Pearl Harbor on a Sunday

One of the perks to befriending an ex-Navy man, and current police officer is the "backstage tour" of the naval base. This morning was particularly lazy, despite having been up at about 7am. Eventually the two of us roused ourselves from the couch to hunt down lunch (after he spent the entire morning picking my brain for all White Wolf-esque knowledge he could...I made the mistake of letting my inner geek known) Silly gamers....

Pearl Harbor was practically deserted on this Sunday. The officer at the gate waved us through with barely a glance at the ID my companion proffered. A colleague of his on duty for the weekend. I pity the officers in their dark blue polyester uniforms...short sleeves that mislead you into believing they may be cool under that first unbreathable layer...only hiding a Kevlar vest and tee shirt underneath...all worn under the glaring tropical sun. (And most of them wear the uniform quite well...) At least those at the gate have a bit of shade and a fan or two.

It would have appeared that everything on base was closed on a Sunday. A ghost town. A few of the fast food restaurants and the commissary were open. A small family meandered on foot through the housing. A lone car or two drove by.

Wandering past the gated docks, behind which towered frigates and cruisers of the dull, cool misty grey. A drab color so chosen, as my companion explained, because of its stealth...blending in seamlessly to the endless blue-grey of a cloudy sea. Joking about a disgust for hazelnut creamer after being stuck at sea with that as the only coffee additive for six months. Tales of hazing and late night watch. Fears of heights and days ashore in Europe, Asia, the Middle East. Talk of distrust, manipulations and betrayals. Pains long gone, but still lingering. The acknowledgment that neither is completely comfortable letting the other in. But that we do find comfort in each others company. And that is enough. That we are each our own secret creature.

All the while side by side under the cerulean sky. Spotted by a a few cotton like puffs of clouds...and even fewer of the more ominous variety that briefly erupted overhead to spill a light rain shower. Hibiscus blossoming from carefully manicured bushes and tall statuesque palms overhead. Casting their fan like shadows. Offering a slight reprieve from the mist of rain that fell intermediately. And cool. Not the muggy heat that pervaded the previous days. Though the last days were far from stifling. A cool breeze from the docks. Causing the palms to sway and the shadows to dance. Raising my skirt in the ever frustrating Marilyn like fashion. Surrounded by odd square, regulated and industrial buildings blocking the ocean views. An occasional brush of a finger or hand on the small of a back as we exchanged quick awkward smiles and geeky tirades on books and games. Wandering through the back ways. Away from the tourists. In the heart of this historical naval base.

The need for food pushed us forward. We abandoned base for a mall nearby...in the fuzzy jurisdiction of both the naval and Honolulu police departments. Faux Mexican. Talks of Thanksgiving plans...one of us working the holiday (with uncle sam giving a generous incentive) the other who should be sketching...both orphans in a way.

Thoughts of past thanksgivings...the three hour meals prepared by a supermarket, the labor intensive meals among the Pointers and the burns earned the holiday I was deemed supervisor, not cook. I am lonely. At times I am alone. But really, I am neither and both simultaneously. And in myself. And in the joy I share in other people...I am happy. Afloat and adrift in the middle of the Pacific. I am happy.