In The Shuffle

I shouldn't be amazed, and therefore am not, at the way the end of deployment has gone down. Most specifically in the means of getting soldiers home to their families. Being a soldier, a couple hours difference is not a very big difference to us. Our hopes have been crushed so many times that to give us bad news after bad news, of the unworthy nonsense that shouldn't even exist in the majority of our lives; well, we are used to it.

Today, supposedly the last of our deployment, has been exactly like the rest of deployment. We aren't surprised. Our original flight time has passed hours ago, and we sit and wait. And then wait some more. We are through US Customs, and to be quite frank, that was the most of my worries. Customs can be that annoying friend that you deal with to drive you to the mall, or buy you a beer. Worth it in the long run, but you fret it before and during.

We are now on lock-down, due to the risk that we might be able to sneak an AK47 or grenade back to the great states of America. Unlikely. So we sit in our tent, alphabetically of course, the Lima's and Zulu's all looped in one. Mooo. The other heard from Alpha to Mike in their own corral. We wait on the word, and it's constantly changing. Lock-down isn't to bad. That is if you don't mind eating cliff bars, or Lays, or drinking a cup of over priced joe, and free sodas, gatorade, water, and different from the last time, internet.


Everyone is snoring, or attempting sleep sitting or standing. The brave souls hoping for a sleeping arm or sore back are doing their best attempts at sleep on the concrete floor. The TV is playing a Veterans Day movie tribute, and I had to check my watch to remind myself it was still, or now just the 11th. Crossed arms, tilted heads, hunched backs, and laptops the heart, lungs and soul of tent 6, our very own cattle shack.



The worst part about getting our time line pushed back, is for our families. As it always is. We are enough of a brotherhood here that even if we are down each others throats, we still hold strong together. But our families, waiting, hoping, and praying that we be on time, they get let down. So we get in at 1 am, and then what? 15 minutes of hugs, kisses and tears for the already weary eyed and tired family who have been waiting around in the butthole of North Carolina, Fayetteville, all day. We get a half an hour speech from some General or someone building their own career, and just like those who have the awake enough starbucks can afford we don't give a shit. We just want to be with our families. Drink a beer or two. Eat a nice dinner, which most certainly won't happen and have sex. Now another up in the air.

It's the same every time, no matter here or there. Someone who has nothing to do with us, always wants to say how proud he is, and how we helped to get his promotion. We don't want to hear it and neither do you. Especially at 1 am. But it's bound to happen. So after a lovely discussion going on way to long, then it's barracks room assignment and weapons turn in. A couple hours later and you can take me to waffle house for my first meal. All plans, diminished, changed, and not worthy for us, and certainly not for people like Jeri, Gina, Scott, Jody, and anyone else traveling long and far for our arrival. Is it even fair for us?

Jason lies on the floor next to me like a vagabond, and Sampson on a chair reminding me of math class. So close, and yet so far. And though the walls are sand colored, and the air conditioning is blowing just enough to make those sleeping tuck their hands into pits, the view outside isn't much better, or different. Sand as far as the eye can see, with the occasional Gulf War tank casualty, nearly rusted away, as forgotten as the war is fought. My anxiety kicks in for you, waiting. You should've been seeing me in 12 hours, and yet we've doubled that for apparently no reason. The photo op off the plane will be ruined for this guy or that, and you will have to stand the bullshit speeches or parades along with the non-militarized zone between our formation and your longing arms.




And yet I'm still holding tight to this dream of distant light, and that somehow I'll survive, but this night has been a long one, waiting on word that just won't come.