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Ronnie had taught me how complicated life can be. That was good, because my life got more complicated.
It wasn't that birthday kiss. Not really. At least I don't think it was the kiss. I had been looking forward to going off to college. I had an acceptance letter from K-State. I had been accepted into the engineering program. It was a five year program, so maybe that's part of what complicated things. And I had been looking forward to the girls at college. Except I was pretty sure that none of them could compete with Ronnie.
Not that she was mine or anything. But she liked me. That much was clear. We had never talked about this new ... thing ... there was, that we seemed to reach out and touch, now and then. We hardly ever touched it at the same time. Just twice, in fact, had we done that.
But it was there, and it made it hard for me to imagine some girl at college being able to top.
So maybe it was the kiss.
All I know is that I went to Manhattan, Kansas, where the university was. And I walked around and looked at things. And it was great, and all. There were lots of trees and the buildings were made of limestone blocks that looked a hundred years old. The town was nice too, and there were interesting people walking around campus.
So I have no idea why, when I was walking past this little strip mall and saw the sign that said, "Armed Forces Recruiting Center" that I turned off the sidewalk and went in.
Maybe it was this image I had of myself as that White Knight. Or maybe it was the fact that my dad had been in the Army. Being a kid, I hadn't paid any attention to what he actually did in the Army, but maybe it was the influence of his past.
The guys inside were nice. They weren't pushy. They had coffee and donuts, and there were posters all around. One of them had this guy hanging from a parachute. He had what looked like two hundred pounds of gear hanging off of him, including a dog strapped across his chest, wearing a muzzle.
"You ever thought about jumping out of an airplane?" asked a guy in a dark green uniform.
"Not once," I said, staring at the picture.
"Can't be beat," he said.
I looked at him. "You've done that?"
"Not with the K-9," he said. "But I have twenty-five jumps."
I looked him up and down. He didn't look crippled. I figured if you parachuted out of an airplane twenty-five times, you just had to come to grief during at least one of them. He seemed to know what I was thinking.
"You're trained to do it right," he said. "There's nothing like it. It's a sense of freedom you can't get any other way, especially if you do a HALO jump. That's high altitude, low opening." He grinned. "I recommend it."
"So why aren't you doing it now?" I asked.
He tossed a hand. "If you do a recruiting tour, it helps you get promoted," he said. "I'm a lifer. I've got nine years in, and I'm staying as long as they'll let me. So promotions are good."
"What about the war?" I asked.
His face went hard for a second, but then relaxed again. "I won't lie to you. It's part of the package. Especially if you go Airborne. At least for the next few years. If we really do pull out of Afghanistan, then maybe not, but I won't try to con you about that. Airborne isn't for the faint-hearted. They'll make a man of you, or kill you trying."
He suddenly looked shocked, and I suspected the words, "kill you" weren't supposed to be in his normal spiel. But there was something about him that seemed solid and calm and ... I don't know ... competent, maybe?
All I know is, that I said, "So what do I have to do to see if that could be me?" I pointed at the poster.
"Got time to take a little test?" he asked.
I didn't tell my parents about that conversation, or the fact that I had taken the test, which wasn't so little. It had taken me almost an hour to complete. And when he graded that, he said it looked really good, but before he could make any promises there would need to be another one, administered in Kansas City, but that they'd take me there in a van.
So why didn't I tell them? I don't know. Especially as it applied to my father. I mean he'd already done this thing I was thinking about doing. His advice would have been the best I could get. But somehow, I just knew he ... they ... wouldn't take it seriously. They'd just say "No! You're going to college, and that's final!"
So, instead, I told my parents I needed to go back to the college to talk to a counselor, and that it would take me all day. I didn't tell them it was really to determine whether or not I was going to join the Army.
I didn't tell Ronnie either.
That was complicated too. I still had this lingering fantasy about her. The kisses had fueled that. But the fact that there were no more kisses, told me it was just a fantasy. I wasn't going to come riding home some day and have her fall into my arms, moaning, "Take me now!" and stuff like that. It was go off to Manhattan for five years, and keep my nose to the grindstone, or maybe go off and see the world, and have the kind of weaponry that could blast that grindstone to smithereens.
Still, I didn't have to be a genius to know that none of them ... not my folks, and not Ronnie ... would be excited about the opportunities the Army might be willing to offer me.
And I could still go to college after I tried it out.
Staff Sergeant Withers, my recruiter, had been more honest with me than was usual, as I was to find out later. And that was evident after I took that test in Kansas City.
"You have an open ticket," he said. "You can do anything you want. Your test scores are up there."
"So what does that mean?"
He pulled out a book and opened it. It was page after page of specialties they have in the Army. Each one had a letter and number designation. Like one of them was 51C, which was followed by the words: "AL&T Contracting NCOs will be assigned to the Army Sustainment Command (ASC)—formerly the Army Field Support Command—at Rock Island Arsenal, Illinois."
Some of them made even less sense than that.
I looked over at that poster again.
"What's that one?" I asked.
"Well, that's complicated," he said.
I smiled, but didn't tell him why.
"There are sub specialties within the Military Occupational Specialties. That guy might be an MP dog handler, which means his MOS started out as 95 Bravo, but then he went into the 31 series, which is dog handler. But you can have guard dogs, and bomb dogs and patrol dogs, all of which are different sub specialties. He could be an Eleven Bush with a patrol dog. Or he could be a bomb disposal tech. And he went to jump school, which throws more things into the mix. To get where he is in that picture would take at least five or six years, unless you did absolutely everything right and caught all the breaks."
"So you're saying it's not a sure thing," I said.
"Anybody who says it is, is blowing smoke up your ass," he said.
"How about just the paratrooper part?" I asked.
"That's a lot more possible," he said. "If you go infantry, it will be offered to you routinely."
"Infantry," I said.
"Not sexy," he admitted. "But if you like being out in nature, and you like a challenge, I can guarantee you'll get plenty of both."
And ... like the idiot both parents and Ronnie would later pronounce me ... I signed up for the infantry.
My dad was speechless. He was also upset.
"Infantry?!" he said, like he was pronouncing my doom. "You let them put you in the fucking infantry?"
I had never heard my father curse. Not once. I would later realize he had the full vocabulary every soldier has. He just didn't use it. He had left that life behind, when he started a new one. That's when I found out he had been in Army Intelligence, and had one of those super top secret if-I-tell-what-I-did-I'll-have-to-kill-you jobs. But it was too late. I had already taken the oath, and even if I'd have wanted to quit, he wouldn't have let me.
My Army experience is worth a whole book. Maybe I'll write that some day. But you get the Readers Digest Condensed Version, because it was only preparation for the rest of my life.
I got yelled at before I left by more than my dad, of course. My mom cried too. I think Dad had something to do with helping her adjust, because on the day I actually left she hugged me and gave me a completely fake smile and said "Have fun!".
I also got a third kiss from Ronnie. And it was a very important kiss, because she gave it to me right in front of my parents. It was as I was boarding the shuttle that would take me to the airport on my first leg of the flight to basic training.
I had already been hugged by my mother, who still had that fake smile on her face. I could tell she was trying not to cry. And my dad had shaken my hand and solemnly wished me good luck.
Then Ronnie stepped forward and wrapped her arms around me and laid a nice one on me that made my knees a little weak. She didn't grind her body against mine, or anything like that. It was just a good, long fifteen second kiss, that was a complete surprise to my parents.
When she pulled her lips away, she said, "If you get yourself killed, I'll never forgive you!"
"Well, then, I won't," I managed to say.
And then she gave me a second kiss, and there was a little tongue with that one.
When it was over, I glanced at my folks, who were both standing there with their mouths open. My dad closed his, and he got this glint in his eye that told me if I didn't leave right quick he was going to say, "I knew it!" And since I didn't want him to say that just then, I said, "I'll be careful" and jumped in the van. Thankfully, the guy was already late, and took off fast.
It was my first airplane flight, and it was fun. I couldn't imagine jumping out, looking down at the patchwork of green and brown and the little lines that were roads, and the little glints that was the sun glancing off of windshields. It looked a long way down.
Basic wasn't that bad. I think that's because I was already in better shape than a lot of the other guys, who had played more video games than I had, and eaten worse than my mom, the nurse, allowed us to eat.
Being in the infantry was boring, mostly. All you did was train over and over to do the same things, and clean the same equipment, and stand the same inspections.
There was one thing that made life less boring. I had written to both my folks and Ronnie on a pretty regular basis. About all I had to talk about was my training, which I didn't figure would be very interesting to those back home. So I told the folks I missed them, and I told Ronnie I missed her too. I might have waxed a little poetic about those kisses too.
And one day I got a letter from her, which caught some attention from the guy in the mail room, because it was perfumed. It had no return address on it, and there were only two things inside. One was a little slip of paper that said, "Better late than never. Wish you were here." The other was a four by six photograph of Ronnie, holding a camera, taking a picture of herself in a full length mirror.
Naked.
It brought back some memories of the time when this type of photo had been my favorite. And the reason I had lost interest in those self-portraits, was the reason this one electrified me. I knew how difficult it had been for her to take this picture, and print it on her printer, and then send it to me. The faith she had in me was something I'd never forget.
I must have stared at that picture for an hour or more. Her body was different than the ones I had found online. Those had been taken before she had Timmy. Actually, they were taken as she was being impregnated with Timmy. She had been in cheerleader shape back then. Now, her breasts were heavier, and larger. Her hips were wider. But her waist was still small, and her legs were still long and shapely. She had taken her hair down, and it was a mass around her face, lying on her shoulders. Her nipples were dark brown and erect. And her pussy was still bald, with a deep cleft that was a magnet to the eyes.
The problem was I was in a barracks room, and I had a roommate. So while I got to look at that picture until I was afraid my eyeballs would wear it out, I didn't get to do much to deal with what it caused.
Uma
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