Silly women. I listen to their complaints, their petty grievances. Husbands who leave dirty clothes on the floor, creating work, hopeless slobs. They're not navy wives. They can never understand.
I envy their clutter. I yearn for your dirty shirts, your smell, your substance. Not that I have a fetish for dirty laundry; I simply miss the essence of you. When you leave I avoid the laundry room, hording your shirts, stealing them away to the safety of my room, to replace my own sleepwear. Night after night I breathe in your sweet scent, fearing I will forget it, and with each passing night more of you will be gone.
I head home early; ladies night out has lost its appeal. How I miss you.
I pay the sitter, check in on our angel and head for bed, and your shirt. But you're hardly discernible now and I abandon the bedroom and head for the couch.
The clock ticks loudly, but never fast enough.
Tick tock. Tick tock. Today. Tonight. Then dawn. Then you. At last.
It's been two months and I miss you more every day. I torture myself with foolish questions. Do you still love me? Do you long for me the way I do for you? Deep down I know you do and that time, although it may have passed slowly, has not eroded our love. But time is a taunter. And it loves its game.
Finally the new day dawns. I wait at the pier with our daughter and the other navy wives, anticipation spawning restless excitement.
The ship appears and I'm overcome with emotion. Everyone cheers. I'm too choked up to join them. Instead I comfort our daughter who is startled by the sudden eruption of noise. I seize the lifeline. A chance to pull myself together and chase the nervous butterflies away.
Then the gangplank is lowered and a sea of sailors file off the ship, and there you are.
There is no parting of the crowd, or slow motion run, but it's just as special to me. You walk to me, drop your kit bag, tenderly touch my face and kiss me. It's so wonderful to once again feel your lips on mine.
You wrap your arms around us both and my senses come alive. The air carries your essence to me and I am surrounded by the sweet smell of you. I breathe it in, anticipating tonight and the more potent aroma that will be released by your body heat, beneath the sheets, in my arms.
My sailor is home. The clock will be silent tonight.