Terry Paul Pearce

T e r r y  P a u l  P e a r c e   

    One Perfect Moment

People use the word perfect all the time, but whatever they’re describing, it ain’t this moment. You’re running towards me, my little baby girl launching herself into my arms, rocking her Daddy like a quarter-ton truck. In the middle of all those other homecoming grunts hugging their wives and kids, nobody’s hugging anybody tighter. Your Mom ain’t here and I ain’t surprised, but it was always you I was coming home for.

It’s exactly like that old photo from my first homecoming, the one kept me going. So many times I just sat there on my bunk, looking at it; at you, at that moment. Finish the day, finish the tour, she’s waiting for you. And all those times, I knew you were looking at it too. You know, all that ‘somewhere out there’ stuff. Other side of the world, same photo propped up beside your bed. I know you were worried all those times that Daddy wouldn’t make it home, but I told you I wouldn’t miss this for anything.

No, just keep holding me. It’s okay, your Daddy crying for happy. Just hold me tight so all these other grunts don’t see; my legs are jelly. Damn, this moment is perfect. Just too perfect. I’m trying to get my head round how perfect it is when that phrase starts to echo, and then I’m breaking away from you, trying to work out what’s wrong. I take a long look at you. You ain’t aged a bit since that photo. You’re wearing the same clothes; even the light’s the same, that glorious July beating down.

I open my eyes. The real world rips me from the other side of the rainbow and dumps me in this grubby apartment. Here I am, sheets half wrapped around one leg, sweat gluing my ear to the pillow, panting. I’m still looking at that scene, but it’s just the photo, where it always is, beside my bed. Your eyes aren’t looking at me, they’re looking at him, at that me from back then. I’ve never been so jealous of anyone. I want to shake him and tell him not to ever let you go, not to go any damn place, not to give up that moment for a second.

Damn, it ain’t fair. I kept my word. I made it through. I stepped out on that airfield again, looking for you. Sweeping for those blue, blue eyes, knowing you wouldn’t no-show, not for anything. When the sirens on the main road filtered through, there was nothing to connect them to you, no way for me to know what had happened, but I dropped my bags and started to run anyway. And only then I realised: I’d never even wondered if you’d make it, too.

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