The Midwatch
Hiding From Grief
My first best friend after joining the Coast Guard was a guy named Matt. I’m not quite sure why I loved him so dearly; we were all assholes to each other. He was from Oklahoma, which I consider a bonus because he had a fun accent and that’s also where Steve Gaines is from.1 I do have a suspicion that I needed anyone to tell me I was worth anything, and as mean as Matt could be, he did show me affection in all the socially acceptable ways for a late-90s military member to show affection towards another man.
Matt eventually transferred. He was off to his specialty school in Virginia. I couldn’t google it back then, but I could sense that Norfolk is about 3,004 miles away from Sitka. In my soul, I knew I was likely never to see Matt again. (I still haven’t.)
On his last night, our loving group of assholes gathered at my house to drink, play video games, and reminisce about drinking and playing video games. Matt’s drink of choice was always Jack, and to this day I can picture him on my couch with a fifth hanging between his manspread legs, probably trying to tell me how much Madden 64 sucked or how using the radar in Goldeneye is for pussies.
My night with Matt came to a close when one of the officers drove over to pick him up. They were off to the bars, and I was not quite 21. Once he was out the door I felt nothing but emptiness. I hid away to my bedroom and sobbed hard. I could not fathom being at work without him. I did not understand how I would function on our next trip without seeing him wandering around in his dirty coveralls with a dip in his mouth.
Our next trip did come, and our slightly smaller friend group mourned our loss. It was unusual for us to show sadness around each other. Generally we covered that shit up with kicks to the shin or teasing people about their lack of sexual prowess. I’m not proud. Matt’s departure was different. We moped around until one of us (I think it was Jim) said we should just pretend he had the midwatch last night.
The midwatch took care of the boat between midnight and 4am.2 Anyone standing a midwatch was entitled a meal to replace breakfast known as midrats, and they were allowed to sleep until 10am the next day (known as late racks).3 So every once in awhile I’d be looking for Jimco or Dave or Shaggy or Matt and be told, “They had the midwatch.” They’re in the rack. Don’t expect to see them for awhile.
Putting Matt in the indefinitely in the rack: it was the best way we could find to hide from the emptiness — just pretend it’s temporary.
At the age of 20 I never thought much about why it was I had an emptiness that needed to be filled by a human — especially a specific human. Actually, I also didn’t think much about that when I was 40, to be honest.
I’ve been sick since I got home from my Nassau trip. I’ve managed to sneak in some work hours, and yesterday got to see three old friends skating on the lake. I considered them great friends a few years ago, and now I’m lucky if I see them once a month. It’s a bit of fate and a bit of choice that separated us. Our decades long roller hockey club was booted from our gym, and without the weekly excuse, I feel like the only reason we would get together is a drinking occasion. And I don’t drink.
When I run into them, or see them on the lake without me, I do get sad, but it’s not the emptiness of old. There’s no cavernous ache. Instead, I feel overwhelmed with loving memories. It feels healthy, and it’s likely that because these folks were generally the opposite of Asshole to me. They’re caring and accepting even though two of them are the dudliest dudes I’ve ever met.
I’ve had a lot to process this week. I feel a good kind of full in my heart. We did some fulfilling work with Great Shape! Inc., and I feel like I have new people to get to know. To call friends. To see again.
But being congested is not the only thing making it tough to breathe. I’ve also missed some or all of each workday, and with it the coworkers I’ve recently bonded with. And it’s always easy to feel sorry for myself when my body is this uncomfortable. It feels like I’m watching the grief of goodbyes and a hint of loneliness tumble together towards a chasm of emptiness.
Unlike when I was younger, I’m spending a lot of time observing these feelings instead of trying to hide from them. I’ve done some hiding, but I only have so much energy for cleaning the house, or reading a book, or playing a game. None of this is comfortable, but I do feel a lot more hope than emptiness, and that’s something, right?
I have no idea if I would have liked Steve Gaines, but his guitar playing turned Lynyrd Skynyrd’s Street Survivors into an incredible album that made me want to grow up to play a Les Paul. I did, eventually, get a Les Paul, but I still suck at guitar and Steve died in a plane crash before the album’s release and look at you reading all the way through this footnote!
Matt was in deck department, so his watches were on the flying bridge (outside, on the highest deck) providing the lookout, or steering the boat from the bridge as the helmsman. Jim was in engineering, so his watches centered around the engine and motor rooms.
The end of late racks was one of my favorite moments of each day on the boat. Most days I would have just put out fresh soup for the crew. Over the loudspeaker (known as the 1MC), we’d hear, “Now 1000, knock off ship’s work, coffee break for the crew. Up up all late racks, reveille for the mid watch.” It marked my progress through the morning, earned me praise and sometimes bullying from the crew, and just sounded poetic to me.