I wrote this some time ago, just for the heck of it. The events are real, the dialogue is as accurate as I can remember. It’s rather profane – but then, the circumstances of the day made profanity not only warranted but necessary. Actual events occurred in January 2007. Enjoy.

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I wake up and squint. I’d forgotten that his room gets so bright in the morning, and out of habit I roll over to bury my face in his shoulder, but he’s not there. And in my squinty stupor, I’m confused and don’t remember what I’m doing in his bed alone.

Mike is talking from the doorway; it’s not Tim snoring and making grumbly noises in his sleep. “Becky, wake up.”

“I’m ‘wake,” I mumble, grabbing my cell phone to check the clock. It’s only eight, and we’re supposed to be at the airport to get him at one-thirty.

“You’re not gonna be happy about this.” I sit up straight, pulling my t-shirt down to make sure I’m not flashing my boyfriend’s brother, and look at the face he’s making. All five of the brothers do this, the half-smirk I-can’t-believe-this-is-happening-but-boy-am-I-pissed look. When two of them start eyeing each other like this, it’s best to duck and cover.

“What happened?”

“He and his guys got smashed last night in Baltimore and missed their plane because they were all hungover and didn’t hear their damn alarms.”

“You’re kidding. You must be kidding.” He shakes his head. “Do they have a later flight?”

“On standby for a nine o’clock. And he is fucking DEAD when he gets back. He’s highest ranked so he’s responsible for all of it.”

When your boyfriend is deployed to the Middle East, you don’t want to hear anything about him with the word “dead” in the same sentence. Even though I know he’s perfectly safe and back on American soil, I shiver involuntarily.

“What will happen?” I ask in a small voice.

“He’ll get his ass handed to him. They’ll probably threaten to revoke his promotion.”

“They wouldn’t actually do it, would they?”

“They might.”

He is military too, so I believe him. I narrow my eyes and a thought occurs to me. “Why didn’t he call me?”

“Because he’s a pussy and was afraid you’d be pissed at him, so he let me do the dirty work.”

I point out that I can be pissed at him no matter who tells me that he screwed up. Mike looks madder than I feel though, and I’m a little grateful for that because it will make me look like a good girlfriend.

“What about your parents?” I ask. They got into Kansas City last night like we did and are staying at a hotel in town.

“I’m gonna call them now. They’re gonna be so pissed. This is just like him. Oh, his ass is DEAD.”

Small shiver again.

I make up my mind that I will be the best girlfriend ever today and I will be the only one who does not get mad at him. Mike leaves the room, still shaking his head and grumbling, and I flop back down onto the pillows. If a seven o’clock flight becomes a nine o’clock flight, then we’ll pick him up at three instead of at one. That’s okay. Nothing to worry about.

My phone rings at nine-thirty.

“Hi babe.”

“Baby,” he says weakly. “I can’t fucking believe this.”

I politely refrain from making an it’s-your-own-damn-fault comment. “You didn’t get the nine o’clock flight, I guess?” I’m hoping he’s on the tarmac and departure was delayed.

“We’ll be on the ten-thirty. To Cleveland.”

“To Cleveland.”

“Yeah.”

“And then?”

“There’s a one o’clock to Kansas City.”

“That’s cutting it close, isn’t it?”

“I guess. Not like we have much choice.”

We’re silent for a minute and it’s as though we’re staring at each other, face to face, trying to read each other’s eyes. “Are you okay?” I ask.

“I’m pretty much dead, you know that.” Everyone, stop saying that! “Everybody is gonna be so pissed, I know Mike is and my parents and you are and –“

“I never said I was pissed at you.” Because I am a good girlfriend.

“And when I go to the base for in-processing tomorrow I am gonna get reamed. You have no idea.”

“Mike told me about it.” I pause. “But you’re almost home. You’ll be home tonight. And yeah, you did a stupid thing this morning and you’re gonna take some shit for it but I’m still so glad you’re coming back and I can’t wait to see you.” That should do it.

And it does. “I can’t wait to see you either, babe.”

“It’ll be okay, you know that. You’ll be home safe, that’s all that matters to me.”

“I’m really sorry about this.”

We talk for a few more minutes and I get a few laughs out of him when he tells me about going out with the guys in Baltimore last night, their first real drinking expedition in four months. He still sounds so hungover and it’s almost funny to both of us by the time we hang up.

I deliver the update to Mike, he calls his parents again, and we wait. It starts to snow again and we watch the weather on TV, checking out Baltimore and Cleveland especially.

Mike gets the call at ten-twenty that Tim is sitting on the plane bound for Cleveland, and I am happy. Still irritated by the situation, Mike flips wildly through the channels in no particular order while I’m bouncing off the walls. Every time I’ve visited Tim I’ve had my car with me and I’m getting anxious, wanting out of the house so I can kill time anywhere but here with my fingers tapping.

I ask Mike if I can borrow his car – he drove us out here – and he says no: it’s too old and has a weird brake and I shouldn’t drive it in the snow. I offer to bring him Taco Bell and he just grumbles.

My phone rings at one-thirty. “Not gonn’ believe this,” Tim slurs.

“You’re supposed to be in the air right now,” I say flatly.

“We had a delayed landing in Cleveland and just missed the flight to Kansas City. They wouldn’t hold it for us because they wanted to got out ahead of the weather. More snow coming.” His tongue sounds furry.

I smack my head in frustration and Mike is mouthing “What?” at me across the room, over and over. Covering the phone with my hand, I tell him what’s happened and he stomps down the hall. “Tell him I’m calling Mom and Dad!” he yells from the kitchen.

“I heard him,” Tim says.

“So what happens now?”

“I’m in the airport bar. Having a beer with the guys.”

“No, I mean when are you going to get here?” I’m starting to sound ticked-off and I take a few deep breaths. It doesn’t sound like his first beer of the day and I doubt it’s going to be his last.

If your dumb ass misses another plane because you’ve been drinking…

He laughs wryly. “Well, it’s funny, I could get on a plane to Saint Louis in an hour.”

I perk up. “Can we just come meet you there? We’ll drive back!”

“I can’t leave without the guys and I have to be at the base at eight tomorrow morning.”

“So it’s not actually funny then.” I sound cranky again. Must. Stop. Must be good girlfriend. “When is the next flight to Kansas City?”

“Seven-thirty.” He pauses. “Yeah. I’m pretty much dead.” I don’t say anything, thinking of how I’m doing the dirty work now, having to tell Mike. “See, you ARE pissed at me now,” he says. “I’m supposed to be with you and with my family right now and I’m not and it’s all my fault.”

“Look, you screwed up, but I’m not mad at you,” I say carefully. “When do you land here, then?”

“Ten.”

“So you’ll be drinking in the airport bar for the next six hours?” I tease, trying to lighten up. I am SUCH a good girlfriend, the only person not mad at him today! “You’ve never had a problem killing time in a bar, babe. But don’t spend all your combat pay, I’m counting on a few nice dinners at least.” He laughs and promises to call me in a few hours with an update. We hang up.

And if you miss that damn plane… I take a deep breath.

“GODDAMMIT!” I scream, throwing the phone into the couch. “THAT IDIOT!”

“Knew you’d get pissed,” Mike says from the kitchen, and I walk in to tell him the news.

“Goddammit indeed.” He cracks open a beer and smirks.

And we wait.