Yesterday I had my first emergency of this deployment-- my first I-need-my-man, can't-handle-this-alone physical emergency, because we're not counting the kinds of emergencies that can be solved by a good cry and a pint of Ben and Jerry's (of which I've already had several since he left in June).
It all starts with the ridiculous 51-inch TV we bought together. Firstly, you should know that my apartment is 525 square feet. It's a studio design, with only two separate rooms-- the bathroom, and the kitchen/living room/bedroom. So, for lack of any other possible placement, this enormous TV is mounted on the wall, and the bottom of it hangs a solid foot above my head. You sort of have to crane your neck to look at it, and it encourages terrible couch posture, but it literally doesn't fit anywhere else, so there it hangs.
Anyways, I got the bright idea to hook the TV up to an antenna so that I could watch the Olympics (I'm not a believer in cable). Usually this is the kind of task Justin would be in charge of, along with all other tasks that involved electronics of any sort. Basically he is the electronics god. He has a magic way of making everything work that I will never understand, but greatly appreciate! But, alas, he is not here to magically make NBC appear on the TV. So, I decided to give it a try myself. Feeling independent, I did my research (a series of google searches starting with "How do I get local channel reception without cable?"), figured out which antenna I needed, marched up to Best Buy and purchased my $30 magic antenna, and started reading the "Easy Installation" instructions.
And in all honesty, the installation was pretty easy. I was feeling pretty darn proud of myself for accomplishing this task that would usually require my man's assistance, ALL BY MYSELF. But then, as I was tilting the TV back down from securing the antenna cable, the TV came off one of the the wall mounting brackets and one side scraped down the wall until it was hanging precariously at a 45-degree angle.
My first reaction was to rush to the sagging side and hold it upright, which I quickly realized wasn't going to last long. I tried to push it back up onto the bracket, but it wouldn't click in. Then the remaining bracket, now holding the weight of the whole TV with a little help from me, started CREAKING. That's when I started really freaking out. My arms were getting tired fast as I mentally ran through my options for help-- Jason, five hours away at training. Dad, one hour away at work. And, oh wait, those are the only two people who I know to come to my rescue! Standing there holding half the TV over my head with arms shaking, I started bawling and expecting the worst. It's only a matter of time before the TV falls off the wall and is ruined. What if I get squashed, maybe break a few bones, and have to go to the hospital? Who would even take me to the hospital? What if the TV took out a cat on it's way down? What if it bursts into flames? Why does this have to happen when Justin isn't here to save me? Goddamn it, if he was just here! Now I'm going to die by TV squashing!
This is usually my first response to stress-- I get dramatic.
Then, with arms shaking and tears falling, I started to make a plan. Clearly, I couldn't do anything until I let go of the TV. So, I gently lowered the sagging side back down to its precarious position and got out of the way real quick. More creaking, but no falling! I don't know much about proper procedure for TV free-falling, but I figured it would be less damaging if it wasn't plugged into electricity, so that was step one. Then, I herded our cats into the bathroom, to prevent any curious kittens getting squashed in the event that it let go of the wall. Then, I started frantically knocking on the doors of all my neighbors, none of which I know, and running around the apartment complex desperately looking for someone, anyone, who could help me.
It was two o'clock in the afternoon on a weekday, so naturally no one was home. I checked back at my apartment a couple times to make sure the TV was still attached to the wall, becoming more frantic with every passing minute. It took me about three minutes to find people, and the people I found were two leather-skinned men probably in their mid-thirties standing on the sidewalk outside my apartment complex. It turns out, one is a firefighter, the other is a cop, and they both live on the fourth floor of my building. So, through a stream of tears, I blubbered out a ramble of "I'm sorry. You don't know me. I need help. My TV is about to fall off the wall. Please. My boyfriend is usually here to fix these things, but he's being deployed. I'm so sorry to pull you randomly off the street. He's going to Afghanistan. I don't usually do this. I don't know what to do. I just know it's going to fall off the wall at any moment and squash a kitten." At least I had the sense to walk quickly while I rambled, so I was back at my apartment in no time, with hefty men in tow, who immediately assessed the situation, sprung to action, and had the TV securely back in its place before I had finished gasping through my life story.
They took my desperate and nearly incomprehensible chatter well. They didn't let on that they thought I was crazy woman, crying over a TV, although I'm sure they must have been thinking it. They even offered their apartment numbers in case I had another "emergency" and needed help. I'm not sure I ever got to telling them my name, although it's all kind of a blur of emotion.
Looking back, I feel pretty silly about how I reacted to my TV emergency. But as is usual for a military dependent of sorts, it's not always about the emergency. Although I was scared for my TV, and even a little scared for my well-being if it were to come loose on top of me, the impetus behind the tears was my feeling of helplessness in the absence of my hero.
The lives of those left behind during deployments are often overlooked and under-appreciated, but they are brave lives in their own right. Some days, holding down the fort means facing unforeseen dangers and being brave in the wake of difficulties; it means going it alone, or learning to swallow your pride and enlist the help of others. In that way, I guess, we are very similar to our soldiers-- brave, strong, independent, and resourceful.
