Time and Solitude

He reached for the nightstand before he had fully departed from the dream, frantic to silence the blaring alarm. With eyes closed, his hand wandered the darkness until it grasped the device. Squeezing every button recognizable by touch. The synthetic noise of a camera shutter marked the addition of yet another addition to his collection of attempted snoozes. 0505 in military time; otherwise known as 5:05 a.m. Did he have this one already or was it a duplicate? At one point in time, he had the complete set of 0400 to 0700 in five-minute increments. He stuffed the phone under his pillow and rolled onto his back, refusing to believe another day was upon him. Another day of facing insurmountable stressors. Another day of checking the bank account before they’d go to the store. Another day of bored kids hovering aimlessly over his shoulder insisting they have nothing to do since he unjustly revoked video game privileges. Another day of obligations. Obligations that seemed to constantly prevent him from doing anything for him. Three kids, one car, and a forty-minute commute; where was the time?

Like the weight belt on a diver, exhaustion pulled him deeper into the warm, vast depths of sleep when a kick in the face from the baby, who slept between him and his wife, served as the perfect reminder of why he had to get up. Forced to accept that the early morning hours were the only time that offered solitude, he had made a routine of getting up early even on weekends. This gave him a couple of hours of quiet time to himself. To make some coffee and read his book, or write. Sometimes he’d get lost in the algorithm of social media and before he knew it the living room would look like a hurricane went through. Toys everywhere, spilled cereal, at least one of the kids crying, and he would curse himself for wasting the time. He had to make use of these golden hours by doing something he wanted to do, before facing the day filled with things he had to do. Before they’d wake up and instantly start fighting; an all-day event requiring him to act as the enforcer. Before the baby would be let loose to terrorize the cats and pull everything within reach off the countertops. A fiasco only avoided by holding him; where he’d become a human straight jacket. Then, mandated by the need for sustenance, they would be forced to participate in the baby’s ritual of painting their floor with food like a Jackson Pollock. Then he was a janitor. All the while his wife, through her, let’s call it “permissive,” style of parenting, would be tuning out the chaos via her phone, where she was reviewing her list of chores for him. She would be wearing her hooded bathrobe because he kept the thermostat set too cold. Chances are she would have a headache also, which he would hear about for the rest of the day. But all he had to was be patient. Soon he would have both time and solitude.

In two weeks he would be deploying again for the sixth time. No more ungrateful kids breaking things that weren’t theirs, fighting over who gets to play with whose toys; having no regard for another’s time and energy. No more repetitive arguments with the wife. No more checking the calendar anticipating paychecks. He was soon to escape it all and envisioned what it would be like.

The extra deployment money would provide some reprieve and maybe even allow them to save towards a much-needed minivan. He would be flying a lot which was fine, as he thoroughly enjoyed his job and training junior personnel how to do it. In between duty and missions, he would take advantage of the opportunity to return to the form of his twenty-five-year-old self. He could’ve worked at home every morning, but again, that time was for things he wanted to do, not should do. He’d practice guitar for more than fifteen minutes a day. An impossible feat when his office doubled as the kids’ game room. He would finally finish reading Stephen King’s “The Stand.” A massive book made only more massive when only able to be read a few pages at a time before bed. Maybe he’d even work on a novel idea of his own. He couldn’t wait. He’d finally have the time he deserved but never got. And from it, would come back refreshed, with his selfish thirst quenched. With all the things he would accomplish with the newfound time for one’s self, he knew also what came with it.

Usually, after about a week, the quiet solitude would transform into loneliness and longing to be with the family. To be a father to his sons and husband to his wife. Sure the kids argued and fought, but they also laughed and played. Giggles filled the house in harmony with cartoons. The sensory overload from the chaotic noise would be remembered as soothing symphonies. The baby’s mischievous nature, however frustrating, balanced perfectly on the fulcrum of personality, across from the sweet gentleness of his other half. The uninterrupted sleep he’d soon enjoy wouldn’t compare to the naps he and the baby took every afternoon. Books would pass the time, but he’d think of the children’s epics about how the dinosaurs tried to eat the Lego-men, but the Lego-men had a ship with lasers on it and they shot at the dinosaurs and escaped. The shared collection of his and his oldest’s Magic: The Gathering cards would go untouched and unplayed. Weightlifting wouldn’t yield the shoulder burn attained from raising the five-year-old overhead repeatedly; until his arms trembled and he laughed so hard he’d toot. Uninterrupted binge-watching of his favorite television shows wouldn’t be the same as their guilty pleasure of reality-drama marathons (“Bachelor in Paradise,” was delightfully trashy entertainment) after the boys were in bed. He would rather spend every day with his best friend and mother of his children, arguments and all; than to see her for thirty minutes a day through a computer screen. 

And so it would go, but after a few weeks, they would all fall into the rhythm of things. He’d keep busy with work and call them every day that offered the opportunity. Occasionally, odd flight hours and mission profiles wouldn’t allow it, but when it did, he would find things were alright back home. The boys, for whatever reason, usually toned down when it was just their mom dealing with it all on her own. Maybe there was something to her laid-back methods. She was always much more patient than he was. That was her virtue and he envied it. She would take the kids to do fun activities throughout the weeks and a surprise overnight trip to Universal Studios. The extra money from being overseas would allow for these little memories. He just never got to be in them. They’d tell him all about their little adventures and just like each deployment before this one, he would return to the painful realization that they could get by without him. Pull Dad away from it all and they keep moving. Maybe even better without the temper who never has time to take them fishing like he promised. They would say they miss him and he’d know it was true, but would they miss all of him?  

Leaving this time was also going to be different for another reason. It’s one thing, to talk about the world being on the brink of WW3, but it’s another, to go see for yourself. News outlets aired reports of enemy fighter jets becoming more aggressive and brazen with their methods; harassing US ships and aircraft. Begging them to make a critical mistake; to cross a forbidden imaginary line in a very real game. In two weeks it would be his turn to go play. Some military analysts predicted the United States’ entry into major conflict with a peer adversary would be sparked by a small event like the downing of a US aircraft, whether accidentally or intentionally. Any aviator who attended SERE (Survival Evasion Resistance and Escape) school hoped they never had to employ what they learned. He tried not to think about it, but to pretend it wasn’t a possibility would have been naive. He was going to leave regardless.

The sunlight was beginning to break through the window shades and under the curtains. His coffee mug was nearly empty and his wrists were tired from typing. Upstairs he could hear the commotion of the baby opening drawers and the middle child laughing, egging him on to toss more clean laundry around. Footsteps clumsily flopped their way down the stairs as the oldest rushed to lay claim to the television. His wife was yelling down for him to come get the baby off her hands. His time was up, but it was well spent. The solitude evaporated and he didn’t miss it. He’d have both again tomorrow morning. Today was what he had now and it was to be another day of screaming kids, a messy house, and a nagging wife. And he couldn’t wait.