Chapter 2

September 09, 2001

Waking up in the morning to this feeling of imminent sickness, churning stomach, scratching itching throat, and millions of butterflies fluttering back in forth in the pit of my stomach is not the way one should hope to wake the day before the most important day of their life. I have had that dream over and over for more than a month, but the face never materialized until this morning. I do not know what it means and I am not superstitious; however, the dream does have me thinking now.

There are a million and one things to do on my final day at home and possibly a billion thoughts going through my head. Though I have served in the military and as a deputy sheriff, I have never taken on something like this before. I have so much to do before I leave and not very much time to do anything.

First thing is first, breakfast with the family. My mother as always has fixed a nice fat-packed breakfast consisting of bacon, eggs, biscuits—homemade of course—orange juice, milk, and pancakes. I do love breakfast.

Of course, my wife and children are here in the kitchen sitting patiently waiting for a wonderful breakfast. Okay, maybe I am painting the wrong picture of our family. My kids were fighting like cats and dogs. I mean my children were only five and two years of age, so you cannot expect them to actually see eye to eye. Hell, my two-year-old couldn’t really even talk yet. She could scream and cry very well though. I mean, had there been a contest for the world’s loudest scream, in which the winner took home a scream award, I do believe that my daughter could have been world champion.

My son, who was five years of age, was not so much a whiner as he was a troublemaker. Don’t get me wrong, I love both of my children; however, they both have their good and bad points like any other person. If there was something for my son to get in to, then you could count on my son to find it and exploit it. He was just very adventurous, and his adventures usually led to messes for me to clean up.

My mother was very displeased with my choice in careers, and she did make her point of view very well known.

“I don’t understand why you don’t just stay here and continue to work for the Sheriff’s Office,” my mother stated.

“Well, Mom, I really don’t relish the idea of being broke the rest of my life. Besides, Jenni and the kids deserve a real home,” I responded.

“Well, eventually you will make decent money here.”

“Nothing like what I can make with the Highway Patrol, plus I want to work for the best.”

“I guess you have already made up your mind then, huh?”

“Yes, ma’am, I have.”

Usually she doesn’t drop the subject so fast, but I was glad she did. I didn’t really want to argue on this particular morning. I love my mother, but she is very hardheaded and is of the belief that family belongs within ten feet of each other at all times. She does not mean this in a malicious, controlling manner. I of all people know this, but it is very annoying, nonetheless.

My wife didn’t say much on this fine morning, and my father was way too supportive. I think he was just ready for the day to be over with. We were a lot like the Bunkers off the TV show All in the Family. My being Archie Bunker and my mother being Edith. They love each other, but they do tend to bicker back and forth at times. This morning their conversation went something like this,

“Randy, would you come help me in the kitchen?”

“Um, let’s see…Oh yeah, no.”

“Quit being an ass.”

“Janet, you don’t want to start with me, woman.”

“Whatever.”

Of course, me being the smart ass that I am, I just have to add my sarcasm by saying, “Okay, you two quit your bitching and play nice.”

Mom responds with, “Shut up, smartass.”

My dad just laughed, of course.

Breakfast was, overall, wonderful and we had a great morning. We talked about what I had to do during the day, and what we were going to have for dinner. I explained that I had to run to the Sheriff’s Office and turn in my resignation paperwork and gear. Then I would be home all day packing and hanging out.

After breakfast, I went back into the bedroom and searched for my duffle bag. After discovering my duffle bag in the black hole, known as under the bed, I began packing my uniforms, firearms, and other gear that had been issued by the Sheriff’s Office. I shoved all of my gear into the duffle bag, said bye to everyone, threw the duffle bag in the backseat of my little four-door Honda SUV, and set off to the Sheriff’s Office.

After fighting traffic for somewhere in the neighborhood of forty-five minutes, I finally made the right turn onto west Leonard Street in Pensacola. I made a left into the parking lot of the Sheriff’s Office and found a parking space in the rear of the visitors’ parking lot. I walked through the front entrance of the Sheriff’s Office that consisted of glass double doors inlaid within brick walls. I walked down a long hallway and turned to my right. There in front of me was a doorway with a large label on it that read “Human Resources.” To the left of that door there was a room marked with a sign that read “Equipment Room.” I went up to the open door of the equipment room and asked to see the clerk.

I was greeted by a short stocky fellow, adorned in the typical green uniform, complete with the sheriff’s badge. The name on his name tag read Williams. He had short black hair and had the personality of a modern day scrooge.

“What do you want?” he asked

“Hey, what a coincidence. My name is Williams too.”

“So do you want a cookie or something?”

“Bad day, huh?”

“Again, what do you want?”

“I just need to turn in my gear and then I’ll be out of your hair.”

“Fine, empty the duffle bag on the counter over there.”

The stocky deputy pointed to a large gray table sitting in the far corner of the equipment room, just past the shelves holding the riot shields.

I walked over and took the gear out of my duffle bag. I placed each item on the table and stood by waiting for the deputy to come over. Deputy Williams had a large sheet of paper when he walked over to the table. It was a large checklist. After forty-five minutes or so, Deputy Williams finished the inventory, signed my check-off sheet and walked me over to the Human Resources Office. After another hour of signing paperwork, I walked out of the Escambia County Sheriff’s Office unemployed. I was both relieved and half scared to death, well more nervous than scared really. I had made changes in my life before, but this was a huge decision and not one to be taken lightly.

As I crossed the hundred yards or so of asphalt to get back to my car, a thousand thoughts went through my head. “Was I doing the right thing? How will my kids react? What happens if I fail? Am I being selfish?”

I pushed the thoughts from my mind and unlocked the driver’s door of my blue Honda CRV. I through my empty duffle bag into the passenger’s seat and sat down in the driver seat. I put the key in the ignition. The vehicle started immediately of course.

I pulled out of the parking lot on to west Leonard Street, heading back to 1135 Water Oaks Trail in Cantonment, Florida. It was a long drive through traffic.

I thought to myself, No wonder they need troopers, these fools drive like a blind man walks. Actually blind people walk much better.

I was sure that blind men could walk much better after watching some of these drivers. There must have been ten or twelve idiots on my drive home that almost caused stupid crashes because of their simple impatience. I watched cars cut each other off, run red lights, run stop signs, and give extremely rude gestures involving the use of certain fingers. Yes, my friends, it was a very interesting drive home in deed.

I finally pulled up into the driveway and killed the ignition. I sat in silence for a minute before exiting the car. I reflected on everything that has gone on in my life and the things that lay ahead. I finally got out of the vehicle and closed the driver’s door. I started to walk up the driveway and realized that morning had transformed, before my eyes, into early afternoon. As soon as I walked in the door, I was met by my wife, Jenni.

“How did things go?” she asked.

“Okay I guess. Just a lot of paperwork to sign and all the good-byes. You know how that goes.”

“So what’s next on the agenda?” she asked.

“Well I have to go pack and then I figured I would just hang out for the day.”

“Okay, sounds like a plan I guess.”

I walked through the living room and into the kitchen where my mom was sitting at the dining room table. My father must have been out on his daily walk because he wasn’t in his recliner. I told my mother hello and then proceeded to walk down the hall to my bedroom. Once in my room, I began searching for a large manila envelope that had been sent to me by the Florida Highway Patrol. I searched on the bed, on the dresser, the closet shelf, closet floor, and pretty much everywhere else I could think of. I went through the room much the same way that you would expect Haratio Caine, from CSI, would dissect a crime scene. I eventually discovered the long lost envelope under the dresser. Apparently, it had fallen off the dresser and slid under the edge of the same dresser.

I plucked the envelope from under the dresser, opened the top flap, and removed its contents. I ruffled through the pages until I found the one sheet that I had been looking for. I removed the single sheet of paper, across the top were the words “recruit supply list.” I placed the other forms back within the sleeve from which I had removed them from. I placed the envelope on the bed and placed the checklist on top of that. I went to the closet and pulled out my red-and-black suitcase. I went methodically down the list gathering the supplies I would need for my little adventure.

The list contained everything that you could possibly need for any type of quest. These supplies consisted of a toothbrush, toothpaste, soap, shampoo, T-shirts, shoes, uniforms, and other such items. I began by gathering all of my toiletries. These would be essential for cleanliness. I mean you don’t want to go around smelling like a sewage plant.

Next I gathered seven white T-shirts. The T-shirts serve a dual purpose. Firstly, you wear the shirts underneath your bulletproof vest or your uniform to keep the skin from breaking out in heat bumps or a heat rash. The shirts also keep sweat from bleeding through onto the uniforms. You don’t want to be out on a hot day and have salt water puddles form under your arms and on your lower back.

Lastly I gathered my uniforms, all five of them. My uniforms consisted of five pair of black pants and five beige short-sleeve button-up colored shirts, which were purchased from a local uniform store in Pensacola, Florida. I unfortunately cannot remember the name of the company, but I do remember it was what I refer to as a mom-and-pop shop or shop that is locally owned. The shop also tailored the uniforms to fit, as well as sewing on the patches supplied by the Training Academy. Also completing my ensemble was a tan canvas belt complete with brass belt buckle. The uniform was, with the exception of the color, a perfect copy of a military uniform. The uniform was simply not that damn comfortable to be honest, but it sure looked cool.

As I attempted to pack everything, I noticed simply that my black-and-red suitcase was too small so I switched up my method. I ruffled through my belongings and found my blue heavy-duty duffle bag with a very large United States Air Force emblem on both sides. After some rearranging, all of my gear fit very nicely and very snuggly in the duffle bag. It probably only took me two hours to actually pack, but it felt like I completely wasted the entire day.

My stomach still hadn’t settled down, and I think that I spent more time running back and forth to the bathroom than I did actually packing my luggage. Of course that’s simply a guess, but either way the constant interruptions by my stomach were a bit annoying. Anyhow at least I accomplished that feat.

Now on to the most difficult task. I have to sit down and to explain to my two wonderful children that I have to go away for six months and I will only see them some weekends. Seth and Alyssa are only five and two respectively, so only one would really care anyway, but I think it was going to hurt me more than it hurt either of them.

How do you explain to your children, who are really too young to understand, that you are going away to fulfill a dream and you won’t see them for a while? You can’t really prepare youngsters for something like that. Hell, it’s hard enough to prepare yourself mentally for something like that. With that being said, I sat my five-year-old down and explained that I had to go away for my job and that I would be gone for a while.

Of course he said, “But, Daddy, you are already a policeman.”

I followed with,” I know but Daddy wants to be a better policeman and learn to protect people better.”

I expected a bit more of an objection or some crying. I mean I prepared for that, what I didn’t prepare for was what he said next.

My son said, “Whatever,” and then he ran off to play.

I mean seriously all I got was “whatever.” I dreaded having this talk for a week and all I got was “whatever.” Talk about floored, but then again he was only five. With that talk out of the way, I made a few calls and then decided to play with the kids for the rest of the day.

I know, I know, real exciting stuff. I guess life can’t be action packed all of the time, right?

I spent the afternoon relaxing and playing with the kids, all the while I was trying to mentally prepare for what was to come. I just want you to know that what I thought and what was reality were very different as you will see later.

I kept thinking of how early I would have to get up in the morning and how long the drive to Tallahassee, Florida, would be. I thought about the separation and how my wife, Jennifer, and I would handle the stress. I hadn’t really thought about much, but she was going to be acting as mother and father while I was gone. She would be everything. Sure I was going to have my hands full with training, but she was going to be in over her head, I feared.

“Dinner is ready,” my wife called out. I walked into the kitchen and saw a wonderful southern meal prepared by my mother. Roast, mashed potatoes with gravy, green bean casserole, sweet tea, and pecan pie for dessert. It was a wonderful meal with the family. We laughed and spoke about the next day’s events. We finished and my mother and Jenni cleaned off the table. Then my wife washed the dishes and put everything away.

After dinner, I tucked the kids into bed and read them a bedtime story, and as per the routine, I ended up falling asleep long before my children.

I remember waking up to my wife saying something to the effect of, “What in the hell are you doing? The kids are supposed to be asleep not you.”

“Sorry, I must have fallen asleep. It has been a long day,” I said as I wiped the sleep from my eyes.

“Well get up and look at the wonderful mess your son made because his father couldn’t stay awake.”

“My bad, I forgot that I am not allowed to be tired,” I retorted.

“Don’t be an ass,” she said.

I’m just going to say this, when you send Daddy to read to the children and Daddy and the kids pile up in the bed with one child on each side of Daddy and the bed is so comfy, you cannot expect Dad to just read the damn book and not fall asleep himself. This is a natural reaction to Dad laying his head on a pillow. His eyes close, it’s life. It is also natural that two children, one a toddler and the second a little devil, decide to play and destroy Dad’s room—oh yes and get into the bag that he just packed for his trip. Needless to say, not only did I get yelled at by my wife, but I had to wash my uniforms because I had shaving cream mixed with toothpaste smeared on them. At least the concoction was smeared in the shape of some kind of animal that I could never quite figure out.

After getting the kids to sleep and starting the wash, I was finally able to sit down to watch a little television and hang out with my wife, my mom, and dad. The evening was for all intents and purposes very uneventful. We watched the Simpsons and Home Improvement, while winding down from the day’s activities.

After finishing the wash, I hung my clothes, a dark gray pin striped suit with a long sleeve light blue collared shirt and gray and blue tie out on the bedroom doorknob.

I changed into a pair of boxers and a T-shirt and climbed into bed. The quiet was terrible. I just laid there staring at the ceiling, counting the specs of popcorn texturing plastered to the ceiling. The room was dark except for a thin column of light, from a light pole outside on the road, peeking in through the corner of the blinds in the lone window. It wasn’t much illumination, but it was just enough to see the popcorn-encrusted ceiling.

My wife, who was lying next to me, had already dozed off long ago. Other things that may have transpired between the time we got in bed and the time I began staring at the ceiling will not be discussed. Some things are just not open for discussion, sorry.

So I lay in bed listening to my wife sleep while I count popcorn on the ceiling and eventually I fall off into dream land. Of course, I wasn’t in dream land long.