Homecoming!

Alright, so now on to the promised post of Josh's homecoming. 

It rained. All day. Angry, pissy Bremerton rain. The type of rain that Idaho droplets can only hope to grow up to be. Mother nature had entered her PMS fall stage, and made sure everyone was a miserable as she was. I had just finished scrubbing the last colonies of mold out of inappropriate mold dwelling places and evicting the last of the spider tenants. The few hours of sleep I had tried to have the night before made me into a less than pleasant landlord, and sleeping in was out of the question anyway- I, like every wife- had a thirty foot scroll of errands to run that day. At least it would kill time. 
I had forgotten how unpleasant it was to take a shower in a 70 year old house. It would have been better for me to stand butt naked in the front yard and let the rain have at it- at least outside the hard water droplets would actually go somewhere instead of clinging to me like crusted ketchup, and making my sponge feel like steel wool. After managing to get the water pressure to an acceptable level, I took my time getting ready and headed out to get a new place to stay, run to the bank, run to the bank again, run to the store, and go shopping (to kill more time of course). By three I had finished and with nothing else better to do, I felt flat into the bed and tried to sleep. Again. It did not happen. 
By five fifteen I threw in the towel, fixed my makeup and got in the car. It didn't really dawn on me that I was going to pick up my husband. The nerves didn't start until I actually pulled through the base gate and parked. The other wives were a-chattering and the children showing off their homecoming signs. In my socially awkward way, I stood up against a sign, watched everyone like a creeper and waited until the buses came to get us. The buses arrived on time, and fifteen minutes standing in the cold made me wish I had put on a sixth layer. I boarded, and like usual, it was the very last person to board the bus that volunteered to sit next to me. I'm not sure if it's my face, or if I stink, but I assured her I did not, in fact, bite and posed no danger. Yes, I said that. The ice breaker didn't really come until someone asked me where I had gotten my jacket, and then small talk ensued. It would remain small talk, and I was ok with that. I was there for Josh, not for lasting friendships. 
We were driven to the pier where we were instructed to stand behind varying lines, much like sheep lined up for auction, constantly herded by the off duty crew. The pier was beautiful, completely secluded and just so happened to look exactly like a Scottish loch. I was pleased to just stand and take in the gloaming hour. The air wasn't as chilled as I had expected, though it was cold and humid, a sensation I had never experienced. I think, after three and a half hours of standing in a refrigerated humidifier, I much prefer hot humidity. At least you can fan yourself. Cold humidity requires a blow drier, or a portable Sahara desert.
Off in the distance I watched the lights of the caravan slowly make its way to dock. An hour more of creeping closer and closer, and another hour of me completely lost in thought, occasionally stretching my quads. It was relaxing to just listen to everyone else's conversations and laugh inwardly at some of the stories they told. A horn tore me from my musings, and we could all see the submarine’s sail, surrounded by armaments and a few sailors trailing the hull getting ready to tie the boat to the docks. The machine itself was enormous- exuding raw power. Inherently majestic, fascinatingly lethal. From such a distance, all of the sailors mulling about the hull looked just like Josh, and I searched fervently for any recognition. None came of course, and another hour passed before the bridge was lowered onto the hull and the first few lucky sailors were allowed to kiss their wives.
            Minutes began to bleed into half hours, and then full on more hours. I did not see Josh on the hull, nor anywhere near the bridge. I didn’t pace, I just stood there, caving back into my own little head and occasionally making a comment to another wife. Then, perhaps just because I was bored, I glanced up at the sail and saw a sailor fiddling with a computer. Yep, there he was, grappling with a cable and messing with technology. Suiting, I thought. Why I didn’t manage to look there sooner baffles me. Every now and then he’d rest his arms on the side of the sail and scan the crowd, though if he did see me wave up to him he made no move to recognize.
            More waiting. More sailors exiting off the boat, looking as if they had never seen a woman before in their life. More waiting. The couple next to me is starting to gross me out. More waiting. More grossing out. Waiting… get a room already!!! The number of sailors exiting the boat began to dwindle, and with each landfall, I look up in expectation for my husband. Another forty five minutes passes, and no sailors are leaving. Josh walks out onto the hull and finally looks up. I wave, he waves back, I blush and look down. Apparently, I’ve gone back to kindergarten and my husband was reinfected with cooties.
            Another ten minutes and he was gone. I stood with the last few remaining wives up against a giant freezer and waited some more. (Since there is really no point in adding adjectives to my wait time, just assume I waited a ton and we’ll fast forward.)

After much waiting, there was Josh again, this time with his seabag, and this time at the end of the bridge saluting his superior officer.  He, with his ever so purposeful walk, crossed the bridge while I ran up to meet him. The most romantic thing I could think of to say to him, after three months of not speaking was, “I can’t cross the line.” face palm waaaay to go. Way to channel that inner Juliet. A+ for me. Didn’t matter though. He scooped me up into a giant hug, kissed me, picked me up again, and he was home. Massive sigh of relief.
Well, there you go. I’d go into far more detail about the pier and what it was like, but I don’t know if I’d get into trouble.  I’ve got a lot more of these homecomings to look forward to and while that makes me sad, I also look forward to the lessons I will learn from them.