49
The
One
Time
He
Was
Ever
Early
This
bastard
died
too
soon.
I
thought
that
to
myself
wearing
my
Navy
dress
blues
at
his
funeral,
only
a
few
hours
from
going
underway.
As
the
pastor
talked
about
this
man’s
brief
life,
the
memories
slid
through
my
mind
with
a
new
image
every
time
I
blinked.
He
slept
through
training,
tried
to
sneak
onboard
as
we
mustered
topside
for
quarters,
and
tirelessly
bartered
for
weekday
duty
days
so
his
weekends
were
free.
I
wanted
him
to
awaken
from
that
coffin
and
perk
up
like
when
we
shouted
“Thomas,
wake
up”
during
reactor
startup
and
drill
briefs.
He
rarely
wore
that
crackerjack
uniform
they
dressed
him
in,
covering
the
metallic
smile
that
infected
everyone
with
his
adolescent
chuckles.
He
helped
me
not
go
insane
as
thousands
of
ocean
miles
separated
my
family.
He
never
took
sea
life
seriously;
duty
came
first,
but
the
job
remained
a
stepping
stone,
not
the
destination.
His
ideas
about
post-‐service
were
optimistic
and
warming
from
the
chill
of
the
seawater
air
that
hit
most
nights.
I
was
his
senior
in
age,
but
he
was
my
superior
in
rank
and
perspective.
I
carried
him
out
to
the
hearse
when
the
procession
ended,
and
I
couldn’t
shed
tears
when
the
bells
tolled