Last One Out Shut Off the Lights

by Stephanie Soileau

Miles from this beach, somewhere in the middle of that moving darkness, were men and women who lived their lives like Sarah’s father had, intermittently, two weeks on, two weeks off, napping on the couch or puttering in the house, yard, town for fourteen-day stretches, and just when the harder questions of living begged for answers, they were off again to the rigs, questions forgotten, decisions unmade. They were whisked away in helicopters to a place for which Sarah had no reference in her imagination. Not a trace there of family life, of children, no pictures or toys, no sentimental accumulations, the Gulf beneath and miles all around, reflecting only the rig, the night sky, and nothing of home.

I loved this -- I grew up in South Louisiana, with and among those men, to include my grandfather. It also reminds me of my own military career. Spending 4, 6, 12 months at a time in far off places, basically living 2 lives, one home & one away. Such a concise yet vivid description.

When the word married bobs to the surface like a drowned corpse, you feel like the world is upended and you will be shaken off. It’s gone over the cliff, whatever it was that sat between you, you kicked it over the cliff and you can hear it whistling all the way down until it hits the bottom in a little puff of dust.