The Girl and The Husband

The Girl and I would hang out together sometimes.  Well, she didn't have a driver's license and so I would take her places she needed to go --like to the commissary and such.  Sometimes I wondered why The Husband wasn't doing that but soldiers can be rather busy sometimes.  I developed a relationship with The Girl which was somewhere between Mom and big sister.  The approximate 6 year age difference wasn't as a big a divide as the difference in maturity.  In some ways she acted like she was still in high school.

One day we were coming back from the commissary and I was helping her unload groceries into her house.  A neighbor was outside and greeted her as Specialist (her rank) and then the last name that was posted on the front of the housing unit, not her last name.  She said hello and tried to quickly end the conversation.  When we got inside The Girl said to me, "If I tell yo something, will you promise not to tell anyone?"

Now see, I hate when people put me in a position like that because its usually bad news --and then I'm stuck between a dumb promise and well --the need to tell someone.  You know, like when Wanda left her baby in the car . . . . so I said to The Girl, "Well I promise you can confide in me and trust me but if someone is getting hurt I can't promise I'm not going to get help."  So The Girl took a deep breath and said, "He's not my husband, we're not married!"

I KNEW IT!  I knew this was all too strange.  You don't get military housing especially that quick . .  .but wait, how did they get housing?  So I asked her.

The Girl goes on to tell me her boyfriend actually is married --just not to her.  He came ahead to Ft. Riley without his family and was going to bring them over after he got housing for them.  That's really not that unusual --sometimes its just easier for the wife and kids to stay put until the husband has a place for all of them to stay --Some families even choose to finish out a school year or --whatever.  But this particular soldier didn't just find a place to live --he also found a girlfriend and got her pregnant.  The Girl tells me this guy has something like 5 kids, which also explains why he got a 4 bedroom.

I could not believe what The Girl was telling me.  I told her she couldn't live here, "This is not your house and he is not your husband!  He is going to get into so much trouble --and you!  You could get in trouble too!  People are actually calling you by HIS last name!  You don't think you two are going to get busted?  This isn't YOUR life, this life belongs to his WIFE --if she actually still wants to be his wife after she finds out he got you pregnant but . . . . you need to move out.  You need to go back to the barracks and you --you guys need to work all of this out . . . "

She refused.  She kept giving me one e--hexcuse after another and told me she was going to stay there with him.  He was going to divorce his wife and then they were going to get married and live happily ever after.  I tried to explain to her that even if all of that was true, those things took time.   But you know, she knew everything and obviously had no problem with being with someone else's husband so . .

I was angry and frustrated and left.  I wasn't sure what I was going to do.

The Girl

I don't like to use people's names because I don't think that's exactly fair ---but in this case, I really don't remember this girl's name and thus, I will call her --The Girl.

The Girl was the young soldier I met from my unit that was also expecting and helped me to find my apartment --sort of.  She was young, went into the Army straight out of high school and had been at Ft. Riley less than a year.  She was from Louisiana and seemed like she had a rather impoverished childhood.  With her youth came inexperience and yes, how naive the young girl was.  She was at that perfect end of her teens stage in life where she absolutely had the entire world figured out, knew it all and didn't need advice or help from anyone.  It wasn't her personality, it was her life-stage.

After moving into my apartment I ran into The Girl again and she asked if I ever found an apartment, I told her yes and then I asked her and she said, "Oh well no because we got housing on post."

Well, that's kind of odd.  You see, to get housing on post you have to be married and well --as far as I knew, or at least assumed, she was not married.  I mean pregnant yes but then you know, so was I.  She didn't wear a wedding ring and I knew she was living in the barracks, which is usually only for single soldiers . . it was odd.  But then again you know --things happen.  People can get married at a moment's notice --then again, how on earth did they get housing so soon?  I knew there was a 6 month to a year waiting list . . . .

It was odd but I didn't give it too much thought.  The Girl asked if I'd like to come over and see their place so I accepted and we set up a date.

After work one day I headed over to The Girl's military housing.  In the military, often times the soldier's rank & name will be displayed outside the door.  As I was walking to the door I noticed the name was not the same last name as hers.  It did strike me to be odd but there again, soldiers often run to the Justice of the Peace, knock out a few vows and viola --they're married --changing names, getting rings --those things take time.

I went into The Girl's house and immediately noticed it was very sparsely furnished.  We sat down and chatted for a bit --The Girl told me about her plans for furnishings, housewares, etc.  I remember sitting there feeling so jealous.  She had the things I wanted.  Well, she had at least one thing I wanted and that was a husband but I was also very much coveting her military housing, so much nicer than my crappy apartment.  Even sparsely furnished, I wanted to live there.

The Girl told me about her plans for the nursery and also said they had a 4 bedroom house.  Really?  Now see, that's odd too because the size military housing you are assigned is dependent on the size of your family.  It would be a rare thing for a young married couple to get a 4 bedroom house, even if they were expecting!  Again, I'm finding pieces of the puzzle not fitting and yet, I tried to explain them away.

After chatting some more The Girl's husband came home.  As soon as she heard the door everything about her changed; her body language, expressions, sound of her voice --and she seemed to be bracing herself for --well, I don't really know what.  But again, I notice these things but I don't put them together.  I stood up to be introduced to The Husband and right away I can tell he's not happy at all.  He gives me a very cold, "Hey!" with a quick nod of the head and fake smile trying to mask his stone face.  He then looks at The Girls and says, "I need to talk to you."  VERY obediently, almost too obediently, The Girl rushes to The Husband's side and tells me, "I'll be right back."

So -this is awkward.  Do I stay?  Do I go?  Do I wait?  I just sit back down on the couch and say, "Oh, okay."  The happy newlyweds go upstairs.

It wasn't yelling or fighting or screaming or anything like that but in the distance I can hear muffled voices--voices that were yelling but trying not to be loud.  Well, not so much voices as voice because it was only The Husband that I heard.  Now I'm really feeling uncomfortable and just as I get up to leave The Girl comes down.  Her face is forlorn and she can hardly keep eye contact with me.  I felt sorry for her and wanted to immediately let her off the hook --so she didn't have to come up with an excuse or lie or whatever.  So before she could speak I said, "Hey, I really need to get going and you guys probably want to get dinner going or something.  Thanks for having me over --we'll have to do it again when you have more time."

I was trying to be upbeat and pretend that I didn't notice all these odd things and that I didn't hear The Husband being unkind to The Girl.

I left but that wasn't the last I'd see of The Girl and I'd have one more encounter with The Husband as well only next time, military police were involved.

Letters

My dear sweet, lovable, thoughtful Jerry,

I received your card today.  It is wonderful getting mail from you.  The card you sent made my day and was the favorite of all the letters you sent.

Today was a little better than yesterday.  I'm sorry my last letter was so dismal.  When I have bad days I just want to run away and be with you.  I feel safe and secure with you.

Barb is going to make me a maternity dress.  I'm real excited!  We went and picked out the material today.  Its going to be denim.  She's real sweet.

Everyone has been bugging me about reenlisting.  MSG Lane said he wants to talk to me.  They're all worried I'm going to change my mind and want a Chapter 9.

Well, its 2036 --very near my bed time.  I want to write Mom a quick letter too so I'm going ot cut this one a little short.  You understand, don't you?  :)

You're always in my love, thoughts and prayers.  Take care of yourself --I worry about you.

My love always,

Melissa & Baby

Writing Letters

I have a huge box of letters Jerry and I exchanged mostly while I was in Kansas but also over the years while he was deployed.  I decided to publish a few but they aren't going to be in exact chronological order --the box is huge and it would be much too time consuming to sort through them --but I'll pull a few here and there.

Starting with this letter.

October 10, 1988

Jerry,

Well baby, I'm happy you called me.  I hope now you feel better knowing Baby and I are fine.  You may be a little angry or upset with me for not writing but please don't stay that way for long.

I know you don't understand what I am going through with Mom.  I can talk to people about it and no one sees my grief and pain.  Its when I'm alone it all hits me.  Jerry, I know and believe the Lord has wonderful plan for all of us.  I know he answers prayer.  But, I also know he may want to take Mom.  I don't think you realize the seriousness of Mom's illness.  I just want to be prepare for anything.  I wish you be here with me.  Sometimes I just feel like being held in your arms and crying it out.  Hey Sweetheart, I appreciate your prayers and support.  Mom appreciates it too.  I love you.

Mom sent us $300 for the baby.  I bought a few things but not much.  I'll save the rest.  I'm sure there will be plenty we need.

Its getting more and more difficult to carry this baby around.  I'm so big.  I feel bigger than I actually am.  I get tired real easily.  My back, feet & legs hurt if I stand or walk too much.  Baby doesn't kick as much because he/she is getting cramped inside of me!  But he/she does move around a lot.  I kind of have a feeling baby will arrive before you do. I hope not because I need you here with me. But, in the event baby wants out early, my sister will be here so I won't be alone.

That brings me to another subject.  Jerry, please don't think I don't want my sister here while you're here because I'm embarrassed of you!  It's nothing like that at all!  In fact, I'm very anxious for you to meet my family and they want to meet you as well.  The problems is I just don't have the room for everyone here.  Val said she may even bring Mom if she's up to it.  I guess it will all work out but I just feel like I'm always letting everyone down.

Well, I'm going to my usual place --bed!  More tomorrow.

Love,

Melissa

Church

Like in Germany, finding a church was a difficult task but at least this time I had off-post options as well being able to drive --that helped.

My first pursuit to find a church at Ft. Riley was while I still was staying in the barracks.  I looked in a post guide and decided to give the main chapel a try.   I looked up the service times and the next Sunday I got myself all gussied up, as a good Baptist girl would do, and headed out to the main post chapel.  It was a bad experience on so many levels.

First of all, as I was finding out, the military didn't exactly know how to handle single soldiers.  That was very much the case at this particular chapel.  It was very family oriented --kid friendly, couple friendly --not so much on the single-friendly side.  Also, since it was located near the officer's quarters, many of the families that attended were officers.

Not all officers are bad and not all officer families are snobs but in this particular case, the church body in general was not very welcoming nor friendly but for the few that decided to welcome me and talk to me, the moment they learned I was an enlisted solider, I literally got snubbed.  It was by far one of the worst church experiences I ever had.  I remember one woman in particular could not have been any more obvious --as she was shaking my hand and I introduced myself, saying I was new to Ft. Riley, etc. the moment she found out I was an enlisted solider, the smile slowly disappeared from her face, she withdrew her hand from mine, looked me over from head to toes and then said, "Oh" --then just walked away from me.  That's it.  Just walked away.  I felt like I was diseased or something.  I could not get out of that place fast enough.  As soon as the service was over I hurried back to my car and decided I wasn't going to pursue any churches on post --I'd try something off post.

This very much reminded me of an experience I had when I was in high school.  Having recently been saved and coming from a Catholic upbringing, I had no clue on how to find a church, what to look for, etc.  So I drove around my town, looked for churches and wrote down the names of any I found of interest.  I then went home and looked them up in the phone book and called to get service times, etc (you know, before there was such a thing as "google it").  This one particular church I went to I arrived for Sunday School and asked someone to point me to the high school class or youth group (but being so new to church, I might not have used that particular verbiage) and I got a blank stare.  A few confused people directed me to this person, that person --until finally a nice gentleman took me into an empty classroom and explained they really didn't have anything at their church for someone like me ---he asked where my parents were and I told him they did not go to church.  He asked me, "What exactly do you want?"  Huh well --I just want to come to church, kind sir.  Blank stare.  He asked me to sit tight so he could get some information for me.  He then came back and said something like, "We really don't have a class for you and as much as we'd like to have you part of our congregation, we just think it would be best if you found a church better suited for you.  However; if you really just want to stay here, after you've been here for several weeks and we see you're serious about church, we'll work on getting a class for you or something --but until then, maybe you can just come for morning service."

Oh, okay well --I stayed that Sunday and did not go back.

I didn't have the best of luck with finding churches and Ft. Riley proved to be equally as challenging.

Patent Leather Shoes (and the problems they cause)

Let me start out by saying I absolutely cannot believe I am going to tell you this story . . .I am already embarrassed but it’s not like you don’t know about Connie’s Lipstick, the showers at PLDC, the nylons, wearing my rank upside down ----what’s one more embarrassing story between me and my closest blog readers?

Out of sheer vanity, having determined I was not going to be put on a gym shoe profile, I decided my little size 5 pregnant feet were going to don a cute black shiny pair of low heeled black patent leather shoes during my pregnancy.

Because I happen to really like black patent leather shoes.

They are shiny.

They click-clack when you walk.

What’s not to love?

Kansas was experiencing record-breaking temperatures and neither my apartment nor my car had air conditioning. Well, my apartment had a small window unit in the living room but with temperatures in the low 100’s, a small window unit did very little to cool off even the tiniest of apartments. In addition to the heat and barely any relief from it, I was a mammoth sized 5 foot-nothing pregnant woman. I was retaining more water than the Hoover Dam; my fingers were swollen, my face was swollen, my feet were swollen—my feet were especially swollen and I’m sure they were no longer a petite size 5.

Even so, every day I would stuff my chubby feet into those size 5 black patent leather shoes, because black patent leather is pretty –and shiny. That’s all that matters here, isn’t it? Pretty as it may be, keep in mind patent leather does not exactly give you any –well, uh ---breathing room. Making matters worse, wearing nylons was required of the Class B uniform so before stuffing my swollen chubby feet into a black patent leather shoe, I’d first squish them into a tubular nylon hose. It was as if my feet were wrapped up like a swaddled newborn baby then packed into a shiny black patent leather sauna.

Do you know what happens to you when you go into a sauna? You sweat.

Do you know the unpleasant affects of perspiration are?

Odor.

It is not as if I didn’t notice my feet were a little tainted at the end of the day but you know, that was only after I took my shoes off and since I lived alone, I figured I’d be the only one really offended by any unpleasantness so it never occurred to me this was a problem. Besides, I did shower daily and wash my nylons and clothes.

One day I am sitting at my desk and it is near the end of the duty day so our waiting area is clear. My OIC comes out and stands in front of my desk engaging in a bit of chit chat, which was not a terribly unusual occurrence. Then he starts acting a little strange and avoiding eye contact and then he says in a sort of joking manner, “You know, when people take their shoes off under their desk it might become noticeable –the smell might be obvious.” Then too embarrassed to wait for a response, he bolts back into his office.

The whole thing seemed rather odd to me because I never ever took my shoes off at work. My feet were so swollen if I took my shoes off during the day and tried to put them back on it would be like trying to stuff an inflated raft back into its pre-inflated packaging. So though I found his statement to be odd, I did not think the statement was directed to me personally.

I don’t even take my shoes off under my desk!

On the way home that evening, I thought about what the Captain had said and then I started sniffing –like a hound dog on a mission. I am driving along in my un-air conditioned 1985 Dodge Colt and then it hits me –He WAS talking about me only ---he assumed I was taking my shoes off under my desk because he could smell stinky feet but truth is, they were just THAT stinky.

Okay so how badly must ones feet smell when the odor can be detected WITHOUT taking shoes off AND from a distance of at least 3 feet or more? And how embarrassing is it to be a Sergeant in the Army in a customer service based capacity and your Captain has to warn you about your stinky feet?

*raises hand* Ooo, pick me! Let me answer that last question!

VERY VERY VERY EXTREMELY EMBARRASSING!!!!!!!!!!!

I detoured from my way home and stopped and bought some foot powder and odor eaters to put into my shoes. That evening, I scrubbed my feet until I practically took a few layers of skin off. The next morning while getting ready for work and being especially paranoid about the odor, I showered, paying special attention to scrubbing my feet again. I put the odor eaters into my shoes and squirted the insides down with powder -- a lot of powder!

The JAG building was an older building and the floors were a very dark brown tile. I actually loved this building and walking down the hall to the Legal Assistance office felt like being in an old Hollywood black and white movie --click clacking my way down the hall to the Private I's office door with the frosted glass window.

As I was click-clacking my way down the hall, I kind of noticed something so I looked down only to find with each step that I took, a white puff of powder was emitting from my shoes! Making matters worse, each puff of powder was leaving a white remnant on the dark brown tile so as you looked down the long hall you can see little spots of white on the floor. I had not noticed it earlier (like walking through the parking lot) because it only became visible against the dark brown tile. I went into the ladies bathroom, took my shoes off and dumped the powder from my shoes into the trash. Noticing my feet were completely white, I then tried to wave my feet about to get any powder off my feet.

Picture it. I'm pregnant and large. I tried to reach my feet to pat them down hoping to get any powder off of them but I was having a difficult time bending down and reaching my feet and I was also losing my balance. So, I'm standing barefoot in the bathroom leaning up against the trash can trying to wave my feet and shake off any powder. All I can say is that I'm glad no one walked in to see me --and since no other soul on the whole earth knows any of this story, I might add what a brave (or stupid) soul I am for sharing this on a public blog.

I went back to my office and pretended the whole thing never happened. The civilian secretary did come in and comment, "I wonder what that white stuff is in the hallway." Thankfully, after a little traffic up and down the hall, it wasn't long before it all dissipated.

For the duration of my pregnancy, each night when I got home from work I would sit on the edge of the tub and scrub my feet down. Have you even seen a pregnant woman try to tie her shoes? Imagine one trying to scrub her feet. As the pregnancy progressed, this became increasingly more difficult to accomplish. Needless to say, it became a lot less scrubbing and more just soapy soaking. After I scrubbed my feet down, I would only wear flip-flops around the house because I figured they needed to air out. Then I would scrub my shoes inside and out; spray them, powder them and keep them out into the open for them to air out as well. It was this huge nightly process that I would go through.

I thought about buying new shoes but not receiving BAQ, I was doing good just to pay my rent and buy groceries. I was very poor and buying another pair of shoes just wasn't financially possible. After that pregnancy and getting my feet down to a normal size, I never had such a problem; I just needed to state that for the record.

No Gym Shoes!

Apparently, if no maternity uniforms are available, comparable civilian attire can be worn.  Your military name tag and rank must still be displayed.    I did not like that option either because I did not want the expense of purchasing maternity work clothes --in this case, would have been along the lines of business or business casual attire.  Thankfully, the maternity BDU's never did come in but I was able to get the Class B's.

Determined not to wear maternity BDU's or combat boots, I set my mind on another maternity exclusion.


As you may know, pregnant women often times have problems with swollen feet and so even in a maternity uniform, a woman might not be able to wear the required combat boots or shoes --enter in the military profile.


A profile is basically an exception to do nor not do something.  Soldiers that suffer from a sprained ankle or similar injury might get a "gym shoe profile", which just means they are allowed to wear gym shoes with their uniform.  That was common with pregnant women too.  And honestly, it did not look so bad with BDU's but a skirt?  Yeah --no!


Thinking I was ever so cute in my maternity skirt and/or dress slacks (Class B's), there was certainly no way I was going to wear a skirt with nylons and gym shoes.  I mean, CERTAINLY NO WAY.  Eventually I out grew my maternity slacks and so all I was left with was the skirt option.  Maternity uniforms were still on back-order and I was lucky enough to get the ones I had but after out growing them, I wasn't able to get any additional ones.  I wasn't about to revert back to the civilian clothes option because you see, since I was already in a maternity uniform I did not want to have to explain --well you see, I outgrew those and now they don't have any to fit me.


Because to me that sounded a lot like -- I am so fat and huge that even an Army tent isn't big enough to go around this butt and stomach.  I tried to get bigger uniforms and apparently, all the military fabric in the country is needed to make things like airplane tarps and 15-man tents, which is apparently the amount of material needed to make ME a uniform.  In addition to the probability of giving birth to sextuplets or a 50 pound baby, I have turned into the Very Hungry Caterpillar or Hungry Hungry Hippo and thus my eating habits have caused me to grow to the size of an Army tank.  Clothing Sales only sells uniforms to fit normal sized pregnant woman.  I am beyond that stage and thus, I am now having to revert to civilian clothes.


Yeah see, I was trying to avoid that explanation for the sudden wear of civilian maternity clothes so I decided I'd do without the pants and stick with the skirt for the duration of my pregnancy. 


Skirt and cute low-heeled black shiny shoes, that is.  NO GYM SHOES!

Growing Up

Ft. Riley was different, much different. I did not feel like a soldier –I felt like I lived in a crappy apartment and worked a civilian office job.

In many ways, I was detached from the Army. I lived off base (in a crappy apartment). I wore a uniform true enough but a Class B maternity uniform just seemed like a skirt and blouse (with cute black shiny shoes). Speaking of being pregnant, I was put on profile, which meant, I did not do Army stuff such as PT, firing range, training, etc. That certainly contributed to my detachment from the Army. Unlike Germany where I worked on a small kaserne where everyone worked closely together, Ft. Riley was huge! I was on the part of the post where all the offices were, support –I was not near the troops so I was not exposed to all that Army stuff—even not being involved in it I still liked to see it, keep up with what was happening. Ft. Riley was so big it was almost like two posts with a long winding road cut through the woods connecting the two.

Though I myself never had to go to the field even when I was stationed in Germany, I still liked the entire hullabaloo that surrounded each exercise; the planning and preparing, the buzz in the barracks, the tanks and trucks getting packed up and ready to go and then of course, the entire convoy pulling out of headquarters on their way out –I LOVED that. I also loved when they came back, all tired, dirty and grungy. You see, that was the heart and soul of the Army. Those exercises and those men and women –that is the very reason that you my friend lay your head down to sleep each night in free country. And for me to be any small part of that, even in a support role and not directly involved –let me tell you, that is nothing short of one of the greatest privileges I have ever been afforded. Even to stand on the sidelines and watch all that happen was an honor. Your Army, my friend, stays prepared, ready, trained, fit, informed. I very much missed being a part of that and a witness to it.

That certainly did play a big part in my feeling so detached from the Army but the main reason, or rather the two main reasons were; my baby and my Mom. You see, I was changing. From the very second I understood I had a life growing within me, I became Mom-Minded. My focus was that baby –keeping myself healthy to grow a healthy baby. I did not care so much about the Army anymore –that was the old me—the new me was a Mother-To-Be –and I wanted to be the BEST Mother I could be. My heart no longer felt like a soldier—it was that whole idea of reconciling two drastically different worlds –the Army, an institution built on fighting and war and then having a baby. Soft lullabies, tender new born skin, nursing, rocking, loving, holding ---none of that seemed so Army-ish but those were the thoughts that consumed me. Well, when I was not thinking about my own Mom.

You see, at this point we had no idea what Mom’s prognosis really was and while I was still teetering between denial and anger towards the whole situation, the depth of my heart knew we were facing a long uphill battle. At the very least, we had already lost Mom in some way. Post surgery she was never the same person. It is difficult to explain –she was still herself only different, if that makes any sense at all. I don’t know.

The point is, Ft. Riley was a HUGE pivotal point in my life in all terms. The Holy Spirit was awakened within me and it was as if he was saying to me, “We have a lot of sludge to dig up and get rid of.” Do you know what happens when you dig up nasty dirty rotten sludge that had been collecting/laying there for years? Its stinks –and it stinks VERY bad. But you see, this sludge, sin in my life, it had to be exposed. However, while dealing with all that, my personal sludge, I also was pregnant, living alone, detached from the security of the Army and facing a serious illness with my Mother, who lived far away from me. I was new so I did not really know people or have friends at Ft. Riley.

Sounds horrible and well, it really was but ironically, Ft. Riley was one of the best years of my life all the while, the most painful and worst time of my life. It was here at Ft. Riley I took that one final step over the threshold from childhood to adulthood. I grew up.