Boats Against the Current

“...So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.” The last line, then a fanfare of music as the end credits began to roll. I made no movement to get up, but rather stayed where I was, laying on the couch with my arms wrapped around her. Even if the movie was over, and even if my left arm was reaching a concerning level of numbness, I refused to be the one to break the spell. These were some of my favorite moments with her, just feeling the warmth of her body laying against mine, feeling her hair tickle my chin, knowing she was mine.

It hurt much deeper than I could say to be aware that this would be the last of those moments for ten months. It only made me want to prolong this night even more than usual; I wished the movie had never ended. I wished I could stay here forever, freeze us in this perfect little bubble of time, cuddled together here on the couch at the end of her favorite movie.

“I can’t believe we won’t have another night like this for so long,” she murmured, finally shifting herself a bit as she turned her head to look up at me. Clearly, she must have been following a similar train of thought to my own.

“Don’t think of it like that,” I said, stroking her hair. “Think of it as only ten months until we’ll be right back here.”

She smiled, her brown eyes twinkling as they reflected the light from the television screen. “Knowing you’ll be waiting for me will definitely make the blistering heat more bearable.”

I gave her a little grin in return, but what I really wanted to do was cringe. I knew my girlfriend was doing something truly admirable, serving her country in the Navy, and I respected her endlessly for it. Hell, I even thought she made the uniform incredibly sexy, a feat not easily accomplished. But I wished more than anything that she could continue to serve at the base here rather than deploy to Afghanistan. It was just so brutal over there, so dangerous for anyone, let alone my petite, adorable girlfriend. I’d known this was coming, but it was still so hard. I couldn’t keep the fears from creeping in: what if she got seriously injured? What if she never came home?

“Owen? You there?” Her big brown eyes still stared into my face as she entwined her fingers with mine.

“I’m just thinking about how much I’ll miss you, and how I’ll be counting down the days until you come home and make me watch ridiculously bad movies again.”

She scoffed at me and sat up. “The Great Gatsby is a classic! It is not bad and you know it, you’re only saying that to piss me off!”

I winked. “Who, me?”

“Yes, you!” she insisted, shoving me back onto the pillows in mock anger, only to break out giggling a moment later and collapse back down so she was again laying on my chest. “God, I love you so much, Owen. I’m so glad you’ll be waiting for me when I get home.”

I squeezed her tight. “Of course I will be. I can’t imagine anyone more worth the wait.”

“And after I return from deployment, we’re finally going to get Daisy? You promise?”

I smiled, for real this time. Daisy was the name she’d picked—after The Great Gatsby character of course—for the future golden retriever puppy she wanted to adopt. She’d been trying to persuade me to get a puppy since we’d moved in together. “I promise.”

“Then that’s what I’ll look forward to most,” she declared, twisting to kiss me lightly on the lips. “My little family. You and Daisy.”

“That’s right,” I said. I felt my heart leap with joy to hear her consider us a family. I wanted that more than anything. “Just ten months until our little family can sit and cuddle and watch movies again.”

At that moment, it seemed so infinitely far away.

Four months into the deployment. We Skyped whenever she could, emailed even more frequently than that, and yet she still felt worlds away. Every night the bed was so empty, her side cold and unused, and every day I dreaded coming home from work to the quiet house. Still, though, talking to her helped; I was overjoyed each time I saw an email from her in my inbox, antsy and anticipatory all day before each Skype call. Seeing her face and hearing her voice was both a precious treasure and a curse, since I could pretend she was there in the room, but knew in another hour she’d be thousands of miles away again.

She seemed to be alright, which was a comfort. She told me about the people she’d met, the camp where she was stationed, some of the work she was doing. In return I kept her updated about everyone back home and new developments at my job or in our neighborhood. And, of course, I told her how I’d started researching golden retriever breeders in our area.

After saying goodbye after one particular Skype call, I couldn’t help it. I went over to my bedside drawer and pulled out the little velvet box I’d had stashed there for half a year. I opened it; inside was the engagement ring I was going to give her when she returned. I planned to meet her at the airport when she landed with balloons and a welcome home sign like all the families, but I was going to bring the ring too. And right there in the airport, with her looking as attractive as ever in her uniform and with everyone rejoicing as the military men and women unboarded their plane, I would get down on one knee and ask her to marry me. I wanted nothing more in the world than to be with her for the rest of my life, to see her walking down the aisle on her father’s arm towards me, to continue to wake up beside her every day into my old age. And I couldn’t wait to see her walk through those airport gates so I could finally ask the question I’d been dying to for so long.

I smiled and nestled the box safely back into my drawer. She’d been right when she’d said our little family; husband, wife, puppy, and eventually children. Nothing could be more perfect.

Nine and a half months into the deployment, less than two weeks until she was back home in my arms. I was marking every single day on the calendar. I’d selected a dog breeder and had called to arrange a visit to see his newest litter of puppies the day after she was due back.

“Almost there!” she declared happily on our Skype call. “It’s so close I can feel your hug already!” She looked adorable in her dusty uniform.

“I can’t wait,” I said.

The next day, I hummed in the kitchen as I hustled around, putting away my haul of groceries. This week, they included the ingredients for a devil’s food cake, her favorite, which I would bake and decorate in a few days so it was ready to be our dessert on her first night home.

Suddenly, the doorbell rang. I threw the empty plastic bags I was holding into the trash and hurried over. My heart soared irrationally. Maybe she was home early, had come straight here to surprise me? I knew it wasn’t likely, but I couldn’t keep myself from getting excited and hopeful anyway.

I opened the door and at first glance was ecstatic—Navy uniforms on my front step! Then the reality of the scene sunk in. These two people in uniform were Navy officers, but neither was her. Then it sunk in still further when they confirmed my name and began solemnly talking.

I felt numb; their words echoed in my ears, seemed surreal, and the world felt like it was spinning much too fast. The phrases came one after the other, never ending: sorry to report, died in action, not coming home, memorial, died in honorable service to her country.

One doorbell ring, and my world was crashing and burning around me. I closed my eyes, tears running down my face, as if I might open them again to find that I had imagined these Navy officers and their devastating words at my door.

One, two, three, four. I opened them again. The officers were still there, which meant that she wasn’t, and never would be again.

I couldn’t stop thinking about her. It had been two months since that terrible day, almost as long since her funeral and memorial service. The service had been beautiful; the Navy outdid itself in her honor, with the gun salute and flag over her coffin and countless officers in attendance in uniform. I had laid daisies on her coffin, over top the grand American flag. And yet, the pain had not lessened even an iota in the weeks since.

I dreamed of her every night, thought of her every hour of every day. Now, I sat on the couch, staring blankly at the little velvet box I kept sitting on the coffee table, always in view. I didn’t know what I would do it with now. Maybe in time I would find someone new, but it seemed impossible, too distant to even think about at this point. All of my life had been her, and all of my life was still consumed by thinking of her and wishing endlessly that she was here with me.

We’d been so close; we’d almost made it. How cruel, to be so within reach and then to have it torn away in an instant, due to one IED explosion and her being in the wrong place at the wrong time.

I absentmindedly reached down and stroked the puppy fast asleep in my lap. I’d still gone through with the golden retriever puppy in honor of her, and I’d still named her Daisy. The puppy snuffed lightly at my touch and twitched her paw, deeply asleep after hours of energetic racing around the house and chasing the tennis ball I’d thrown for her countless times. I had to admit that I was glad I’d gotten her; she was a wonderful distraction, and though it ached every time I saw her and wished I could have enjoyed her as a family, it was nevertheless a fond way to remember my dreams that had once been.

I stroked Daisy’s soft fur again and thought back to the movie she was named after, a movie that I secretly greatly liked but never would have admitted to enjoying, since teasing about it being bad was always so amusing and made my beautiful Navy girl so cute in her mock anger. Specifically, I thought back to that last line, which had been her favorite line of the entire film: So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past.

I felt their meaning; I was that boat, struggling to move on, unable to forget her and forget my past. I was not yet ready to move forward, nor did I want to. I couldn’t leave her behind, couldn’t fight the current of her memory dragging me under.

So we beat on, boats against the current, borne back ceaselessly into the past. Truer words had never been spoken.