ER, Ray and Neela do not belong to me. I'm simply borrowing them
Unexpected
I never planned for this to happen. Hell, what sane girl would? Married to a man I barely know, left alone after only a few weeks with only my overgrown-kid of a roommate for company. No honeymoon, no newly wedded bliss, only an empty bed and an apartment, more suited to a couple of students, to console myself with.
He never said it would be like this, but then again he never said it wouldn't. Isuppose that's the main trouble, he never said anything, we never discussed it further than "hey, marriage, crazy thought, but why not?" then bam, the next thing I knew, there I was standing in my sari, with a ring on my finger and a bouquet flying hastily over my shoulder.
I never considered being a military wife. The thought that Michael would continue serving his country, and leave me alone, never really crossed my mind. I suppose it was just my selfish assumption that after we were married he'd want to be back in the States again. Back with his wife, doing all the things newlyweds should be doing; making a home, laughing, having sex, talking about the future, not disappearing off to just about the most dangerous place he could possibly find; living in a tent, saving lives and serving country, dodging bombs and bullets. Why thehell did I have to marry a bloody saint?
Truth being told I miss him, but no more than before and that sets a deep pang of guilt bubbling in the pit of my stomach. He isn't here and I'm used to it. Our entire relationship was built on letters and a couple of nights together. So how can I miss what I've never really had? I wake up in the morning and it takes noticing my wedding ring to remember that I'm married. It's not like I have my husband kissing me awake or the memory of making love the previous night to give me a gentle reminder.
I'm mad at him, but more than anything I'm mad at myself, because I, Neela the Planner, was never meant to get myself into a marriage I'd regret. Everything which has ever gone right in my life has been the result of militaristic planning, so it's rather ironic that it's planning of a militaristic nature which is now destroying one of my carefully laid plans!
It's thoughts like these which keep me awake until the wee small hours, staring at the ceiling in my room, listening to the distant clatter of the El and whatever soundtrack my flatmate has decided to provide. Last night it was loud, animalistic sex through my bedroom wall in glorious Dolby surround sound quality, tonight it's soulful guitar strumming from the living room with a background of some blow-up-everything-in-sight Bruce Willis movie.
I listen to him sing the same tired chorus for what feels like the hundredth time then finally snap, heaving myself out of bed, taking the covers with me, and stalking through to the living room. It takes him a second but he finally looks up, his musical connection finally broken.
"Did I wake you?"
"No Ray, you didn't wake me…"
He looks relieved.
"You didn't wake me because I never managed to get to sleep in the first place for your infernal bloody strumming on that guitar!"
"Sorry," his voice is low and he doesn't even attempt to argue back. I feel deflated, part of me was quite looking forward to an argument. What the hell does that say about my state of mind right now?
"What are you watching anyway?" I flop down next to him on the couch, Bruce is now spraying bullets around in a rather alarming manner. He mutters the name of a film I've never heard of and I nod sagely, unwilling to illustrate my ignorance.
"You heard from Michael?" he tests the water gently.
I raise one eyebrow, "You mean you didn't hear our conversation?"
"Okay, so I was listening, but in my defence, the wallsare pretty thin!"
"Yeah and don't I know it!" I reply with more than a hint of sarcasm.
"You want to talk about it?"
"No."
"That's okay,"
"We had another argument, I just don't believe him sometimes! He's been told that he can come home in two months because activity in his area is dying down, and he's considering relocating to another area because he feels 'he has so much more to give!'" I sigh deeply, considering his thoughtful expression a green light to continue my monologue. "He gets the bloody option to come home and now he's saying it might not happen. I mean I'd find it hard to take if he was forced to stay longer, but at least that way I'd have some consolation thinking that he'd rather be here with me, but this way all I feel is that he'd rather risk getting himself killed every day than face up to the horror of marriage with me!" Tears of frustration and hurt sting at my eyes and finally I can hold them back no more, "I just feel like total crap! What kind of a wife am I if I can't even keep my husband in the country for three weeks after our wedding?"
A box of tissues is proffered in my direction, "Blow," Ray's voice instructs in a gently authoritative manner. "Come here," he slips an arm around my shoulder and pulls me towards him, resting my head on his shoulder. "I know you're taking this personally, but seriously Neela, I honestly think that Michael needing to be in Iraq is about him."
I sniff dejectedly, shredding the tissue into tiny pieces, and moving into a more comfortable position in his arms.
"Seriously, I mean he'd have to be crazy not to want to be here with you." He smoothes an errant strand of my hair back behind my ear and I look up, startled by the sudden change in timbre of his voice.
I want to say something but he catches my gaze and holds it for several seconds until I feel like his eyes are seeing something they shouldn't and I glance away abruptly, sitting up and rapidly changing topic.
"You want some tea?"
Jumping up from the couch, I busy myself around the kitchen, filling the kettle and finding the tea bags, but inside my heart is hammering at ninety miles a minute, and from Ray's strained silence I can tell he's feeling uncomfortable too.
"Shit." I mutter under my breath. As if I don't have enough problems.