, dropped to one knee and started taking pictures. One of the press members tapped his leg on mine so I knew he was there, two others hovered in and around me – I must have been a sight for the spouse, the press snapping photos and the wife smack dab in the middle looking like a pro.

I started scanning the squads searching for him, hoping to make eye contact while they made their one minute speeches. I couldn’t find him, but kept searching. When the call for dismissal was made, my heart skipped a beat. Where the hell was he? I stood on my toes cursing my shortness, looking, searching and starting to get teary wondering where in the hell was my man? I turned and locked eyes on the woman who was sitting in front of me. Her eyes too had the look of panic, tears welling up as we both said to each other “Where the hell is my husband?”

I finally went roaming the crowd, stopping, standing on my toes hoping to find him in the sea of hugs, kisses and smiles. I felt manic, crazed like someone had just told me that that the place was on fire but not where the exit was. Finally I spot his profile across the hanger. I zigged and zagged around happy couples and families trying to get to him without losing sight of him. I found the exit in the burning building and I sure as hell wasn’t going to lose sight of it! Rushing up to him I threw my arms around him nearly knocking him over, dropping my head into his chest, pulling him tight, I cried.

I don’t know how long we stood like that, for me time stood still. I know a few flashes went off and I heard the PAO say something to the effect of “nice shot.” I didn’t care, nothing outside that hug even existed. My skirt could have been tucked into my pantyhose and it wouldn’t have mattered. What mattered was him, there, in my sight, in my arms, in my space….home.

LOVE (Part III)
Wild nights! Wild nights!
Were I with thee,
Wild nights should be
Our luxury!

Futile the winds
To a heart in port,—
Done with the compass,
Done with the chart.

Rowing in Eden!
Ah! the sea!
Might I but moor
To-night in thee!
-Dickenson-