Jus stood in the shower at the airbase. The water coming out of the showerhead seemed alien to him. The idea that he could just open his mouth and drink it seemed nothing short of miraculous. He could remove the tank lid from a toilet here in the States, dip a cup in it, and drink it and not get sick, and not die. It all seemed very capitalistically entitled. It almost felt like it was mocking the majority of the world. Washing off the dirt of the last several months was really great. Washing off the weight of the last three days of traveling from the other side of the world felt amazing.
Before he got into the shower, he called Maarja. It would take her an hour and a half to arrive. Back out in the hangar bay, people came to see arrivals from the Middle East and Vietnam Vets, making sure Storm Vets arrived at a more welcoming scene than they did two decades ago. In fact, that stuck with him for the rest of his life. Jus was born in the mid 60s. He saw on the evening news as a child the turbulence of the Vietnam War. Even as a small child, he was very aware of the mess it was making at home. But here they were, Vietnam Vets, not feeling alienated by the change in support for this new generation. No, they were front and center, leading the support effort to show that these soldiers, who were suddenly torn from their families, jobs, and lives, were supported, appreciated, and not forgotten. Jus thought, there is no greater definition of a man than these right here.
Jus had taken his time getting clean, since he knew his ride would take a while. He was thankful that he landed within 90 minutes of home. Military orders that promise "space available" travel to CONUS (Continental United States) could land you anywhere in the lower 48. The military commitment of travel ends there. You could jump Space A flights over and over until you finally get home, but that could take a day, or it could take a week.
Jus walked out of the showers and back into the hangar bay. He looked around. Maarja should have arrived by this time. When he spotted her, she saw him and ran to him. In the time it took for them to meet, Jus heard a woman shout to the group she was with: "Right here! We have another one over here." The group watched, clapped, and took photos as they embraced. It was nice that they were there to support people as they came home. Jus had this lingering feeling he could never shake: a little self-indulgence, a hit of dopamine, among those there to watch people arrive. Jus shook the thought from his head. He knew that it was only because this personal moment was on display, and he was not used to that. He knew these were the same people writing letters to them and sending needed supplies, snacks, and love. This seemed like it would never happen this way again.
He was home. There were things that needed to happen. And those things would now get done. It was 1991 now, and for the last 2 years, he hadn't seemed to be home anymore. He and Maarja had been separated in the middle of 89. He had come home in October, only to leave for basic training in January of 1990. He got home in May and was activated for war in November. This seemed to be a cycle that would continue. It felt like someone else was writing the story of their lives. For a union they swore would be steady and constant, it was beginning to look as if it would never be.
At work, they embraced Jus' return with open arms. He had been an "Account Manager" at his company, a fancy title for "Delivery Driver" and "Collections and Repossession Agent." They wanted him to take on the role of store manager, so they created an opportunity to work in other stores across the state for two weeks, working side by side with other managers. To glean techniques and habits that built successful leadership and adopt more company guidance rather than local guidance. Jus' store held the title of the largest store in the company by volume and was also considered the roughest. The other managers always viewed it as a combat zone.
Initially, Jus took over the store he worked in, while the current manager covered district management. He also became a free agent for his landlord, renting apartments and earning money on his own. His $50 car, which had carried him since August of 1990, was still going strong, and it allowed him a measure of success because it cost nothing to run.
Summer came Jus' landlord came with an offer to move into the same house he lived in. He, his girlfriend, and her little girls lived in a large Victorian house in the center of town. He had uncharacteristically split the house in two by dividing it into front and back halves. In the front, a large living room, a small kitchen, and a bath were on the first floor, and two bedrooms were up the sweeping staircase. The price was excellent because it included everything, and it was clear that this allowed the landlord and his family to have an on-premises babysitter. The girlfriend was also expecting; if you were not distracted, you could clearly see that this was a strategic maneuver.
The change in position at work. The move to the big Victorian house. Back from the Middle East, all of these things proved to be a formidable distraction for Jus and Maarja. When things were in flux, there was a virtual centrifugal force that kept them on the ride of their relationship. A friend once told Jus that he and Maarja always seemed to be acting independently in the same space, so much so that it stood out.
In late August, the manager from the store 30 miles south had quit, leaving an opening. Jus was asked to take that store over and leave the one in his town. They moved the original manager back into that slot. The new location was very nice. It was housed in an old Mom-and-Pop store in a very rural town, while just one minute across the bridge in the next state sat a city larger, but not bigger than his home city.
This was a shift to a quieter life for Jus. It fit well. It was somewhat nebulous. Things were comfortable, and in this relationship, comfort allowed cancers from the past to grow. They quietly existed before they could be seen, but eventually, a storm would rise, and there was no avoiding it
No comments:
Post a Comment