a surrender

I spent a good amount of time this past winter writing. And I think now it's in good enough shape to share. It's from my experiences over the past thirty years, many of them described here. So it's a true story. Some names have been changed. 

 
surrender

My legs felt unsteady as I approached the massive pier. I hesitated, breathing slowly, as if balancing on the edge of a cliff. Then I took a step. 

And another. Another. My steps were slow, but I felt like I was falling, faster and faster.

The ship that I thought I would never return to loomed beside me as I moved down the pier. And once again I was awed by its incredible size: three football fields long, and a football field wide. It towered over me. It was difficult to imagine the engineering and resources and years of labor that had produced this monstrous marvel of dull gray steel, a floating airport for eighty planes, driven by two nuclear power plants, and able to accommodate five thousand people. No matter what else I felt about it, I had to admit that it was an amazing human accomplishment.

As I reached the steps to the quarterdeck, I suddenly stopped, breathing heavily, gripped by panic. Was this the right thing? Did I really have to do it? The dark, terrifying moment in the monastery garden seemed so far away. So very far away, and long ago. But then the memory of that experience flooded me, washed over me. I took a step up. And another. Then I breathed a prayer and stepped onto the quarterdeck. The officer of the deck looked up, as well as the armed marine standing beside him. I stated my name and rank.

“I’m turning myself in,” I said. “I’ve been AWOL.”

Continued...