I have the sinking feeling that this is as good as it is going
to get, that these days are the happiest I have seen or will
see for some time to come. There is the feeling of being
blessed, and of needing to remember every minute, every look,
every touch, just because all too soon it will all come to an
end.

In the end, it will not matter if I love him, if he loves me,
I will ship out to my C school and so will he. The Navy doesn't
care if we're happy together or not, the Navy will not let it
matter, and therefor it must not matter. Still, the
knowledge of our time limit is a knot in my stomach when we're
dancing, the sharp gnawing teeth of a starving animal when we're
lying in bed. None of this is a reason to even consider giving
him up. Why refuse to be happy now just because you know there
is hurting at the end of it?

And I am so happy now. Seeing him walk toward me in a crowded
place hits me like a fist to the breastbone, knocking the breath
from me with wonder that here he is, coming back to me again,
and before I can stop it there's a smile on my face again. My
friends tell me alternately that we make a perfect couple and
that we're disgustingly cute. It's not a bad way to be.

Is this love? It's such a weighted word, a spiky word, to be
circled around with great caution, like a cat trying to figure
out a cactus. He makes me so happy. I miss him if we don't
catch at least one meal together, and on duty days when I don't
see him all evening my day is considerably darker. Who would
have thought that at twenty-two I'd be so silly over an
eighteen year old who thinks that cowboy hats are a good
fashion statement to be making? Is this love? I believe that
it is. But it doesn't matter.


Table of Contents
Part Three: Me?

Extensions of Andrea's Consciousness
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