Authors note: I was shocked at the reception this got. GA's tale was what coaxed me to start writing here. I figured I'd finally give my Point of View on The Matter. But, a few things first.
The personality of James is based on most of my male relatives. Most of them are some form of military, with Jarhead being the most prominent. However, his personal affectations are based specifically on my step-sister, who was good enough to make it to some form of NCO.
She had this thing where she emphasized words verbally, and when she was dead serious about something, she would say Capital Whatever-Letter. It initially made me chuckle. She continued saying it, even after wearing it out, for a very long time. She once described it to me as her way to emphasize to the newbies that she was serious.
I figure in a situation where your wife has decided to become a cheating slut, that every point of information is serious business, thus I went with it. I'll dial it back, just a bit.
It's also influenced by one of my good friends who did Marine Recon in Middle America during the disassembly of the drug cartel in the early 2000s. His PTSD reactions are where I'm getting most of Jim's personality from.
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There had been a bit of a Kerfuffle, during which the occupants of my former base decided they had to engage in planning.
Linda sat there sniffling, while Dee held her, whispering into her ear. The Guys were looking uneasy. The other two women were staring holes through me. Scanning the club, I noticed Marc and his friends were watching over the club, trying hard to not look directly at me. However, I got the distinct feeling that they were waiting for something.
In between me conversing with Ellen and her friends, and looking out onto the club, I saw the group that was accompanying Marc thin out. The next time I looked away from Ellen and her friends, was when I was tapped on the shoulder.
I Hate being touched. It triggers something in me, a visceral, reactionary response. Many people don't understand this. I don't Understand it. My Shrink doesn't either. But we're working on it.
My hand whipped out almost before I was aware of it, and I just followed it, following through as I stood and pivoted. Unfortunately, I had just delivered a gut shot to one of the two security guards that had come over to tell me to leave. This merely incentivized them to give me a bit of rough handling.
Linda was still sitting at her table, but got up as I was 'guided' toward the door. However, she didn't move out from her place at the table. Ellen, for what she was worth, looked a bit indecisive as well. I couldn't see the Asshole, Mr Fabric. I was shoved unceremoniously out the door after taking a few discrete punches in the entryway, landing on the sidewalk on my hands and knees. That was followed by my coat being thrown on me.
After a minute or two, I got back up to my feet, and looked around. Well, shit. A block and a half to The Madison Hotel and my car. I waited around for a couple of minutes to see if either Ellen or Linda would emerge. Neither did, so I shrugged and started walking.
Ever since I had traded words with Linda on the floor about the status of our relationship, I'd been disconnected. When my guts had wanted to roll over from Depression, I'd kicked myself in the ass to keep my spine strong. I choked down all of the negative feelings that had come from her indecision. Now that I was alone and walking, I took a mental inventory, and realized I felt like shit.
However, there were the age old adage of:
"If they can't pick you every time without effort, then they aren't worth the effort."
She couldn't pick me without wondering. That meant that she wasn't what I thought she was -- what she had proven herself to be every day up to that point. The fact that she didn't follow me out, spoke volumes to me. Yes, I had told her it was over, but she obviously didn't feel that I was worth the effort. So, what to do? Keep on pushing. One foot in front of the other. Eat the elephant, one bite at a time.
I entered the lobby of the Madison, and headed toward the elevator. As I stood waiting, I heard Ellen call out to me.
"James?" she questioned. I turned around and studied her for a moment, before nodding. She was a good 10 feet away from me.
"Yes, Ellen?"
"You ok? I saw them manhandle you."
"Oh, that? Well, yeah. I am. I sort of deserve it. I punched him in the gut. He sort of deserved that. He touched me."
