Through Those Eyes

Through Those Eyes

The young woman paced back and forth, through the sitting room in her apartment. She glanced out the near-by window every once in a while, watching from the second story room, as the rain continued to pour from the cold Seattle sky. She occasionally raised the coffee cup in her right hand to her lips, taking long slow sips. Her other hand was jammed into her pants pocket. Her blue eyes were extremely bloodshot, and the hair on top of her head was matted down slightly. Her hands trembled, and her legs ached from standing. She could be classified as a five star wreck.
She missed him, and she had no way to change that. She hadn't seen him in months, and her heart was slowly breaking. No one would, or even could, listen like he did. He knew everything about her, and she considered him her best friend. And she had been living best friend-less for over a year. She needed her brother, bad.
* * *
He had enlisted when he was 19, and was accepted into the Navy at age 20. He wanted to "do his duty" and "help the land of the free." He really had no idea what he was getting himself into.
He was a pretty boy, a soccer star and a tennis player through high school. He was tough, but not military tough. He wasn't cut out for Navy life, wasn't tough enough to face a war. And everyone told him, over and over again.
"The Navy? Are you serious?" or "Is this a frickin' joke?" They all said it, they were all thinking it. His classmates, his co-workers, even his teachers. None of them thought he had the balls to join the Navy. Some thought it was just a joke, others thought he was crazy. Even his parents doubted his judgment and commitment.
"The military will eat you alive, son! You can't fathom the hell those men face on a day to day basis. You may think you're tough, but those Huns will put you in your place. Send you crying to your mother!" The verbal abuse went on for months. It was almost a relief when his parents were crushed by a drunk driver going 27 over in a school zone. Almost...
* * *
The waves of the ocean crashed up against the metal hull of the warship, rocking it back and forth, like a grandfather clock's pendulum. The deep grey metal blended well with the cloud cover, and the steel-blue, ice cold water that swelled in gallons around the boat. It was early morning, and the passengers slept aboard the vessel. The ship was quiet, and calm, a rarity on United States Warships.
Each soldier slept in their own bunk bed, with little room to do anything other than sleep. Their personal belongings (the few they owned) were stored in lockers. Privacy was non-existent, and even though these men were surrounded by fellow warriors, none of them were good friends. None talked like people talked back home. He hated it. He needed to talk, but no one cared to listen. A part of him wished he was back at home. Home cooked meals, family stories late at night, holidays at home, he had traded that for the life of a sailor. The other part wish to prove that he had what it took. He would show those doubting sons-of-bitches that he was a man, and that this war should fear him, not the other way around. He was not only fighting a war for the United States, but also a war for his pride.
* * *
Always raining. Rainy days were common in Seattle. She used to love the rain, but now it just depressed her. Every morning recently, she would wake early to the sound of the pitter-patter proceeding around the apartment, and walk through her residence in complete darkness. Coffee cup in her right hand, hip pocket stuffed with the left, with that same helmet hair, blood-stained-eyes look. It seemed a recently acquired routine for her. A habit she couldn't break. And while she walked, she would think. Thinking about all that use to be, and all that would never be again. And she hated it. She resented the military, but resented her brother's choice for leaving her alone more. After her mother and father passed, he was her everything. Her only support. Her rock in the hurricane. And now he had vanished, off to fight a war she didn't even support.
By midmorning every day, her depressed mood would subside. She would shower, and re-dress. She was fired from her job weeks ago, so she just sat at home, reading the news paper, searching for a source of income. She would read about the local happenings, and then the national happenings. It was this point in her day that sent her back into the depression filled spirals. Reading about body counts, about battles won and lost overseas, about political opinions, from political rivals, on political shit, it bothered her. She didn't care about anyone else; not the Krauts, not the Japs, not the Wops, none of them. She only cared about her brother, and she wanted him back. And this was the point in her day where she would break down sobbing, for hours on end.
* * *
He lay completely still in his bunk. Sheets covering two-thirds of his torso, hands rested behind his head, he smiled to himself. He could almost feel the sun's rays from the ship's deck through the layers and layers of metal that separated him from the rest of the world.
"Today was going to be a good day." He had already decided that. He closed his eyes, and let out a small sigh. The rest of the crew would be awoken shortly, and their daily duties would start soon. Daily duties that really didn't matter. Sure, they were part of the U.S. Navy, but they faced no real danger. Their warship, along with hundreds of other United States ships, were docked in one of the safest, most occupied ports controlled by the United States. He, along with the rest of the crew, never felt a bit bothered by the war. "It's a European war," some would say. Others, "This war doesn't concern us, let's just forget about it." They were never affected by the war.
He jumped down out of his bunk, a bit early, and stretched his legs. A few men stirred.
"Shut up ass hole, go back to sleep." He laughed to himself. He stood in his white briefs, glancing around the cramped room. He shared the room with many other sailors, most he didn't know. He sauntered over to his locker, and opened it with a click.
"Didn't you hear me the first time? Shut the hell up!" Again, he laughed. He looked toward the opened locker door, where his calendar hung.
"Sunday, December 7th." He spoke out loud to himself, and faced immediate repercussions.
"Are you deaf? I told you before, I'm trying to sleep! Shut your fucking mouth!" The sailor then rolled over in his bunk, and placed his pillow over his ear. That was the last he heard from the 'vocal' sleeping sailor.
He closed his locker, and walked back to his bunk. He was climbing back into the cool, white sheets, when a voice broke over the loud speaker. He figured it was the morning wake up call.
"Incoming!" A loud cry from the intercom erupted. Men all around him opened their eyes, and sat up. Murmurs of "What the hell?" and "Something's happening out there..." echoed throughout the bedroom. Mass confusion set in. And then there was a thud. Not a near-by, innocent thud, but a low, rumbling thud, that shook the bed frames. A few seconds passed, and then the sound caught up with the vibration. An ear splitting clatter filled the boat. The lights quit, and the sailors sat in blackness for a few seconds. Then the red, flashing emergency lights kicked in. He knew something was wrong. He just didn't know what.
* * *
Her depression filled days were normal now. She spent most of her time crying, wishing she could change the past. She just wished she knew what happened. She knew the ship went down, she knew that the Japanese destroyed the USS Oklahoma via torpedo, but she didn't know any more than that. She knew that on that day 2,402 people were killed, and another 1,282 were wounded, but she didn't know why. She only knew that if she had convinced her brother to stay out of the war she didn't support, that number would have only reached 2,401. And now, she realized, she was alone. No mother, no father, no best friend. Alone was the only word to describe it. She removed her left hand from her hip pocket, and let it fall onto the couch. Inside her semi-closed palm rested a set of dog tags. She glances down to read them, and was overwhelmed by a fit of sobs. She closed her eyes, and while she wept, she was accompanied by the pitter-patter of the rain outside her apartment.