I watched him walk away, and I could feel the tears wanting to climb out from behind my throat. “I gotta go,” he said, hitching up his Army pack on his shoulder. For a quick moment, he took my hand, and fingered the carved ridges of my wedding ring, still a novelty to him-we’d gotten married ten days before he left for Basic. I wanted to bury my face in the starched fabric of his new dress uniform, but we were allowed only one kiss and one hug goodbye, and so we stood across from one another, just staring. The entire time had been colored by this cut-off point, by the shadow of its own ending. I’d flown into Columbia from New York City, and we’d spent two days together, both ending at 7:45 pm, both shared with his family.
We had spent ten weeks apart, a stretch of time that for me was like a long, empty road, punctuated every so often by signs of life-the quick letters he scrawled on Army stationary, the three short phone calls he was allowed to make. And for all the reservations and resentments I’d had about my husband joining the Army, I meant it. “I’m so proud of you,” I said, looking up at him.
Andrew was headed to Fort Sill, Oklahoma, a huge, expansive base that was as flat as farmland and shadeless as the desert. After two and half months of grueling training, this was their last night at Fort Jackson-tomorrow, in the half-light of early morning, they would walk single file onto buses and planes, leaving for wherever the Army wanted them next. We stood a few yards away from the tan buildings, where drill sergeants had perched themselves on cement steps, surveying the swarms of soldiers kicking up the South Carolina dust as they scrambled to make their 7:45 pm curfew.
The day’s heat had worn off by the time my husband was heading back to the barracks, and my bare legs were covered in goose bumps.
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