There is no doubt in my mind why I am here, but that makes it no easier to be 6000 miles from home. Some are sarcastic about being here, but I’m a true believer in our cause. I love my country, and I want to do my part for my country, and be sure my family will be free, and able to pursue a happy life. As easy as it is to believe otherwise, deep down I know that my presence on this frozen, forsaken outpost is important in defending the life I want for my country, and my family.
That biting wind that we often call “The Siberian Express” blows in off of a sea so far from everyone I love. It brings snowstorm after snowstorm, and bites severely at the bits of exposed flesh around my eyes and mouth. I can feel my breath freeze in my mustache as I squint and continue to trudge home this night. Late nights are not unusual for GI’s in such remote locations, but they can hide the loneliness only so long. Sooner, or later, we always must go to our temporary domicile in this frozen hole, and when we arrive there, there is nothing to distract our thoughts, and nothing to hide behind. The burning loneliness is then a fact of the night and a companion at every bedtime.
Dreams, we hope, will bring visions of friendly faces; warm smiles; and voices which speak with that sweet southern drawl; Homemade pies; scuffle matches against brothers or cousins; teasing with sisters; or embraces from wives. But usually, the dream only replays the same day on the same frozen ground fighting the same freezing wind blowing off a strange sea so many miles from everything we love. Not many will talk about it, but all who spend much time here feel it.
I shuffle through the gates inside the dull grey concrete walls of the town that I temporarily call home. It is not a place I would visit if I were truly home, but in this place, we must be careful – not everyone likes GI’s – most do, but how many hostiles can a person fight when he is asleep?
I continue on through the snow packed streets lined with run down bars which exist just to service the GIs. Some play jazz, some rock, and some even country, but all are jammed into this dull, depressing little prison of a town together.
I stop short at the sound of one song. I cannot enter the bar in my uniform, but the words of this song - which I had never heard while in the US - were such a clear expression of our feelings even if we don’t have Geisha girls in this land. It was like the theme song for our hearts every evening:
The geisha girls don’t understand
The lonely life of a service man
When his heart is far away
With a family in the USA
I wanna go stateside
Oh Lord
I wanna go stateside
I stand for a moment and listen. At this time of year much more than any other, the loneliness cannot be hidden. Perhaps because of this the voices of the GI’s inside can be heard rising strongly, if slightly out of tune, above the amplified music. Everyone sways and sings along with the chorus: “I wanna go stateside”.
As the music fades, I turn again and continue down the road, through a dark alley, and into the little one room apartment which I have rented just to find some solace away from the military base. Inside is only a bed, a coat rack, and a little kerosene heater necessary to make the room livable.
The little store that adjoins the back of my apartment is still open, and I can hear the music playing on their stereo. Usually it is soft rock played to appeal to their American clientele, but not tonight. Tonight, Christmas carols come from the other side of my wall.
I sit down on my bed, and begin to remove my mukluks and wool socks, but I stop before I can finish. I drop my head into my hands. There is nobody here to see me now, so I can let it go.
Tears force their way to my eyes, and I begin to choke on the lump that comes up into my throat. I cannot hide from it. I cannot deny it. The sounds of “Silent Night” coming through my walls will incessantly remind me. Sometimes, even soldiers cry as they realize: My heart will be home this Christmas, but I will not.
Author notes
This is just a memory from years ago. Many are in this same situation this year. God bless them.
Comments
1 - 10 of 10
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Beautifully written ...
and I felt every nuance of this peace of memory; every phrase so carefully penned. Well done, my friend.
I am so glad to see you are back, Steven.
Love
Myra
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You are extremely Gifted. I just read that entire thing, and usually I just skip to the point of some people's poetry, because I get bored and whatever. But this.. first of all, wasn't poetry. It was a story. and it sincerely captivated me.
God bless you!
-Emily-
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I just felt the then and now in this write...powerful and you could definately tell you lived it and know, I could feel your heart and for those that are over in Iraq now, I wanted to cry just now to the song Silent night even...I wish they all could come home now...we know what God has ordained and to hope it won't be long. I wrote Sacrifice for a Price not much more I could do for them but show I feel it too tp dedicate that and the prayers...I have two boys and grateful that the one that could be there isn't. Blessings.
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Steven, indeed, you are a very talented writer. While this might have been many years ago for you, there is no doubt you know exactly how our men and women of service feel over in Iraq or a number of other unsafe places to be: places they cannot call home.
You crafted and phrased this short so well that it was as if I were walking at your side, seeing and hearing and deeply feeling all that you could see, hear and feel. Isn't it amazing what one song can bring to our minds and hearts? Indeed. I'm just sorry I wasn't around last year to read this then.
I did notice a few technical issues but nothing really worth taking the time to set out here for you. Besides, just the fact I made mention will have you finding and changing them anyway.
So good to read again something of yours! Your talent keeps getting better, but then you do it all to God's glory: can't get any better than that.
Much love in Christ, BonnieQ
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Loved it
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And I have tears reading this, for the heartache of those far from home for my sake and for the sake of those oppressed in strange lands. You write it in a way that I can feel it to my core and wonder how it is that there are those within the bounds of human kind who forsake family and love for the worship of terror and death.
God bless our services men and those who fight for all our lives.
This is a beautiful write, Steven. Hope you are well, and that your holidays are joyous, too. Blessings to you and your family. ~ Karen
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Even though things are different for you now-your memories are still very much alive and you recount those past experiences with such vivid emotions, translating them into words that make me feel like I was there, experiencing the same things you did. Thank you for serving our country and honoring those who do now-Wonderful write, Steve.
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Touching
I'm in the navy, though only in A school. This is a profound piece, reaching and yanking on my heartstrings. I revelled in the honesty of this poem, though when the time comes, I'll understand the pain you translate so well into writing. Ma you be blessed with God's Grace, and thank you for your service.
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This reminded me of that song, Letters From Home. I always cry at the line,
"Son I know I haven't written. I'm sitting here tonight alone in the kitchen, it occurs to me, I might not have said it so I'll say it now... son you make me proud."
OMG! EVERY TIME! And this one really made me misty eyed. Thanks for the read. -
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Thank you so much for the read, and the comments. I really apreciate it.
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