Sondra Meek

TIME

Mornings Before

“Let’s get a move on!”

Sitting on the edge of her bed, with legs dangling and shoulders slumped, my six-year-old stares at the wall in a trance. She does not share my sense of urgency to tackle the day ahead. She does not understand the importance of every minute. I look at the clock and shake my head. I have lost all sense of pity for her.

“Amanda! You’re wasting time. Go brush your teeth, brush your hair, and get dressed – now. I don’t have time for this!”

She moves to the beat of her own drum, but once in the car, I settle into the morning routine. Amanda’s before and after school care is local to our neighborhood, and my year old baby attends the day care on base. Looking at my watch, I realize that the few minutes that I have been delayed will cost me many more.

Dropping Amanda off, I am sure to remind her that she has stolen from me. Now I don’t even have time to run through the drive thru for breakfast.

“Thieves!”

As the overburdened stretch of I-95 south of the Capitol extends before me, with cars packed in every lane as we creep toward our northbound destinations, I cannot stop the anger and indignation that boils within me. Calculating the hours, I am certain the Virginia state legislature steals an hour and a half from me every workday. With my simple math skills, I conclude that including weekends, they rob me of at least ten hours a week.

“Ridiculous!”

To my left, I glare at the waste of space known as the HOV lane. Even the lure of minimal traffic isn’t enough to get many strangers to ride together. The sometimes northbound, sometimes southbound lane is never used to full capacity. Adding lanes in both directions just wouldn’t have been right – all that grass dividing the highway looks so much better

“Jerk!”

Look at this guy. Some people are so rude. Traffic is finally moving, and this idiot thinks the left lane is for pacing instead of passing. No one goes the speed limit in the fast lane! Wonderful - the two cars in the left lanes are riding beside each other. What is wrong with people? There is no driving etiquette around here. If you’re not in a hurry, then get the hell out of my way – ‘cause I am! I have a job to do!

“For heavens sake!”

I’m finally off that cursed highway, and now I’m stopped at a Green Light! I hate the beltway! When are they going to realize they need more ROAD around here?

Moments During

“I’m sorry I’m late. Traffic was hell this morning.”

My boss reminds us of our 0900 meeting in Woodbridge. At least the three of us will be riding there together. Score one up for the HOV lane. We’ll only be a little bit late.

This is an important meeting. We are working with the Marine Corps program manager to set the timeline and milestones for the new Department of Defense messaging software. We have obstacles to overcome, mandates to meet, and policies to publish. We are not happy that the secretary has interrupted this meeting.

“I’m sorry, but this is important.”

She says this as she turns on the TV mounted on the wall of the briefing room. The pictures of the burning towers come into full view as she says, “…and also the Pentagon.”

We are silent. I am stunned.

My thoughts are racing… Pentagon… military… war. My husband – My baby is on base. She is not safe. I realize I’m no longer at the table. I am pacing.

My boss calls her boss.

“We are in ThreatCon Delta. You must return to base immediately.”

Our passage onto the base is slowed at the gate by the forklift placing barriers in front of the gate shack.

The Marine that I am returns to the forefront of my being. I am in autopilot. My thoughts are focused on security, contingency operations, alternate network operations, and the myriad of requirements to overcome the obstacles presented by this occurrence.

I am numb. I am a robot doing what must be done.

I realize the time. I must pick up my children – I’m late.

The beeping answering machine is the only ‘welcome home’ we receive. My husband has been activated, and will not be returning home for a few days. I will take him fresh clothes in the morning.

Beep. “Guys, it’s mom. I know you’re probably busy, but please call me when you can.”

Beep. “Hey, it’s Nito. You guys ok? Call me.”

Beep…. Beep… Beep… Beep… Beep… I’m grateful we are so loved.

I must watch the TV now. I hold Breanna as Amanda sits next to me. She knows something terrible has happened today and I don’t know how to explain it to her.

“Is that why you were so late, momma?”

I look at her, and though I answer “yes,” I realize that I was late because I forgot to leave. I was doing “important” things; I want to explain. Being a Marine is not something I do; it is who I am, who I have been, and who I will always be. I want to tell her that I had to be there, because they needed me.

“Yes.” I say again while watching the sadness unfold before me. Thousands are dead. They just went to work. And the Pentagon – we are a target even at home now. I look at her again. My children are not safe.

“Why did they do that?”

I tell her that I don’t really know why; there are just some bad people in the world.

“I love you momma.” As she hugs me, I find emotions I sometimes forget I possess. As the cleansing begins, understanding comes slowly.

Being a mother is not just something I do; it is who I am, who I should have been, and who I always want to be. They need me.

Mornings After

Yesterday, the great eagle screamed and the clock stopped. I didn’t know it could – but it did. The hands of time are moving again, but now I hear the slow, steady tick tock of each moment.

I hear my children sleeping. I listen to them for several minutes before I wake them. I see them through changed eyes in the morning light.

On the way to work, I listen to the news, but then I turn it off and just listen to the sound of my breathing. I see the burnt orange, yellow, and red leaves in the trees. I see the way the sun shimmers through them. I think of the fire, the people falling from the sky. I taste the salt of my tears. I roll down the windows and listen to the birds. With red eyes, I try to smile at the driver next to me. I think she’s trying too.

I look in the rear view mirror. New eyes stare back at me.

Traffic is stopped for two miles off base. It will take more than an hour to get to the gate. I really don’t care.

I have time.

Home