| Love Hurts |
[Oct. 25th, 2005|06:59 am] |
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Love Hurts
Friday, 14 April 1995, Boston, Massachusetts: I was a rough, tough, burly sailor, straight from the decks of the USS Constellation CV-64, and our deployment to the always amusing waters between Iran and Iraq.
Several months earlier, prior to the deployment, I had returned to Boston from San Diego in order to attended my Nana’s funeral, during which I learned just how estranged I had become from my family. It had been several years, even decades, since I’d seen many of them. I had selected duty in Boston not to further my career. Rather I was hoping to reconnect with my family.
Having been in tactical environments for several years at that point I was well out of the dating game. I had not been kissed since Sunday, 25 October 1987 - you do the math, it just depresses me. Boston had women, including the office I was about to work in.
The first young woman I met when assigned to my new post was Roberta, an attractive, athletic, wiry blonde whom was prepped to run the Boston Marathon. She was also a US Army Sergeant, a linquist fluent in several languages. The first night we met, at a command function welcoming me aboard, Roberta referred to me as her "new, big brother."
Huh.
That night Roberta sprained her wrist. Everyone was amused I carried a bandana as a handkerchief I used, along with some ice, as an icepack for her. Susan, a tall, lean, and friendly woman, seemed particularly impressed by this gesture though it be mere common decency. Roberta was bright and friendly, but being a "big brother", I wasn’t going to venture into an "incestuous" relationship. I knew I'd been put in my place.
A few nights later, as I was moving my gear into the barracks when Roberta offered to help. She was my new neighbor, our doors only a few paces apart.
It was obvious to me that her offer was sincere. She seemed a little lonely actually. I suspect she really just wanted to chat, and spend some time with somebody - anybody. I could see that. I just didn’t have any patience for her that evening. She had already impressed me as something of a cock-tease and an attention whore. Aye, I’m sometimes judgmental like that.
You see Roberta had discarded my bandana. It was Susan whom found it, washed it, and returned it to me.
I didn’t need Roberta’s help.
A few nights later, I heard Roberta and our Lieutenant kissing outside her door. She seemed to be inviting him in after sharing a romantic harbor cruise. There are strict regulations in the military prohibiting fraternization, officer/enlisted relationships, and dating one’s subordinates, though rules and regulations are really only applied against us common grunts.
Roberta wanted to stay in Boston but was soon transferred to a base in Georgia. The Lieutenant was done with her.
I had a small barracks room to myself until Mark arrived. I liked Mark actually. So did Susan - they were soon dating as it turns out. Mark was a US Army Sergeant linguist, like Roberta. The other new linguist was a curvy young blonde, Edie.
One morning the Lieutenant and Edie walked through the front door to the office together, and our wise old Marine Corps Gunnery Sergeant swore. He was convinced they were dating, and that the Lieutenant seemed to have a fixation for blond, enlisted females.
Maybe.
Edie soon became my lunch-buddy. We were stationed at the Coast Guard base in Boston’s North End, which was still very much a close-knit Italian community. I often ate lunch somewhere close as I'd come to know the neighborhood well. Edie joined me every day, much to the apparent amusement of our office-mates.
One night as I was bunking down Mark asked about my "lunch dates" with Edie. I told him the truth: "We’re not dating - we’re just friends", I said.
"You know she’s dating the Lieutenant, right?" Mark asked.
That was news to me.
Over lunch the next day I asked Edie if she were dating the Lieutenant. She was incensed, and emphatically denied any such unprofessional behavior. Methinks the lady doth protested too much.
Late that night I drove out to the Lieutenant’s house. Edie’s car was parked in the driveway. I took my bandana, tore it in half, and tied one half around Edie’s car antenna. I wasn’t trying to be creepy, nor trying to communicate a threat. I thought they’d recognize my bandana. It had been the object of several office jests by then. I wanted to communicate to them that I knew of their relationship, and that I knew the whole "lunch-buddy" charade was camouflage at my not so unwitting expense.
I became rather insubordinate at work, especially when the "lunch-buddy" game continued. In fact the Lieutenant often privately insisted that I spend time with Edie. As I grew quieter the people around me grew talkative.
Huh.
Mark mishandled a classified document. He had been in the office one weekend and noticed an unsecured classified document. The document had carelessly been left out vice properly secured in a locked safe. Mark claimed he was unable to open the safe. He went to our room looking for my help, passing the gym where I was working out along the way. It’s odd that he didn’t notice me there as he knew my routine well. Failing to find me, Mark stuffed the document into his pocket and left the base. A few days later he called the office to speak with a workmate. He mentioned possessing the document. It’s not often I pull rank, though I recognized a problem here that Mark did not: I ordered him to return the document immediately, and I also informed the Lieutenant of the situation, as it was the Lieutenant who was ultimately responsible. The Lieutenant grabbed the phone, and also ordered Mark to return the document. This had nothing to do with my insubordination: in the wrong hands, the document Mark was treating so cavalierly could potentially end the lives of several contacts, as well as surely end a variety of intelligence collection missions. Instead of following orders Mark attended a two-hour meeting with Saddat, a lovely, raven-haired beauty whom had been heavily recruited by the former KGB prior to her coming to Boston.
An alphabet soup of government agencies wanted in on the investigation that soon devolved into a series of jurisdiction squabbles. Meanwhile Mark left for Kiev, Ukraine. Officially, that’s the last we heard of him. At least I'd again have a room to myself.
One day in August I was scheduled to leave for a five-week course in Fort Hauchuca, Arizona. The Lieutenant informed me that Roberta would be there too, and advised me to remain a "good big brother." He often claimed a woman could be no safer than to be at my side.
Huh.
As I left the office in order to pack, Edie wanted to say "Goodbye." I simply handed her the other half of my bandana. I guess several jaws hit the floor that day.
At Fort Hauchuca, Roberta swiftly extended her hand to greet me, obviously trying to avoid a hug. It was an unnecessary gesture, as we were both in uniform, and in a formal, professional environment.
I'd saved her a seat next to mine. In retrospect that might have been a mistake.
Roberta, an interrogator by trade, was soon grilling me for information regarding the Lieutenant and Edie. I felt no compulsion to protect their "secret" relationship.
That evening I took a telephone call from Edie. She seemed upset at first, though my steadiness seemed to calm her. Edie and the Lieutenant had thought her creepy stalker ex-boyfriend had left my bandana half. I wasn’t really interested in her explanations. I was surprised to learn that Roberta had already left over 40 messages on the Lieutenant and Edie’s answering machine despite sitting next to me in class all day. That would explain her frequent lavatory breaks. I thought she was having "woman-trouble."
I soon found ways of spending much less time with the suddenly chain-smoking, hard-drinking, Lieutenant-obsessed Roberta. In the end it fell upon me to do the merciful thing and tell her it was over. I resented being in that position.
I returned to Boston in September 1995. The Lieutenant manned up and joined me in the gym for a workout. We decided there were some things we could see eye-to-eye on after all. Soon Edie started to join us in the gym too, as did John.
John was a quiet family man, very bright, with a wicked sense of humor, a loving wife, and two adorable little daughters. He was devastated when he learned that his loving wife had been loving one of her colleagues for the past three years. She had been a proud, vivacious woman when I first met her. The last time I saw her, not so much. She'd betrayed her family.
John was hurt. Being Massachusetts, John lost custody of his little girls. John fell into a funk. John didn’t like being in a funk. His idea was to dance his way out.
That’s right: John decided to attend an Arthur Murray dance studio, and he decided he needed to take a friend with him - me.
This was ballroom dancing. It turned out to be fun. We meet nice people: hell, we met fun women! Martial arts kata is much like dancing, and I took to the lessons with apparent ease.
Our dance instructor, Olga, was talented and beautiful - and wise. She told John and I that the man must lead, in dance as in life, or everyone would stumble. That’s a bit out of context: to "lead" doesn’t mean to "boss around." To "lead" means to stay on rhythm, keep your partner safe, and let her dance. Olga also told us "the woman chooses the distance." In dancing as in life, too many boys crowd girls.
Armed with a formal blade I was a part of the sword arch at the Lieutenant and Edie’s wedding. They now have two sons. John remarried too, to the lovely Lisanne, and they’ve added two more daughters. Lisanne likes to cook. I like to visit. And me? No worries: I’ll dance again. |
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