Taking a Break

The soldiers had a four day break this month. I went to Seattle for the final good-bye to my mother, father, brother, aunt and grandparents. I looked forward to wearing my slim jeans, knee high black boots and silk tops. I wanted to flat iron my hair, wear make-up, drink beer and eat four meals a day. When I told my mother my plan she pointed out the fact that I had only been away for six days. "Yes," I replied, "But I want to live it up before I leave for ten months."

When I got to the Northwest I no longer felt keen to dress up and despite best intentions I was not that hungry. I caught a glimpse of what one could call the Time Machine Syndrome, which often plagues soldiers.

Here is the scenario: 

Soldiers deploy for long periods of time in foreign countries. When they return home, nothing has changed. Their homes look the same. Wives, husbands and children look the same, time has stood still. Yet the soldier has changed, as if they have crammed a lifetime in a year.

Of course, as my mother previously mentioned, I have only been gone for six days, but judging by how much time it seemed had passed, I glimpsed at the future.

I wanted to share every detail, but events seem trapped in a dream like sequence that I could no longer capture. I reverted to photographs to tell the tales, but soon the topic of conversation didn't matter.  The truth was I hadn't really changed, not after six days anyways. 

Perhaps I am really just an observer after all.