by Gavin Reese
Certain Colleen would soon come looking for him, Jonathan decided he needed to rejoin the party without having to explain to her what he was doing. She doesn’t need to know this wasn’t what I wanted for me, he told himself. After donning the shirt and picking up the shorts, Jonathan saw Colleen had placed a pamphlet beneath the clothes. Despite immediately recognizing it, he picked it up, turned around, and sat on the bed where it had been. The eight-page “Welcome Home Ceremony” document, folded open to page four, contained a highlighted section entitled “What Can I Expect After My Soldier Redeploys?” and a subsection entitled, “The following tips are for returning service members.” Jonathan smirked as he realized Colleen’s efforts to passively start them toward a conversation on assimilating him back into their home environment.
Jonathan looked up at the thin bedroom door when the sounds of his homecoming party temporarily reached raucous levels, and he felt relieved to remain in the bedroom’s quiet isolation a few minutes longer. He read on, although already aware of the general context:
Plan on spending some time with the entire family doing family things, but be flexible if teens have other plans.
Show interest and pleasure in how your family members have grown and mastered new skills in your absence and let them know you are proud of them. Comment on positive changes.
Expect it will take a little time to become re-acquainted with your spouse. Be sure to tell them just how much you care about them. Make an effort to do the little things—a single rose, a card, etc. shows them they are in your thoughts.
Resist the temptation to criticize. Remember that your spouse has been doing her or his best to run the household single-handedly and care for the children while you were gone. Give them credit for their efforts, even if their way of doing things is different from yours.
Take time to understand how your family may have changed during the separation. Go easy on child discipline—get to know what new rules your spouse may have set before you jump into enforcing the household rules.
Don’t be surprised if some family members are a bit resentful of your deployment. Others often think of the deployment as more fun and exciting than staying at home—even if you know otherwise.
Infants and small children may be shy or even fearful around you at first. Be patient and give them time to become reacquainted.
Resist the temptation to go on a spending spree to celebrate your return. The extra money saved during deployment may be needed later for unexpected household expenses.
Most importantly, make time to talk with your loved ones. Your spouse and each child need individual time and attention from you. Remember, focus on the positives and avoid criticism.
Jonathan finished the list, recalled that he had offered similar advice to his officers and NCOs hundreds of times, and assumed they must have passed the same advice on to their enlisted personnel. Now, for the first time in a long time, he felt overwhelmed by what this homecoming really meant for him and his little family. Michael had grown up in the last year, and his symptoms had improved in that time. Colleen certainly had different rules now as she sought to give Michael a more normal childhood. Despite their frequent Skype chats and phone calls to stay caught up with one another, Jonathan suddenly realized the next few months may be harder than he thought.
As he contemplated his new reality, Jonathan flipped the stapled document over to page 5, and saw tips for military spouses. More importantly, below those nine tips, he recognized his wife’s handwriting.
“I’ll hold up my end of the bargain, and give you all the love and support you need to succeed. I love you, J, and Michael and I are so overjoyed you’ve come home to us forever. All my love, C”. Well, hell, I guess she’s all in. I better meet her half-way. He stood, dropped the document back on the bed where he found it, and walked to the bedroom door. As he grabbed its handle, he stopped for a moment and stole a long glance at the open closet and his dress uniform. After turning back to face the bedroom door, he consciously made an effort to smile before turning the handle and pulling the door open. Jonathan stepped into the hallway without again looking behind him, quietly pulled the door closed, and walked down the hallway toward his celebrating loved ones.
As he emerged into his in-laws’ living room, Jonathan found everyone had gathered nearby and focused on the television. Colleen, smiling broadly, met him at the room’s entrance and handed him a rocks glass with three fingers of cold Jameson Irish whiskey.
“You’re not gonna like this, but you can hold Ramon responsible for it later.” His wife seductively looked him up and down before continuing. “I think I did good, ‘relaxed civilian’ looks pretty hot on you.”
“What, exactly, did Ramon do?” Before she could answer, Colleen’s mother called for her from the kitchen and she turned away, leaving Jonathan standing alone beneath a large, camouflaged “Welcome Home” banner hung across the living room entrance. Curious about Ramon’s actions, he lifted the glass to his lips, sipped at its contents, and looked at the television where he now saw that very culprit. That dirty son of a bitch, Jonathan thought after recognizing the video’s significance, he fuckin’ recorded it. Sensing impending public embarrassment, Jonathan leaned against the back living room wall and watched his family enjoy the video that Ramon had secretly recorded and given to Colleen, a video documentary of his unofficial farewell. During his last few days in Afghanistan, Jonathan’s Colonel had surreptitiously lured him into the company headquarters before most of the other officers. Jonathan watched the television as it showed the somewhat censored antics of Ramon and several other officers, all of whom mercilessly ribbed Jonathan for the camera. The Army’s running a special on Embarrassment, Jonathan thought, wishing Ramon hadn’t done this, two for the price of one. However, even Jonathan had to smile at his friends’ occasional kind words.
While everyone else in the living room laughed at Ramon’s recorded stories and jokes, Jonathan noticed his mother watching him from across the room. She quietly walked behind most of the gathered crowd and stood next to him facing the television. Several silent moments passed between them. “Are you glad to be done with all that, leave it all behind forever?” She leaned against his left side with her head on his shoulder.
“Yeah, mom, sure am.” Jonathan placed his left arm across her back and side-hugged his mother. “Time for new things.”
“You’re a terrible liar, Jonathan, just like your father was.” They smiled, both knowing Jonathan felt he could no longer pursue his own dreams while doing so meant leaving Colleen and Michael home alone. “You’re a good man, a good husband, and a good father, Jonathan, but a terrible liar. He was so proud of you, and would’ve been even prouder that you’re putting your family first, despite what you’d likely do for yourself as a single man.”
Jonathan paused, pondered her statement, and shaped his response. “Those are some of the best friends I’ll ever have, mom, and, next time, they’ll go into danger without me. I won’t be there to help them.”
“No, but they won’t be here to help you raise your son, either.” They stood in silence as the Colonel, with Jonathan in-tow, came into view on the television screen. The recorded, on-camera applause inspired similar cheers in the living room, successfully embarrassing Jonathan again. He didn’t enjoy the limelight, even among his closest family and friends, but briefly raised the glass of Jameson in his right hand to recognize their jubilation.
His family watched the Colonel shake Jonathan’s hand, present him with a large oak plaque, and address the suddenly hushed crowd. Just as though the Colonel and his commanding presence were actually in the living room among them, Jonathan’s family grew respectfully silent to listen to a man they’d never met.
“Captain McDougal, or Jonathan, or Four Names, or Cuatro…did I miss any, Captain?”
“No, sir,” his video-recorded image sheepishly replied, “I think that runs the gamut.”
That audio’s good enough that I’l
l get to relive this whole thing, Jonathan thought, hearing a few chuckles from the nearby couch.
“I feel we’ve known each other long enough, so I’ll just go with Jonathan, if that’s alright with you?”
“Yessir, it is.” The Colonel’s unusual, familiar tone inspired some stifled laughter among the officers, which Jonathan’s family now echoed.
Turning back toward the camera and the officers that had been assembled there, the Colonel continued. “Jonathan met his wife, Colleen, while they were undergraduates at Arizona State University, which nearly prepared him for Bagdad and Afghan summers. They courted briefly, got engaged, and were planning a wedding when Bin Laden and his friends took down the World Trade Center towers. Jonathan accepted a commission almost immediately, and he and Colleen have selflessly given this Country, and our Army, nearly sixteen years of their lives. Like most of us, he became a father while deployed overseas and met his son, Michael, when he was nine months old. Despite Michael needing more care than expected, Colleen found a way for Jonathan to continue to serve our country, which has undoubtedly brought them more trouble than they would ever admit.
“I met Jonathan in Iraq in 2005, where I first had the pleasure of his service, and then again, here in Afghanistan, several years later. Jonathan is the epitome of what it means to be a Man, a Father, a Soldier, and an Army Officer. I’m certain that this, his last deployment, is a tremendously happy occasion for him and his family, but it is with mixed emotions that I bid him farewell.
“Jonathan would have been promoted several more times during his tenure, but I could never convince him to leave his soldiers in the field. His gifts for strategy and battlefield tactics allowed his troops to safely run operations deep into dangerous and inhospitable territory. Time and again, his innate ability to venture outside the wire, accomplish the mission, and safely bring his men back from hostile Indian Country earned him their love, admiration, and respect. His sincere determination to leave his company better than he found it ensured his officers knew everything he knew. Whenever possible, he publicly praised his men for their accomplishments and chewed their butts in private when necessary. With his departure, Jonathan leaves behind an impeccably trained group of officers, NCOs, and enlisted personnel who have collectively aspired to follow in his rather large footsteps. I am grateful that, while he will be missed, his extraordinary impact on our Army will continue to benefit the rest of us for years to come.” The Colonel paused before again turning and speaking directly to Jonathan as he paraphrased the plaque’s inscription.
“Thank you, Captain McDougal, Jonathan, for your selfless dedication to training your men to take care of each other and come home together. Your legacy is assured by the men, whom you trained, training those who follow them. God Speed, son, you’ll be terribly missed.”
Four
Forty-seven miles west of downtown Phoenix. Dry Creek, Arizona.
Seated in an oxidized, orange Dodge Neon and surrounded by early nighttime darkness, Dry Creek Police Department Detective Alex Landon muttered to the otherwise empty sedan’s interior. “If I were Rin Tin Tin, this stakeout’d be illegal as hell.” Alex had almost-lawfully parked the undercover police car on the east side of Center Avenue nearly a full block south of 17th Street. In order to look more like he belonged in the HOA-less neighborhood, he had parked with both passenger-side tires up on the sidewalk and angled so that the front of the Neon took up a bit more pedestrian real estate than the rear.
Unseasonably warm, early spring temperatures, even for central Arizona, had turned the undercover sedan into a roasting oven; despite the sun having set more than two hours earlier, the car’s interior had yet to significantly cool and provide Alex with much-needed relief. With only quiet, mind-numbing stillness outside the car, Alex struggled to remain alert and serve out whatever time remained of his self-imposed sentence. It’d be nice to roll down the windows, or crank the AC on for a bit, he thought, but that’d for sure be the exact time some shitbag strolls by and IDs me.
Alex sequentially shifted his gaze between the car’s mirrors, and moved on to the next only after he felt certain no threats existed. Due to the dilapidated sedan’s dark, near-limo tinting, he had to spend extra time and focus at night to look for movement toward and around the undercover cop car. Satisfied no one, and no thing, unusual caught his attention, Alex cautiously rotated clockwise in the driver seat, both to crack his aching back and to better check the passenger-side blind spots for anyone creeping up on the car. Again, seeing nothing of concern, he rotated all the way back to his left and did the same for that blind spot before turning to again face the windshield and the target residence beyond.
Alex inhaled deeply through his nose, filled his lungs to absolute capacity, held his breath for several seconds, and forcefully exhaled out his mouth; he noticed, not for the first time that evening, his lipper of Copenhagen and parched mouth had combined to expel a particularly unpleasant aroma. Wiping his sweaty hands on his damp, black t-shirt, he then leaned his head back and closed his eyes for nearly five full seconds. Based on his rough distance estimates from nearby alleyways and known hiding spots closest to the Neon, Landon figured that was the best head start he would offer anyone who might take malicious advantage of his momentary inattention.
After opening his eyes and again inhaling through his nose, Alex again scanned the full horizon around his position before looking down toward the floorboard; it was only then that he realized how well he was hidden inside the sedan. Black cloth interior, plain black shirt, sunshade’s blocking most all the streetlights. Hell, it’s more likely someone would try to steal this piece of shit, not realizing I’m in it, than for someone to see me inside.
Fighting the heat and boredom, Alex worked to remain focused on the target residence, which sat at the northeast corner of 17th Street and Center Avenue. He peeked through a small, intentional gap left between the sunshade and the driver-side A-pillar, just as he had done for the previous five hours. This really turned into a shit detail, he thought, it’s still gotta be over ninety-five in here. Having purposefully brought along nothing to pass the time, Alex understood distractions would have only conspired with the intense heat to erode what little remained of his mental acuity.
While he continued to watch nothing happen around the target house, Alex thought back to the decision that landed him in that miserable sedan. Although certain that bosses in every profession periodically order the FNG to complete a shitty assignment, he now recognized he had mistakenly volunteered for this one. After DCPD’s Neighborhood Enforcement Unit, to which Alex had recently been assigned, learned a local resident named Jesse Franklin was suspected of trafficking bulk marijuana loads from Arizona to Georgia, Alex had quickly offered to take the “eye” and keep watch on the suspect’s residence. He knew volunteering for that role meant he had to remain in place come Hell or High Water while the remaining detectives completed other investigative assignments for this case, but Alex hadn’t realized the potential timeframe to which he had committed himself. Quietly suffering in solitary confinement, Alex buried a bit more of his naivety, spat tobacco juice in a long-empty water bottle, and passed a damp bandana across his sweaty face.
“The case sounded so quick and simple at the time,” Alex whispered. He adopted a rough New Jersey wise guy/Yogi Bear accent to impersonate his boss, Sergeant Jones, and quietly summarized the briefing he had presented to Alex and the other NEU detectives. “So, ya knows, K9 Officer Chris stopped a rental truck on I-10 for a-un-safe lane change, smelled raw mar-i-juana coming from the closed cargo door, searched the fuck-in-truck, and found a pile of cash wit’ weed debris scattered allll ovuhh iiit.” Alex paused to evacuate the thick, amassing tobacco juice from his mouth before continuing with the cartoonish impersonation. “So, ya knows, de driver says he wants to co-operate, just so long as he gets protection from the Sant-a-Lina cartel, so we just need one guy to watch the house he’s deliverin’ to, and yous other guys to type and i
n-terragate.” Alex shook his head and returned to his own voice. “And my dumbass stepped forward. This’ll teach me to try to impress the squad.” Pause. Spit. “Watchin’ nothin’ happen sucks more than televised golf.”
Alex returned to the intolerable silence and inaction of the surveillance assignment for only a few seconds when he felt himself growing impatient, annoyed, and frustrated with the still target house and envious for the other NEU detectives who likely sat, at that very moment, in air conditioned comfort with immediate access to all the water, food, and bathrooms they needed.
Despite a growing desire to punch something, Alex decided instead to spend the majority of his remaining time focused on ancillary threats from the surrounding environment. Nothing’s going on at the house, and no one can leave without me seeing it. Fuckin’ heat’s makin’ me angry, he thought. Hell, that could be a new definition for ‘hangry.’ Alex intentionally diverted his attention from the Franklin’s uneventful residence and looked at the streets around his sedan. He deliberately and methodically scanned the neighborhood and street west of the target for the slightest hint of thieves, stragglers, or mere pedestrians who could identify him or alert the suspect to his presence and position. Nothing more dangerous to a surveillance assignment than Neighborhood Watch, he thought, or a vehicle burglar.
