Unaccompanied

I know it's been weeks since my last post. I've been really busy ignoring the outside world to be with Joe.

Yesterday, he left for Korea. So I've written. Journaled. My journaling often takes the form of letters to Joe, because that makes it feel more like I'm talking to him and less like I'm just talking into the dead-end void of my hard drive. That's why it starts this way:

04.25.11

Dear Joe,

   

    Your parents and I took you to the airport today. We got there three hours before your flight was scheduled to leave, because they told you to do that, and you got your luggage checked and we still had three hours to kill. We got breakfast.

    We went back to the airport and sat around for an hour and a half with the news on a big HDTV behind you and me and across from your parents. Eventually I asked you to walk me to the little airport sandwich shop around the corner so I could have a few moments with you. You and I stood next to a short history of golf in Augusta and hugged for a long time and you talked to me and I listened to your voice.

    We went back to where your parents were sitting, and you told us it was time for you to go. I didn't cry, because we were in public, I had things to do, and it just wasn't the time to freak out. You went into a restricted area with metal detectors where your parents and I couldn't go, and we followed in a parallel hallway and waved at you when you came out the other side. You went down another hallway, and when we couldn't see you anymore, we left.

    Your parents and I got back to the house, and they packed up their car, stayed with me for a few minutes, then headed back to Virginia. I was still okay (but just okay.) I took a shower, then called my family. I talked to mom and dad, then talked to Robby for a few minutes about the upcoming patch in LoL. They're making significant changes to a few characters. You said it was going to be a good patch. Robby seemed pretty excited about it.

    After that, I went househunting for the move I need to arrange within the next 18 days and looked up information about your flights. You texted me about an hour after we left you, when you got to Atlanta. Once you boarded your next flight, you told me there was a TV built into the headrest of the seat in front of you, and that you were in a seat in the middle by the window next to a door (the safest spot in case of a hijack.) Then you had to turn off your phone.

    I was done with my househunting for the day. I didn't want to play LoL, didn't want to do anything but take a nap. So I did, for about four hours. I cried when I laid down. I didn't want it to get out of hand, so I imagined you talking to me and soothing me and it worked and I fell asleep. I'd wake up every little while and see green leaves and blue sky through a crack in the curtains. It was a beautiful, gorgeous day and I just slept through it because I didn't know what else to do...and now it's almost dark, the sun's setting, and I'm sitting on the back porch feeling guilty for wasting such a nice day and I worry about being able to fall asleep tonight.

    I miss you. I feel empty. I wish you were holding me right now.

    There's a towel on the grill on the back porch from yesterday when the washing machine overflowed and you cleaned up the water and just left the towel back here, all balled up, and, oddly, that's what gets me the most. That's the kind of thing that makes me miss you. And the empty ice cream carton you left on your desk. And the empty couch where we spent so much time watching movies and cuddling.

    The map on the website of Delta Airlines says you're over Montana right now, about to enter Washington. It says your flight will arrive in Washington at 5:55 PM, so, 8:55 PM my time. That's in 40 minutes.

    This separation was supposed to be easier than the time you left for Basic, because we'll be in constant contact and because I have so much to do to to get ready to move. I guess it is easier...after all, today I was able to take a nap instead of crying for hours and hours, and when I did start crying I was able to turn it off fairly easily.

    But really the only thing making this okay is the thought that you're going over there to find a house for us. I'll be there with you in a few months. That's what I'm telling myself, what we're telling ourselves. Right now, I don't want to deal with the possibility that we might not see each other for six months, then be apart for another six, then who knows. So...I'll be living with you soon...

04.26.11

Dear Joe,

    I miss you. I last heard from you around 3:00 AM my time. You were in Seattle and had four hours to wait 'til your flight to Korea would be taking off. I was already in bed, and you were going to try to fall asleep at the airport.

    When I woke up this morning (afternoon,) I decided to organize the bathroom cabinets. Wrong move, apparently. Your stuff, pieces of our normal days are in there: your deoderant, cologne, the box holding the bandaids you were using every day to cover your smallpox vaccination site. I cried. Apparently, cleaning the bathroom is out of my range of abilities at the moment.

    I might be moving back into our old rental house, if the owners will have me. The more I think about it, the more I don't want to. I just want to start over somewhere where you haven't lived.

    I miss you. It's 3:03 in the morning in Korea. I hope I hear from you soon.

6:30 PM

    I think your flight was supposed to have just landed. It was an 11.5 hour flight and it left at 7:00 AM my time, so maybe. I'm still waiting to hear from you. I'm sure I will soon.

    Last night, you sent me some pictures of the art in the Seattle airport. In some of the pictures I could see your reflection. I stared at those pictures longer.

    Now it's 6:30 PM (7:30 AM in Korea.) I've finished up my work for the day. I've been busy and now I'm done, and I've taken my shower, and now I'm ready to relax and be with you...but you're not going to be here. It's time to play, and you're not here. Time to relax, but I'm not really going to, because it's quiet in here and you're not with me. The time will pass as I entertain myself, and it will get dark, and I'll eat, and it will be quiet and my messes will be the only ones and my dinner plate will be the only one and I'll miss you.