It Tickles….
It tickles…
His moustache when he kisses me.
I’m just a little annoyed…
He only sports the unshaven look when he’s on leave.
Stubble and flannel shirts that fray at the button holes,
Smelling of ancient campfires and the woodpile…
Those are the ones he’s rescued from my pile of “give a ways”,
Thinking that I wouldn’t notice..
In the morning as he passes by me,
Sleepy seed sleepy,
He grasps me in a gigantic bear hug,
And his mustache makes my nose tickle..
Though I playfully push him away,
I’m just so happy that he’s here.
He’s away so much.
Sometimes when he’s out to sea I dream of him in soft vignettes,
Full of silly episodic memories and erotic dreams.
I try to forget how hard it is to say goodbye, time and time again; how difficult it will be when he’s gone.
How ALWAYS something breaks or gets messed up,
How I ever managed before he came into my life.
His uniform is crisp and clean;
Dark blue with black shoes;
Coast Guard work attire.
I notice that I can never quite get the smell of diesel
Fuel out of them however hard I try.
That’s ok. It soothes me somehow.
He doesn’t know that familiarity comforts me,
And I occasionally have a good cry down by the washer,
As I am folding the clothes he didn’t take…
It’s getting closer to “the” day…
Deployment day.
Gone is the prickly mustache and beginnings of a beard.
Gone is the slightly overgrown crop of hair,
Lovingly referred to by him as a five head vs. the forehead
The rest of us have.
The green and black worn flannel shirt that I alternately
hate and love, is folded fresh ready for him when he comes back. He thinks he’s put one over on me there. He thinks I don’t know he has rescued that darn thing more than once.
I’ll not ever toss that shirt again. It reeks of him and all the days we have together, from working in the yard, to staying up with our babies. More than once it has absorbed a tear or two from me.
We make love and I can’t sleep because I know it will be a scant few hours and he’ll be gone again, for months this time.
The night before we don’t talk a lot. We don’t have to.
He packs a duffle bag and I make certain that a special note and pictures of us somehow gets tucked in among his gear. I have to do it late at night when he isn’t watching when I am supposed to be sleeping. It’s a thing we do. A tradition I suppose.
I wonder if he pretends he doesn’t know I’m going to do it.
He never says but I know how much it means to me.
Once, during another deployment, I came across a neatly tied
Bundle of letters, pictures and silly things I had sent over the years. Well worn and thumbed through. I smiled and held the packet to my face. It was obvious there was lots of love there.
Its early morning and the foghorns beckon. He doesn’t like it if I cry because he can’t fix that, so I nudge him awake, and get the morning started as he showers. I slip a pack of Jolly Ranchers in the duffle bag so he’ll find them when he doesn’t expect to. I wonder if he knows exactly how proud I am of him; how very much I love him.
He stands before me dressed to the nines smelling wonderful in those crisply ironed work clothes. My heart swells with pride and love. I can’t imagine how any other man could ever match MY love; he’s the Captain of my heart; the hero of my dreams, EVEN when he’s getting on my last nerve…
Here we are, facing each other for yet another extended goodbye.
I have to will myself not to cry as I send him away.
I notice he rarely lets me drive him to the ship.
He always arranges a ride. When I ask him why he tells me it is just easier that way. Any other inquiries are met with a grunting acknowledgement or silence.
I like to think it’s because it’s difficult to leave ME too…
When my Chief is in uniform he won’t even hold my hand.
No displays of public affection while in uniform he says.
Regulation all the way….
Suddenly, he’s gone.
I wonder if the boat has left yet as I sip some tea.
I try to keep busy but he is always in my mind.
Once, during a blizzard that kept me trapped at work,
He called to tell me of the “terrible” time he and the crew were having being so far away from home in the Caribbean.
I could have slapped him.
Later, he told me he informed everyone else in line NOT to say anything similar to the wives at home based on that one conversation with me…
Today upon returning home, I noticed that laid out in perfect order on the bed, were his jeans, underwear, socks , shoes , and that old flannel shirt accompanied by a note telling me that he wanted me to know that he would be ready and waiting for the time he came home. I cried myself to sleep next to the assortment.
I don’t know if he ever knew that I slept on his side of the bed while he was underway, or that I held his pillow close so I could smell him near me. I guess he might think that silly. Oh well….
While he’s gone I discover it’s kind of cool having no one to answer to. My son and I resume our independent unit status,
And get involved in all sorts of spontaneous activities such as staying up way past his bedtime watching movies and eating popcorn, driving hours just for fun, not adhering to a set schedule. All the things that just might drive my Chief crazy.
Eventually we adjust to his absence, and look forward to the touching base factor of occasional phone calls, busying ourselves with numerous projects designed to keep our minds off the fact that dad is gone.
It works only sometimes.
I still have lonely moments.
I still have lonely thoughts.
It is an unwritten rule that when daddy is at sea, SOMEone will get sick or the car will die, or something extremely necessary will fall off the house.
Sometimes I want to curse him.
Mostly I just want him to come home.
I’m a little perplexed and even annoyed that I miss him so much.
As the days dwindle down and homecoming approaches,
I get the house ready and cleaned.
I don’t touch the set up he left on the bed.
I want him to see that his idea was important to me.
Besides, I still feel it makes him seem somehow closer.
Silly, I know. Whatever works some days….
I remember exactly how he looked before he left,
Neatly tied together in his uniform, hair short,
Clean shaven, eyes full of pride.
My eyes full of pride looking back at him.
He doesn’t say much,
He doesn’t have to.
I already know.
And now, it’s time for him to come home.
He’ll be back tomorrow and another adjustment will begin.
All this time I’ve been on my own, he is looking toward the time he gets to come home and resume our lives as though nothing has changed. He wants to pick up where we left off and go on.
For me it takes awhile.
Until we figured that out, it was rough sailing.
Sometimes it feels as though we just get used to each other again and its time to leave.
Talk about roller coasters.
When he’s underway I send him messages in my head.
I laugh out loud at something I might not have thought funny but knew he would.
It cracks me up sometimes.
I know he’s the one because all my dreams are only of him.
The Chief may be the chief but I am the lady behind the chief,
So I let him think he’s the boss.
I ask the angels to watch over him and keep him safe.
More than once he has told me if something goes wrong with the ship, he is responsible to see that it’s fixed. That means he might possible perish. That scares me but it also makes me proud and just thinking of all of that makes me not only grateful, but happy for that proud Coast Guard chief that both the Coast Guard and I share, since he’s married to her as well.
But I am the one that gets the kisses,
And it tickles.
Written for my Chief,
Martha J. Crowninshield O’Brien
11/19/04
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