This is a true story, though I've changed the names and other details for obvious reasons. I admit that I am a horrible, untrustworthy person. I confess this. I share this story not to cleanse and absolve myself, but because I enjoyed it so much I want to relive it. If you enjoy reading it, then I'm happy to oblige. If you didn't enjoy it and think I'm an asshole, please tell me. I appreciate your honesty. I'm untrustworthy but I am honest.
~
"Holy shit, Heather looks great." I wasn't expecting anything but ya gotta understand: Heather usually doesn't look like this.
I was looking at one of my fellow soldiers: Heather Denneson, as she was walking up the steps to the bar. She was in tight jeans, a tight fitting black long-sleeve shirt, and her straight long blonde hair was down on her shoulders. This was the first time I'd seen her in civilian clothes. And it was the first time I'd seen her hair down.
Her small round face was graced with dimples, a few freckles, green eyes, and a dented chin. Her lips were a little thin and her curved nose was a little big for the rest of her face. In fact, in her duty uniform, with her hair up in a bun, she was as average looking as it got. The uniform doesn't exactly flatter the body. But tonight those jeans and that shirt were her best friends.
Heather was a country girl from southern Georgia, complete with the accent. She was country, but she was sharp. She'd joined the unit a couple years before so we knew each other quite well. But since it was just a reserve unit, we rarely saw each other. We didn't interact much outside of the Military. But she was just one of the guys. One of the belching, cussing, spitting, smoking, beer drinking guys. She was fun.
My reserve unit is about an hour from my house. I could go home each night, and some times do. But when there's an early morning work call, that extra hour of sleep matters. So on those nights I'll get a hotel in the area. On that particular night Sarah, my girlfriend, was giving me shit. So I was only too happy to stay in the Country Inn there in town. By not so much of a coincidence, Heather was staying there too. This was the hotel being sponsored by the reserves for us.
After a particularly rough day of working on HMV's, a few of us who were staying at the hotel agreed to meet at the Tipsy Pig, a bar within stumbling distance of the hotel. Again, this is no coincidence. We agreed on a place and time at which myself, Heather, and 3 other guys would lick our wounds over a few pitchers of beer. That was literally all I expected.
After formation was dismissed, we shot the shit for a few minutes and reestablished our next meeting place and time. Beer-thirty we called it. While driving to the hotel I called Sarah to tell her my plans for the evening. I half expected her to be a little boo-hooy and try to change my mind. (We live together) Instead she did the opposite. She went off on me over simple, stupid shit.
I'd done a few domestic chores around our house before I left for drill, and now she was going to let me know in meticulous detail how wrong I'd done them. I can take criticism but I don't do attitude. So after her third stark reprimand of my performances, I conjectured that her demeanor was likely the result of a monthly biological process. I'd honestly intended that as a joke to lighten her up a bit. That being said, I'm sure you can imagine how it actually went. I couldn't get the phone away from my head fast enough.
"Look, Sarah," I said, deciding to cut the crap. "There's no right way or wrong way to fold fucking shirts and towels. There's your way and my way. And if you don't like my way, I won't inconvenience you with it anymore."
"If you don't fold them the RIGHT way," she shot back, "they don't fit in the closet just right."
"They fit fine." I said. "It's a big closet.
"No they don't. The stacks are all crooked."
"Who cares? It's a closet. No one sees a damned closet."
That was as rational as I could make it but the conversation went into an irreversible tailspin from there. It finally ended when I was pulling into the hotel parking lot.
"I'm at the hotel, Sarah. I'm gonna go get checked in. I'll talk with you later. Have a good night." Her response was a "Humph" and a barely audible "fuck you, too." as she hung up. I was feeling a headache coming on.
I know what you're thinking: Hell. I ask myself the same question all the time. The answer is; I don't know, it's complicated. Some days are just the happiest. We get each other on a level most people don't even comprehend. But there are days when I'm reaching for a bottle or a suitcase, whichever I find first. Since I'm still there that must tell you how far away the suitcases are kept. Anyway, where was I?
I pitched the phone into the passenger seat and went inside to get my room. By the time I was checked in and changed out of my uniform I'd all but forgotten about Sarah's tirade. It was almost beer-thirty.
At around 10 or so that morning I was laying on a creeper under a truck working a ratchet when someone kicked my foot.
"Hey dickhead, come smoke with me." Denneson said in her standard country drawl.
"Gimme a sec'." I said tightening up the last couple of bolts.
"Hurry up."
"Just go on out. I'll be there in just a second. What's your rush?"
"I don't have any." She said glumly. She wanted to bum a cigarette.
Out by the smoking curb we BS'd about the day, other soldiers, and our respective partners. Sarah and I, as some of the guys knew, had our great days and our not-so-great days. Denneson and her husband, as most of us knew, had their okay days, and their really fucked up days.
"He cleaned me out again." She said through a puff of Marlboro. "That's why I don't have any fucking smokes."
"You shitting me?" I said.
"Nope. Still hadn't found another job, and still thinks he can keep a fridge full of beer. Asshole tried claiming me on his tax return a couple weeks ago, along with my return."
"Wow. What a dick."
"I know, tell me about it."
"I've told you: you two need separate accounts."
"I know, but every time I start to mention it, he blows the fuck up. It's just not worth the headache."
