December 22, 2006
Meghan scribbled on a piece of stationery, hand struggling to keep up with the speed at which her mind was going. She had written an entire letter in a haze, only realizing what she'd done as she signed her name at the bottom of the page. She folded the paper and shoved it into an envelope, destination and postage already on it.
Mr. and Mrs. Castellano
120 Basilica Way
Oceanside, CA 92057
Her deployment to the Joint Base at Pearl Harbor-Hickam several months ago had been taken with a great deal of excitement. Away from the continental United States, yet still comfortably within its reach. A "stone's throw," the assignment coordinator had said.
The promise of exotic locale, plentiful activities, and exciting duties had snared Meghan in its grasp, metal teeth sinking into the logic center of her brain.
But, as Meghan knew all too well, expectation is not guaranteed to line up with reality.
If someone had told her that she'd be analyzing weather patterns to determine when and where natural disasters would occur, she would've told them to shove it. Yet here she was, making notes about the way in which the ocean's temperature was 0.13 degrees cooler at Station 52403 yesterday, and what that meant for coastal Papua New Guinea.
On top of the absolutely riveting day job, her cohort could best be described by the word "sedentary." No drive, no ambition to do something more than stare out at the sea of numbers on the monitors facing away from the sea outside. Few and far between were the days in which she could do something exciting outside of work.
They found a way to make even Hawaii boring. Lovely.
The holidays, especially, found Meghan with no small amount of melancholy. She was only marginally in contact with her family, and most of her unit was either on leave or otherwise indisposed. What resulted were nights spent celebrating publically at a bar near the base with those in similar situations.
At the very least, Meghan wouldn't spend every night alone.
The trip from her bunk room to the base was familiar, yet empty, with non-essential personnel having left already. She sighed and walked her letter to the mail stop, kept in operation by the one poor soul that had been assigned there. Meghan tossed it into the "outgoing" bucket, voicing a friendly greeting to the mail attendant.
Even with the reduced number of persons, the base's intelligence facility was sparsely populated at this early hour. Meghan had learned quickly that the best analysts got started early, and extensively poured over the reports from the previous shift. Being caught unprepared in this field was not only inconvenient, but occasionally fatal.
That's what her mentor had said, anyway. The only way lethality came anywhere near this place would be in the event of a hurricane or tidal anomaly.
The occasional shuffling page and the odd three line conversation greeted Meghan as she pushed her way into the situation room. The workstation was as it always was – clean, yet barren. Personal effects weren't strictly forbidden, but the effort to put flair on one's desk depended greatly on how much one cared for the job.
Meghan did not care much for the job.
As expected, nothing earth shattering ran through the base while she slept. Reports on atmospheric and oceanic patterns occupied her morning. A thermos of coffee kept her awake through the sheer roller coaster of excitement within every charted bit of kinetic energy rolling inside the waves.
Meghan looked up and saw the clock reading 13:19, a weary sigh escaping her lips as she realized she'd managed to "research" her way past lunch. She'd just gotten into a groove of assembling a thesis that the islands were due for an unusually large tropical storm when her stomach sent a reminder of what time it was.
She sighed and looked out a window, mind calming at the sight of the waves lapping at the shores.
One day, I'll study shit that matters. One day, some big task will come my way. And when it does… I'll be ready.
A chair creaked beside her. "See anything new out there?"
Seaman Rebecca Winters, the usual suspect. A soft spoken girl from rural Kansas, just happy to be out from under the heavy lift helicopter that was her parents' household. Her tied black hair sat in a tamed knot, rimless glasses outlining her gaunt facial features. One of about three people that ever held Meghan's interest for more than a few minutes.
"New and exciting water particles, same as usual, Winters."
A content sigh came from Meghan's accomplice. "At least the view is nice."
This exact exchange was a daily occurrence, as regular as the tide itself. Meghan had played along one too many times, and now this was the norm.
Just one more thing reminding her of the mundanity of everything.
"It isn't so bad, you know."
Meghan did a double take at the uncharacteristic comment. "What do you mean?"
Winters kept her gaze outward, chin sitting on her palm, knuckles curled. "I know you don't think much of this posting. It's obvious to me, but that might just be because we work in the same twenty square feet every day. This wasn't your dream job out of high school. Hell, it probably wasn't what you wanted coming out of Boot."
Meghan waited, lips slightly parted, eyes squinting.
"Can I share something with you, Meghan?"
"Uh, yeah, sure. What is it?"
She finally looked at Meghan, brown eyes softening as she clasped her hands together. "You know my story, so you know that my life isn't as exciting as some. I'm not bemoaning that, merely stating."
Meghan cocked her chin, eyes narrowing as her lips pursed. Who says that?
Winters glared at her, tilting her head. "It may not shock you if I tell you that I resided a bit low on the social totem pole in school."
Doesn't surprise me at all, I can practically see you standing against the wall of the gym during dances, refusing to meet anyone's eyes—
Meghan shook herself. When had she become so vindictive, and for no reason whatsoever? The answer, she thought, might just become clearer shortly.
"I didn't drink or party, mostly kept to myself, and associated with others that did the same. This lifestyle wasn't completely my choice, since my mom and dad were so strict, but I would be lying if I said I had the balls to argue any of it."
Winters rubbed behind her neck, leaning back. "But I wanted so badly to be different, to break out of the padded cage they'd confined me to. No matter how cozy it was, it was still a prison. I took the first opportunity to do just that, and since my grades weren't anything special and my hobbies included nothing productive, this was it."
Meghan leaned against the desk. She still wasn't sure where this was going, but kept quiet, regardless.
"But, one thing my mom taught me will always stay with me. She would say 'Even if your job sucks and you want nothing more to quit and never come back, you have to make the most of the situation and try to impress someone anyway. People will remember the one that silently did both the good and bad jobs with no objection before they remember the loud asshole that only took what they thought was worthy.'"
For a moment Meghan wondered if she'd ever woken up this morning. Was this a dream? Who was this person sitting in front of her? The one that normally said as many words as a pamphlet for the blind, was orating a whole section on life philosophy from the Library of Congress at her.
"My point, Meghan, is that you shouldn't ever take for granted the chances you're given. You put in the time to get here, and they put you here instead of someone else. That means you're special enough do the things this job requires." Her face fell, voice gaining a tone bordering on pleading. "Not everyone is. Do your best with all the work you're given, and those in positions to raise you up will take notice."
Speechless didn't begin to cover it. Meghan caught the clock flip another digit in her periphery. In just four short minutes, an associate she'd previously thought marvelously unassuming had taken a metaphorical sledgehammer to her crooked perception.
Meghan's eyes flicked this way and that, as if searching the room for any explanation, before finding her voice after another tick of the clock. "You've… given me a lot to think about, Becca." She noticed the lift in the girl's expression at the use of the nickname, "And I appreciate the wake-up call. Seriously."
Winters beamed, dimples forming on her reddened cheeks. She gave a bemused shrug. "My pleasure. It isn't every day I get to share something so personal with someone."
Meghan couldn't help but reflect the smile, and for the first time since she arrived on base, she felt truly happy. "Hey, you wanna hit the mess?"
Winters looked to her own terminal, apparently satisfied that Station 52402 wasn't going anywhere. "Absolutely."