The Nature of Change

A Long Ride Ahead of Us (Terry 08)

THREE DAYS LATER

Today is not like the others.

Today... today is more.

A subtle feeling of butterflies rises in my stomach, the anticipation of seeing Bea and Gerry slowly evolving from an intellectual knowledge to a guttural tug towards the future. Some rational corner of my brain notices an unusual clumsiness in my motions as I go through the routines of preparation. But this time, I pull the uniform out of the far right of the closet.

The formal dress uniform.

I carefully slip its multiple layers on, meticulously fastening every button, tying every knot, smoothing every crease exactly to regulation. This is the introduction for Gerry and Bea to... where we may end up living the rest of our lives, and I want it to be memorable. I don't particularly like the uniform, but the symbolism inherent in such an outfit, the effort put into getting it exactly right... it shows to them a dedication to the occasion that can't really be matched in any other way.

I pull the collar one last time, checking in the mirror and squaring my shoulders.

Then I step out of the changeroom and hook a right, swinging out into the hallway. I almost turn left out of routine, but I plant my heel at the last second and jump to my right, heading out towards the entry cavern instead of into the bowels of the bunker.

I gaze up and take a moment to marvel at the tunnel. Instead of a standard rectangular profile, the walls bulge outwards, as though the floor and ceiling are filling on a circular tunnel. The wall looks properly finished now, fully closed off, with the internal guts of wiring and plumbing sealed away beneath a facade of polished aluminum. There's no way that aluminum will stay shiny, but it's a nice touch.

I continue through the twisting maze of tunnels. Almost all the traffic seems to funnel along with me, people heading towards the main cavern at their own pace, typical group dynamics starting to congeal out of the scattered masses, old friends forming into big clumps, while the more tight-knit pairings or trios circle around them, and the occasional loner orbits them, either absorbed within themselves or looking for a way in. People will always be people, I reflect.

The excitement gradually builds in my chest, heart pumping ever quicker as my legs carry me ever closer to the main door. Gerry and Bea are so close. And for once, I'll be on the job and able to see them whenever! In the Navy there's always been a dichotomy between being on leave and being out on deployment. You never get to see your family when you're out on deployment. I realize then that I've been thinking of this as being out on deployment, and having Gerry and Bea around is in stark contrast to that dichotomy.

Then it slams home again that this isn't deployment, because there's no promise of "coming home" - this is home, too. This is the entire foreseeable future. My spirits drop a little.

But as I round the final bend towards the entry cavern, I remember the simple hope that I can turn to either way; that Gerry and Bea and Harry are going to be here for me, and I for them, and they for each other, as we forge a path through this dark time together.

I exhale and stop as I step once again into the entry cavern, taking in the vastness of it all. This time, the work is stopped, and people are commingling in the central square. My sight ranges across the cavern to the door at the other side; it's basically a carbon copy of the other door, very rugged and industrial, as with most of the bunker. The door is open, sliding plates retracted sideways into the walls. I begin to jog out into the cavern at large, eyes scanning for Gerry and Bea.

I don't spot Gerry and Bea, but I do catch snippets of other reunions.

One man picks up a little kid, tossing him in the air; they both rock with laughter as his wife looks on, her clad in combat fatigues with one pant leg hanging slack around a prosthesis, him in the pocketful casuals of an engineer, tools hanging off every square inch of his body.

Two women embrace hard, sobbing into each other's shoulders. Another pair performs an elaborate handshake, their clearly adopted daughter watching on with a smirk and an eye roll before wrapping both of them into a bearlike hug.

I notice a kid weeping in a corner as his parents try to console him with backrubs and pats. My heart sinks a bit for him, but then the corner of my eye catches movement. It's a girl rushing over, her parents lagging behind. She stops in front of him. He looks up. She gives a sheepish wave, his face breaks into an uncontrolled smile. He stands up, clearly uncertain. There's a pause, her giving a small gesture. He says something - the motions of his lips look like it's "I love you," and they pull together into a kiss as both sets of parents look on in confusion and shock. Well he'll have an interesting story to tell, I ponder.

It's like I have this window onto the countless untold stories of the masses. Everyone within the bunker has a story, everyone has hopes, dreams, things they gave up to be here. It gives me a sudden sense of insignificance; I'm just one track among this grand multitude of paths, a mere spark among the great flame of humanity.

And then my eye catches a familiar face sprinting down from the door.

It's Gerry, with Bea and Harry in tow.

My heart soars in sudden joy.

My legs break into a sprint, propelling me hard and fast towards my wife, my two sons, my family.

"DADDY!" Gerard screams happily.

"GERRY!" I reciprocate.

"Dad!" Harry's exclamation adds to the mix. He's hesitant; his reaction is tempered by his natural introversion, cultivated in his lonely job, but the heat of the moment is enough to break his shell and get him to express a depth of feeling he never shares.

Gerard practically leaps towards me, arms extended, and I sweep him up into a big bear hug. I can feel the undercurrent of loss and pain he's feeling, but in that moment, it's just us two and Bea and Harry. All the memories I've shared with them flash past, too many to recall in an instant. The world shuts off, and in that moment, it's just us four, brought together by blood, kept together by the times we've shared melding together out of coherence and into one unbreakable feeling of us.

"How was Basic?" I ask on a whim.

"Ugh, it was hard," Bea says. "At least I have something to do."

"Heh, yeah," I chuckle. "What with all the lost friends..."

"Mmmm, let's not think too much about that, shall we?" Harry interjects.

Bea's a certified therapist. She'll have a lot on her hands before long. I have no doubt she'll be able to take it, at least with me around - my being there always helped her when her therapy work in the wider world weighed down on her hard, and I have no doubt that it will help her here.

But all of us have hard work ahead of us.