Navy days

 The ship was quiet as she sailed into the vastness of a destination unknown. Most of the crew were asleep except for those standing watch like me, walking back and forth countless times, stopping only long enough to light a smoke, then continuing until relieved by a sleepy-eyed sailor whose name I didn't know yet. I walked down a narrow passageway, the sounds of the engine keeping the beat of my boon dockers still not worn in like the others, but I was the new kid on board, and my new clothes stuck out.

I made it to my bunk as snoring and sleep talking was like a symphony, as the smell of unwashed feet made me gag with my hand over my mouth. I had the worst bunk on the entire ship again; the new kid gets screwed. With inches on either side, you had to sleep very still or roll out onto the deck, probably hitting the guy below you who woke up, warning you it better not happen again.

Lying there listening to the sounds of a Navy warship cutting through the waves brought with it needed sleep that seemed to end way too soon as you were awakened by a commotion a few bunks away. Four sailors had grabbed a hold of a guy and dragged him into the shower area, where they used scrub brushes and soap to wash the stink away. I heard him crying later in the night, but hopefully, he learned a lesson about living in close quarters. I know I learned.

With only two hours before my kitchen duties, I lay there listening to music through my earphones to try and remember where I was when a particular song came out, bringing back memories of parties and road trips with my friends, some of whom have already written me letters I read over and over again.

Two cups of wake-up juice (coffee), and I reported to the mess hall chief, who didn't speak, just pointed to a vast amount of potatoes that needed to be peeled. I wasn't fast enough, he said, told me a lot of sailors would be pissed off if they didn't get their hash browns to go with their eggs. I managed to peel every potato with just three wounds that I thought needed stitches, but the chief told me to tape them and move on. My next task was to wash all the pots and pans, dry them, and put them where they were secure from sudden rolls of the ship. With that completed, I went topside for a smoke that didn't last as the chief called me back to begin preparations for lunch. One hundred fifty sandwiches had to be made, each one with a bag of chips and an apple. I felt like I was back in school, but I dove in, slapping ham or turkey onto slices of bread with lettuce and a slice of tomato when we could get them. Once completed, I was told to make fifty gallons of bug juice that consisted of powdered fruit juice and way too much sugar. When lunch was over and all the dishes were washed, I got a thirty-minute break, which I took, falling asleep on deck exhausted from the morning's work.

I awoke to being kicked and looked up to see the chief telling me I was fifteen minutes late and to get my new kid ass back to the gally and start cutting the ends off a thousand green beans. Who does that? Dinner was the big meal of the day with some meat, mashed potatoes, and a choice of biscuits or bread and butter. For dessert, an assortment of pies or cookies. Tomorrow it would be something different, as well as the days that followed, when the chief got creative and mixed up leftovers, turning them into sloppy joes one night and turkey pot pie the next. After a while, you'd know what was being served on what day, so you could eat or go to the vending machines scattered about the ship and dine on peanut butter crackers or an assortment of candy bars and cream-filled cupcakes.

After my ninety days of mess hall duty, I was assigned to the position I had gone to Navy school for as a signalman. There were five of us led by a first-class lifer who took me under his wing and taught me everything I needed to make him proud. I had to master the various flags, all with a meaning and an order in which they were displayed. I also spent hours and hours perfecting my Morse code to be used with the signal lights to communicate with other ships close by.

Weeks turned to months and months to years as I was no longer the new kid but rather a faded jeans, polished boondockers, and bleached out shirts kind of sailor. The signal gang we were known as became best friends, going ashore in many different ports to drink a lot, and if brave enough, a trip to a horror house, which sometimes required a shot of antibiotics from the ship's doctor.

We weathered Nor'easters with sixty-foot waves and seas as calm as a sea could be. We saw places like Greece, Spain, Italy, France, Tunisia, Portugal, South Africa, Pakistan, and more. My favorite was Gibraltar at Christmas time with a thousand colored lights on every building.

Four years flew past me, and I was discharged back into civilian life, where I learned another trade in roofing and siding, a job I loved even in the coldest of weather. But my wanderlust caught up to me as I packed up a truck and drove thousands of miles away to the ocean I grew to love. I would walk miles on golden sand listening to the call of the mermaids, beckoning me to come to them. I'd fall to sleep under a palm tree, smelling the salty air and wishing I had signed up for more years in the Navy. Then, feeling a gentle kick, I awoke to my wife telling me the kids were hungry for my cooking, and with a smile as large as a navy warship, I headed for the gally to peel some potatoes.

Mike 2025