Home Front

And then it was over.

Jolene stood up, not surprised to find that her legs were a little shaky.

“You notice we’re the only ones in here?” Tami said. “Where is everyone?”

Jolene opened the door. Sunlight, bright as a starburst, blinded them. Black smoke hung in the air, burned their eyes. Everywhere she looked, she saw troops acting as if nothing had happened. They were riding bikes from one trailer to another, standing in line at Porta-Potties, playing football. She turned to Tami. “They told us Balad was called Mortaritaville. I guess now we know why. ”

The alarm sounded again. Mortar fire erupted to their left, a cement wall exploded. Smoke wafted their way.

“That’ll take some getting used to,” Tami said when it was quiet again.

Jolene looked at her best friend and knew they were both thinking the same thing. For the next year, they could be killed any second of any day—while they were sitting in their trailer or playing cards or taking a shower.

How did you handle knowing that any moment you could be killed, maimed, blown to bits? Worse than her fear was worry for her children. For the first time, she really thought, What if I don’t make it home? How will my children survive without me?

* * *

That night, after a long day spent filling out paperwork, meeting the men and women she’d be serving with, and listening to endless lectures about everything from the scorpions on base to the use of CSEL survival radios, Jolene finally made it to the showers at eleven o’clock. Because there were so few women on base, the shower lines weren’t long, but a woman didn’t walk there in the dark alone. The army had come a long way—but not far enough. “Battle buddies” were encouraged.

After their showers, she and Tami walked back to their trailer in silence.

Once inside, Tami collapsed on her bed and was sound asleep in no time.

Jolene was well past the point of exhaustion, but she was too wired to sleep, so she got out her laptop and started a letter home. She wasn’t connected to the Internet yet, might not be for some time, but she could type the letter tonight and figure out how to send it from the comm center tomorrow. She needed to connect with her family right now, and this was the only means available to her.

She imagined them in detail, completely; the family, her family, gathered on the sofa, with the letter bringing them together. Betsy would read it aloud.

The base was bombed four times today and we just got here.

Jolene imagined their reaction to that … and knew what her letters home had to be.

My loves, she wrote, missing them so sharply it was difficult to go on. She drew in a deep breath.

It was a long flight over here, and I have to admit that I’m tired. Betsy, you wouldn’t believe how flat it is, and how everything is the same color, like dying wheat. And man is it hot. I think I was sweating before I even got off the plane.

Tami and I are roommates in a little trailer. It’s kind of how I imagine college would be. So we need photos and posters to make it homey. Can you help us out? I’ll send pics when I can …

Jolene wrote everything she could think of to say. When she ran out of steam, she closed the laptop and put it in her locker. That was when she noticed the pink journal Betsy had given her for her birthday. Reaching out, she brought it to her lap and opened it. She’d intended to give this journal back to Betsy when she got home, but after less than twenty-four hours, she knew that wouldn’t happen. She needed a place where she could be honest because from now on, she was Chief Zarkades, and she couldn’t show fear or hesitation any more than she could tell her family the truth.

She opened the diary and wrote.

MAY 2005

This journal was supposed to be for you, Betsy. I intended to write down all my feelings over here, so that when I come home, I could give it to you, say here, this is everything I thought while we were apart. I thought I’d give you all the advice you would need, that I’d be wise and helpful. The perfect mother, even from a world away.

But the truth is that being your mother is breaking my heart. I have to figure out how to be strong, how to put my love for you and Lulu aside. If I can’t, I won’t be any good to anyone.

Here, between these pages you gave me, I’ll have to talk to myself. Hopefully writing about my fear will lessen it. Maybe someday I’ll give it to you, when you’re old enough not to judge me too harshly.

The base was attacked four times today. By the fourth time, when the alarm sounded, Tami and I just looked at each other and shrugged and stayed in our trailer. I kept putting away my clothes, but I could hear the whistling of missiles and mortar fire exploding, and I thought will I have a chance to say good-bye to my girls? and then it was over.

Over.

It’s a word that seems to crop up more and more in my life lately. Like my marriage.

Over.

I feel so alone over here, without Michael. Sometimes I pretend that he’s still waiting for me back home. That he still loves me.