I miss Tommy so much. He left for his new post in December, and wouldn’t be back until July. If then. He is posted in the Black Sea, and the way things are going out there, I wouldn’t be surprised if they make him stay far longer than the original plan.
I understand the exigencies of military life of course. But I don’t understand why he had to sign up for it- we are not a military family, and he could have had a perfectly decent job at my brother’s garage. All my adult life, I feel, I have been tending to Tommy, caring for him, and now that he is gone, the aching looming hole in my life threatens to swallow me whole every day. And gone to such a dangerous place! Why did he have to do this, to us, to me?
He’s a good boy. He calls and texts as much as he can. He understands how hard it is for me.
“hey mom how ru doing?”
“Im good darling. Whats the weather like there? Can you swim in the sea at all?”
“haha ur funny mom”
I don’t understand- I wasn’t joking. I go to bed, numb with loneliness and the pain of missing and being worried for my son.
I dream I am stuck in traffic, and police cars are trying to get through. Their sirens are on at me- I am trying to pull aside, there are too many cars and I am stuck. The sirens are louder and louder and I can see the angry police officer’s face in his car, gesturing furiously at me to pull aside. I can’t- I wake up and the sirens are still going on, except it’s my phone and my son is calling me.
I accept his videocall, instantly awake.
The screen is blurry and static-y. I peer in the dark, my heart thumping loudly. Shadowy figures are moving. I hear a muffled scream but from the distance- more like a yelp- has he called me by mistake, at a time he shouldn’t have? I stare at the screen and suddenly his face comes into view- very white. “Tommy!” I gasp.
“Mom! Do what they say!” he whispers, he sounds like he’s crying. I look in closer at the fuzzy image of his face. “Don’t tell anyone. Please Mom.” The blurry quality of the image makes him look like when he was ten years old. The screen shakes and the call disconnects.
I try calling him back. He doesn’t pick up.
I text him. “Tommy? Whats happening? Pls text me”.
He doesn’t text back.
I lie back in bed. I think about telling someone. We have a number to call, for mental health support at any time of the day or night, but I don’t think this was about mental health. But maybe they would know where to call? As I am waiting for Tommy to text or call, I doze off.
I wake up to the ding of my cell.
“You are eligible for a refund of $150. To claim your refund NOW, click on this link below!”
Of course, ordinarily, I would have instantly deleted and not given it another thought. But Tom’s white scared face was still nailed firmly to the forefront of my mind- and I knew without a doubt this had something to do with him. I click without hesitation.
The instructions are very clear. I’ve followed far more confusing instructions in my day job as an Admin Assistant and Human Resources in a mid-size manufacturing company. I quickly copy and paste, enter the site, copy and paste some more, click on some rows of numbers, and in less than ten minutes, I’m done. My heart is beating fast, and I am panting as if I’d run a race.
Twenty minutes later Tommy texts.
-U claimed the refund Mom?
-yes son. Ru ok?
-yes Mom. Tks.
I fall back into a deep sleep.
I wake up hours later, refreshed. I check my phone, there are no notifications, nothing.
I get up, make myself coffee and switch on the TV.
The news shows explosions, and the red headline blares “FIGHTING INTENSIFIES”. The screen shakes with the images of explosions, clouds of grey erupting into the air. I remember the foggy screen from last night.
I videocall Tommy, and he answers, also looking fresh and well-rested. “Hey Mom! How is it going?”
I know better than to ask any questions – I just smile brightly and tell him about Aunt Claire and his cousins’ latest goings-on at the garage. He laughs uproariously, as if he had never heard anything so funny in his life.
“Ok mom I have to go. By the way, you delete all texts and your browser histories don’t you?”
I look at him. His face has slightly changed, he is still smiling but something about his eyes ignites the fear in me. For him- or of him? “Of course son, I don’t like clutter in my phone”
He nods approvingly “good good”. He doesn’t look ten years old anymore. We air-kiss goodbye. I start my day job. Click, copy-and-paste, click, rows of numbers, hours worked, sick leave, paid time off, click, row 55.
The highlighted row opens up another site- it’s one of the sites from last night, from my phone. Click, copy and paste, as if in a dream.
Claire calls me “hey hun, I’m having a spot of bother with this latest batch of invoices from garage. I’ve put them all in the book-keeping software but they don’t make sense. Can you have a look?”
Of course I can- I often help my brother and his wife with the book-keeping for their garage. I log in their account for on the software -I have actually set it up for them- and look at the invoices she is talking about. The row of figures look familiar- oh right- I get what I need to do. Add, point, click, copy and paste, excel formula, drag the row of numbers over, there we go.
At the end of the day I sink back into my couch. I had been so busy I had actually forgotten about Tommy for a while, though the worm of worry is still burrowing in my mind. There’s no more texts. But I don’t need anymore. I turn on the TV.
It’s almost a repeat of the morning - “FIGHTING INTENSIFIES’.