Change of Plans

Posted on Fri Apr 28th, 2023 @ 12:25am by Hale Stratton
Edited on on Wed May 24th, 2023 @ 8:57am

547 words; about a 3 minute read

Mission: Bangor or Bust
Location: Rental Cabin Outside Millinocket, Maine
Timeline: 25 AUG 2010 - 1:00 p.m.

The first notes of a lone cello filled the living room and Hale sighed in appreciation. He loved opera and, sad as it was, "La Mamma Morta" suited his mood He sat, perched, on the edge of the sofa, staring down at his phone, and struggled to get past the feeling that he was living through the end of something that mattered.

Stay where you are.
You won't get in here in time anyway.
Help where you can.
And ... God help us all.

"Stay home," he bellowed to the unyielding silence of a rental cabin. "When have I ever ... ever ... stayed home?"

Memories tumbled through his mind. Watching the towers fall and how it cemented his decision to serve rather than become a marine biologist, to make a clear divide between his personal and professional life. Training hard and long to get to where he was. Always ... always ... being ready to go.

And he knew the reasoning. He was the one that drew the short straw. Had to go in advance to set things up. He sighed and, resisting the urge to fling the phone across the room, set it down instead on the coffee table. He sat there, listening, while the music filled him and in the aria, Maria Callas seemed to share his feelings.

Bruciava il loco di mia culla
Cosi fui sola
E intorno il nulla

The music drew him out of himself, got him focused on something beyond his own frustrations again. And so, he busied himself, making a small pot of coffee, the good stuff, and readied his favorite travel mug. Because that was how it worked. Small ordinary things, tiny steps forward into this new reality, the one where he would remain separate from his teammates. The one where he served alone among civilians and hoped like hell that he'd be with them all again on the other side of this. The one where he tried to ignore that nagging suspicion that maybe, just maybe, there wouldn't be another side to this.

You won't get here in time anyway.
... in time ...
... in time ...
... in time ...

Death knell if ever there was one. Whatever this was, it wasn't as simple as a cold. This was bad. Maybe a different kind of bad but bad. And even if he couldn't be there with them, he could be fully here.

Before he left, he took the time to call him but everyone was out, doing. Wasn't a one of them who stayed home or put there feet up when there was work to be done. And though his life had veered dramatically, it was true of him as well.

Do the job. And hopefully, rejoin his regiment as quickly as he could.

He stood there for a moment frowning. "Right," he said as he left the mug on the table next to the keys to his Jeep. He turned off the music and went in search of his uniform. Next step was the police station, to report in and see if there was anything he could do to help. And if needed, he could do it in uniform.

"Work to be done," he said quietly to the fears and the doubts and the uncertainty as he headed out, back into the fight.

 

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