Decades ago, in my first marriage, there was a time
when we were dirt poor. We had an infant to care for and, at that time, I
was serving time with the US Navy, while my wife lived with my parents.
It was a period in my life when the separation was hard on each of us, both
psychologically and emotionally. We were young adults and yet, we
weren't. We had taken up the responsibilities of a family, but
having to live with my parents, we did not have the freedom as such.
It was in the month of March that I was to go back
to my assignment on a small isolated island in Alaska. To a remote
outpost that had no women, no trees, and little sunshine. A piece of rock
that had been abandoned by the Army at the end of World War Two and taken over
by the Navy. Quite often, in the twilight, a white ship would exit the
island's harbor 15 miles south and sail quietly north by our
installation. Its eeriness was accentuated by the fading light and the
gigantic satellite dishes that adorned its decks. The vessel's name
was the Vandenberg and it always seemed to depart in the evening, but you
never knew what it did. It's not that you didn't have ideas as to its
mission, but we weren't necessarily on that island to just watch the bald
eagles feed at the base landfill. We were just a few hundred
miles from the Kamchatka Peninsula of Russia and our expertise was in the field
of communication.
However, back home, it was a time, when my wife and
I were under a lot of pressure. For me, it was the thought of having
to leave my family behind again. For her, it was the reality that we
did not have the financial resources to provide her an apartment while I
was gone. Yet, we were taking it pretty much in stride, apart from the
tense conversations we had during those few days before my return to
Alaska.
Finally, during the last evening, we could
not take it any longer. The tension from knowing that
separation was the next day, was taking its toll. In the middle
of a conversation, she would break out in tears and it was very difficult
for me to keep my composure seeing her fall apart over my coming
departure. I knew that we didn't have the money for a motel, which would have
provided us a little time alone together. A time to touch, to
hold, and embrace in our own little haven of love. However, without
that option we had to do something to lessen the anxieties which raged within
us.
The night was wet, yet not that cold for March.
A heavy drizzle was depositing moisture into the ground, bringing life
back into its dormant soil. In fact, all that day, the weather
had switched from showers to drizzle and back to showers, melting what
little snow that was still on the ground. I grabbed an umbrella as we
donned our winter coats and asked my folks to watch over our infant
son Jay, while we went for a walk.
There are so many times we are placed in a position
of stress. It can be from work, or school, or children, or each other,
but there are always ways to relieve that man made misery. Some turn to
drink or drugs, others to books, and still others escape within
themselves. In our case, it was to be a leisurely stroll down a
rain soaked sidewalk.
As we slowly made our way up the concrete
pathway our bodies were close, but there was a coolness that had been
between us for the last couple of days. Even with the warm coats, our bodies
did not touch. The conversations were short and
impersonal, as if only going through the motions. The sentences
surrounded the matters of the moment and nothing else as the drizzle
returned to a light rain.
The talk drifted off as we sidled past my old
elementary school. Its windows reflecting the Mercury lights lining
the street outside its chain linked fence and at that moment, I stopped
our walk. There was very little traffic while walking the
past six or 
seven blocks and it was here that I had decided to try to
set the mood for our final evening together. I laid
the umbrella against the fence and gently grabbed her hands from her
pockets and held them warmly in mine. I looked into her dark
brown eyes and could see, in the subdued light, her eyes were again
watering up. I slowly leaned over and gave her a
long kiss. Then I pulled a tissue out of my pocket and lightly wiped her eyes.
There are times when you can say you love someone without ever saying a
word.
seven blocks and it was here that I had decided to try to
set the mood for our final evening together. I laid
the umbrella against the fence and gently grabbed her hands from her
pockets and held them warmly in mine. I looked into her dark
brown eyes and could see, in the subdued light, her eyes were again
watering up. I slowly leaned over and gave her a
long kiss. Then I pulled a tissue out of my pocket and lightly wiped her eyes.
There are times when you can say you love someone without ever saying a
word.
We stared into each others eyes for what seemed
like years, but lasted less than a minute, and then embraced.
It was a hold that reaffirmed our commitment to each other and our small family
at home, and we both knew that we would endure this
separation. In those few minutes, the light
rain continued to fall upon our unprotected heads and small droplets of
water glistened atop our hair under those mercury lights
I picked up the umbrella and we resumed our walk
into the darkness, our arms and hands embraced as we made our
way down a nearby hill. During the rest of the walk, we did not talk, but
held hands and listened to the light rain spatter upon the top of our canvas
shield. A few cars passed by on the street, their tires hissing as they
separated the watery surface beneath their tread. Yet, we were the
only ones on foot. Alone with each other, impervious to the world at
large and the surroundings about us. In our minds, there was no rain, no
cold, no cars, no streetlights; just that flame of love and companionship
connected by two clasped hands upon a sidewalk leading us into the dark
unknown.
The walk lasted a little more than an hour, but has
endured for years in my memory. Even now, I see us alone, walking across
the third street viaduct and up the hill past houses with faint lights in their
windows as the bare branches of trees eerily hung overhead. Funny how a
rain, umbrella, and two people walking can bond a relationship that could last
a lifetime. From that night, I loved my wife more than ever before, and
ever would again.
Daryl A. Cleveland
Originally written March 12, 2005
