The Homecoming
Kim...
'What an amazing display of patriotism,' she thought. Glancing around she stated to no one in particular, "Damn, I'm glad I got here when I did."
Kim Nolan stood at the front of a cheering throng of people, awaiting the arrival of the
USS Abraham Lincoln
, a US Navy aircraft carrier. From her vantage point along the pier of North Island Naval Air Station on Coronado, she could see the vessel as it steamed slowly through the mouth of the anchorage, several miles in the distance. She had known this would be a big deal, but she had underestimated just how many people were going to be here.
"Ain't that the truth," shouted an older woman standing next to her in a flowery dress and wide-brimmed hat. Kim could detect a Texas twang to her voice.
Standing on tiptoes to look round, she estimated there was likely more than two-thousand people present for these festivities. Young and old, men, women and children of various ages were all waiting for friends and loved ones to arrive. Most were excited, but a few of the children were beginning to melt down, with the over stimulation of all the noise and frivolity.
It was a crystal-clear, late-January morning in San Diego, California and a slight breeze was blowing in off the ocean, making her glad she had chosen to wear a wind breaker. She wore a snug, white cotton tank top and khaki shorts. Her legs were a little cold, but she could tolerate it. The morning sun was at their back, so there was no need for sunglasses.
Leaning against the barricade to flex her legs, she was glad she had also chosen sandals instead of shoes, as she knew she was going to be standing in one place for a long time and heels would have killed her feet at this point.
Living up the coast in La Jolla, she'd driven down the previous evening and stayed at a nearby hotel. She had slept fitfully, in anticipation for this homecoming. She was excited about the day and the possibilities that were in store. Rising early and foregoing her ritual morning run, she had showered, dressed, and ate a quick continental breakfast the hotel offered, then checked out to drive the few miles to North Island.
When she parked in the visitors' lot and walked the short distance to the pier, there was only a handful of spectators and workers preparing things for the festivities. She had a rolled banner in her arms, and gleefully smiled, to see she had arrived early enough to stake her territory out that had been recommended to her. It was also nice that other early arrivals had some tape, so that she could secure it to the fence, in front of where she was going to be standing.
Glancing over the railing at it, it read "Welcome Home AB1 D. Whitman," in big and bold, red, and blue lettering. A moment of nervousness crossed her mind as she thought, 'Shit. I hope the lettering is big enough for him to see from the flight deck.' Banishing the apprehension and deciding there was nothing she could do about it now, she decided to just enjoy the moment and chatted with the spectators around her, finding out where they were from and who they were here to see.
Having never been on a military base before, she had been nervous driving through the gate and she was quite taken aback at the professional demeanor of the young female gate guard, in her uniform and packing the weapons that were holstered on her utility belt. She smiled at the thought of being referred to as 'ma'am.' In her line of work as marketing executive in the film industry, she was called Ms. or simply by her first name. Occasionally she had been called Miss, if a guy was trying to butter her up, to get into her pants.
At 42, she still had the looks of someone much younger. What she lacked in height, being just over five-feet tall, she made up for in her other assets, with short, golden-blonde hair, blue eyes, and a captivating smile. She was a California girl through and through. In her line of work, she knew that looks were everything, so she worked hard to keep herself in shape. Running, the gym and a variety of outdoor sports had left her petite frame lean, well-toned, and tanned.
She had married young and had a daughter with someone she thought she'd loved; however, she came to realize he was just a big, stupid kid. He didn't want a family and selfishly cared only about himself. When trying to reconcile things didn't work, she kicked him out and moved on with her life. Being a single, working mom had been tough, but she had pulled through. Her daughter Karen was now twenty-two and was a success in her own right, living in the Dallas, Texas area.
"Who are you here to see," she loudly asked the woman in the flowery dress and hat, over the din and tumult.
"My boy," the older woman responded proudly, as she reached into her handbag, withdrew a smart phone, and showed her a picture of a young sailor in his dress uniform. She went onto introduce herself as Alma, then described how her son was a young airman working on the flight deck.
That peaked Kim's attention. "I wonder if my friend knows him," she stated and then finished with, "He works with the catapults. They shoot the planes into the air."
"My son, Mickey, works on the arresting gear," replied Alma and observed, "That's on the back end of the ship."
Glancing around at the crowd, Kim philosophically observed with a smile, "I imagine everyone here is excited to see someone."
"I'm sure they are," agreed Alma with a guffaw, "The damn thing has been gone for ten fricking months," she drawled, and then added, "'Excuse my French. It just pisses me off."
Shaking her head in disgust and wiping some tears from her eyes, she added, "Outside of boot camp, this is the longest he's been away from home in his life. This is his first command."
She reached out a consoling hand to pat the older woman's back and then turned to look at the ship, she noticed it was growing larger. 'Ten-months,' she mused, 'A hell of a long time to be away from home, that's for sure.' As the Navy band began to strike up
Anchor's Away
, she thought back on what had gotten her to this moment.
- - - - -
Six-months before she had been walking though one of the malls in La Jolla on her way to meet friends, for coffee. Passing by the information desks, a table festooned in patriotic red, white, and blue and manned by two older couples wearing blue and gold business attire caught her eye. She slowed her pace and stopped at the table. After greeting her, the couples introduced themselves and said they were members of the local Navy League, supporting something called Operation: Home Front. They were looking for people to exchange letters with crew members of an aircraft carrier that had recently left on deployment and would be arriving in San Diego.
Kim had mentioned that when she was younger, her school class had done the something similar during the First Gulf War. It had been fun, and she'd felt like it had been a tremendous service. Upon hearing this, one of the smiling silver-haired wives, commented that she looked too young to remember the pivotal event. Smiling and thanking her for the compliment, she thought, 'What the hell.' It had been quite a while since she had dated anyway and thinking it might be a fun way to meet someone new. She accepted a flyer and took out her checkbook and donated to the organization. Folding the paper into quarters, she stuck it in her purse and journeyed on to her meeting. She'd forgotten about it, until she was cleaning the handbag out a few days later.
Feeling guilty, she took a pad of paper and wrote out a quick letter of encouragement, signed it with a flourish, placed it in an envelope and mailed it to the address from the flyer. Amazingly, six-weeks later she was looking through her mail after returning home from work and among the circulars and other junk mail was an envelope from the ship. She set the letter on the glass coffee table in her living room, changed into her workout wear, fulfilled her evening ritual, and ran five miles. Returning home sweating, she showered quickly dressed in some comfortable clothes, ate a quick meal, and cleaned the dishes. All the while she wondered who the letter might be from.
Walking into the spacious living room of her up-scale condo and pouring a drink from her bar, she then sat down and reclining on the couch, opened the letter and read it. "Dear Ms. Nolan," it began and that's how her relationship with Dan Whitman had begun. Sipping the whiskey, she re-read his letter and was enthralled at how engaging and articulate he was.
Before going to bed that evening, she opened her laptop and searched the internet for information on the ship and was amazed to learn it was not just on deployment, it was on a cruise around the world. It had left Norfolk, Virginia a few months before and was serving in the Middle East and was set to arrive in San Diego sometime in the fall. "Holy shit," she exclaimed.
The next evening when she came home from work and after her ritual, she decided to binge on You-Tube, watching everything she could about aircraft carriers and the ship itself. She was amazed by what she saw. Picking up Dan's letter, she re-read it and learned he worked on the flight deck, as a senior enlisted man on the forward catapults. The information she had seen had told her the flight deck of an aircraft carrier was one of most dangerous places in the world to work. Before she realized it, it was well past midnight.
Before this, she had never been much of a letter writer. But as a result, she began a new ritual. On her way home from work the following day, she stopped by a stationary shop and picked-up some nice paper and matching envelopes. On Saturday mornings, she would rise and go on her morning run. After returning home, she'd take her morning coffee on her balcony overlooking the ocean and write a letter to Dan.
