The Battery

Battery, a tactical artillery unit in the military but in this instance, I mean a battery of a different kind.

The coolness of autumn was setting in and with it, more worry as my due date was quickly approaching.  There was one thing I depended on more than anything else --my car!  If I didn't have transportation to/from post, I'd have to move back into the barracks.  And then there was that little um --situation of getting close to my third trimester and as I said, I was kind of just planning on driving myself to the hospital.  I was alone.  I was used to taking care of myself.

It was a Saturday afternoon and I was going to the commissary to do a little shopping.  Though fall was upon us, it was still a warm day and I was HUGELY pregnant.  I got in my car, turned the key and---nothing.  Dead.  Now as far as any sort of mechanics go, all I knew about cars was turn the key, make it go.  I was absolutely clueless.  And I was poor, too. 

When my car wouldn't start repair/mechanic bills started swirling through my mind and that was only if I could managed to get the car towed.  I laid my head down on the steering wheel and did what any strong, independent, well trained soldier would do *ahem*.  I cried.  After  few sobs and realizing the tears weren't going to start the car, I tried to pull myself together.  No matter what, I just had to have this car up and running by Monday or I'd not be able to report for duty.  A little thing the Army calls AWOL.  With absolutely no experience or knowledge to back my theory, I ventured a guess I might need a new battery.  Actually, I hoped upon hope that's what it was because other than that, I was in deep trouble.  I prayed for wisdom--prayed for guidance.  I went back up to my apartment and thought about what I should do.  I lugged out the ol' Yellow Pages --I mean, the big thick printed kind, got the number for a cab company and proceeded to call myself a taxi.  I then went back outside to wait for my ride.

I took the taxi on base to the gas station which also had a very small auto shop.  I walked in and told the guy I needed a new battery.  He asked me questions, all of which I was clueless about and then I realized, he was pretty much as clueless as I was.  I walked over to the shelf where the batteries were.  Hmmm, this one looks big, this one looks bigger.  This one looks --woe, too expensive and this one looks --just right!  I lugged it over to the counter, wrote a check for the $50 purchase and was on my way.  I had asked the taxi to wait for me --cha-ching, he was all too happy to keep the meter running.  Since the battery was so heavy and my stomach so big, I had to carry it down at arm's length, feeling it bump against my thighs as I walked.  The taxi driver never offered to help.  I proudly set my new battery in the seat next to me and asked the driver to take me back home.

When we pulled up in front of my apartment, the taxi driver never offered to help me with the battery. I had to first get myself out of the taxi then lean over, big belly and all, and drag the battery off of the seat and lug it over to my car.  I paid the driver and there I was; me, my battery and my car that wouldn't start.  At this point, I had no idea if the battery was even the problem.

I set the battery on the curb next to my car and I was really feeling all alone.  The Army had forced me into some pretty unfeminine roles/duties but this right here --this whole battery business was way out of my league. 

I don't remember exactly what I did from here.  I do remember it was very difficult to bend down (belly and all) to pick up the battery.  I struggled with it for some time.  I popped the hood open, took out the old battery, hooked up the new and --1, 2, 3 . . .started the car and . . . .

Such sweet music to my ears --she was purring like a kitten!  I then took the old battery and tossed it into the fenced-in area where we put the trash.  I figured the garbage man would pick it up.

Week after week, every time I took out the trash I saw the battery still sitting there.  I figured the garbage man was just too lazy to pick it up. 

It was about a month or so later when SSG Newsome came to Kansas and I told him all about the battery --he informed me it was illegal to throw batteries in the trash.  He also informed me the battery was fine --it just needed water.  Water?  I had no idea!  He said, "So, you never put water in the battery?"  Good gracious, it was all I could do to remember to put gas in the tank!  When he looked at the battery in the car, he was amazed I even got it in.  Apparently, I had gotten one way too big for my car and over and over he kept asking me, "How did you even lift this thing?" 

I don't know but one thing is for sure, there was a band of angels watching over me. 

Or mabye that's a battery of angels.

Pink Freedom

We often hear people say they are thankful for the sacrifices our military make, especially on days of remembrance such as Memorial Day. It is true as a nation we need to take pause to remember, reflect and give thanks and honor to those that have given their lives in protection of our freedom. It is ironic that the liberties we enjoy are at the cost of the liberties they have lost.

Loss of freedom isn't always a life, which is the ultimate sacrifice. But in every day living there are certain freedoms we civilians enjoy that our military does not. This was the most difficult thing for me to embrace when I was a Basic Trainee at Ft. Dix, New Jersey.

I was new to the military life not just because I was a new recruit but mostly because growing up I had not been exposed to the military at all. I didn't personally know anyone that served, we did not live near a base or installation and my family never even talked about the military. On occasion, when in the city (Chicago) I'd see sailors from Great Lakes Naval Base walking around while on their weekend pass--they looked like the sailor on the Cracker Jack box. That's all I knew. Walking into the military life was a complete turn around for me.

While in Basic Training, every very aspect of life was controlled; when to sleep, when to eat, what to eat, how much to eat, what to wear, what to think, what to say, how to walk, how to talk--even down to what underwear to wear. All of our civilian clothes were taken away from us and then we were marched down to this Shoppette, a smaller PX (Post Exchange), and mandated to buy new underwear and toiletries. Yes, they even told us what soap to use, shampoo, feminine products, etc. This did't sit well with me.

One evening I was on KP (Kitchen Patrol) duty and though I didn't have to peel 100 pounds of potatoes, it was still less than desirable duty. I worked in the back scrubbing pans, a job I chose to do because there were no Drill Sergeants in the back and I was in a corner mostly alone. Living with over 100 females in the barracks can wear you down. We didn't even have time to use the bathroom alone so if scrubbing a pan or two enabled me to have a few moments to myself, it was well worth the work.

The kitchen was very hot and humid, no air conditioning. It smelled like a combination of bleach, cleaning products, insecticide, grease, food and sweat. In the back where I was, where all the dish washing took place, there was less air circulating --just a lot of heat and steam. Up front it was much cooler and nicer and nicer still was the dining room, if you could stand Drill Sergeants breathing down your back. I was happy to opt for the heat and steam.  When I finished scrubbing all of the pots and pans, I decided to take a break. After dinner was over, I'd have a stack of serving pots and pans to scrub so I decided to slip out while I could. I stepped out onto the dock where the trucks unloaded the food and supplies that were delivered. I needed some fresh air and the smell of asphalt, exhaust fumes and the stench rolling off of the dumpster was a welcomed change to the bleach burning my nose. At first I thought I was alone and then someone spoke. Over in the corner sitting on an upside down orange milk crate was a civilian woman who worked at the Mess Hall. She was dressed in cook whites, which seemed to illuminate against her dark skin. She was smoking a cigarette and the smoke lingered around her as if she were floating on a cloud. We exchanged hellos and then a little conversation started.

The woman asked me a lot of questions about the Army and basic training, which was odd to me since she worked right there on post you'd think she knew more about it than I did. She said they, the civilian workers, really weren't allowed to talk to trainees. Ordinarily that would have made me paranoid like a Drill Sergeant was going to bolt from around the corner, snatch me up by my collar and, "DROP AND GIVE ME 20!" But our clean and crisp Drills wouldn't be back on the dock, I felt safe back there. I felt safe from them but for the first time in weeks, I felt safe to by myself. too.

I was a mess. My hair was pinned up in its regulatory off the collar fashion but the humidity made it frizzy and small strands of wet hair were falling around my face. I felt damp all over and I knew I had soaked in the smells of the kitchen into my uniform and skin. Despite the fact that she was working too, she was cleaner and her hair was perfectly pinned up, all nestled neatly into a hair net. She wore make-up and as she puffed her cigarette a trace of pink lipstick was left on the filter. I was so jealous of her for all of those reasons. I'd even light up a cigarette just to see the evidence of my pretty pink lipstick left behind. In contrast, I felt ugly and a prisoner of my own BDU's. Looking at her, an older woman that wore more years on her face that her birth certificate probably told, made me feel ugly and keenly aware of my stiff cross your heart Platex white bra and white cotton grandma underwear that went clear passed my belly button. Reeling there in those thoughts the woman asked me what I was going to do first after basic training,  The question was geared towards those little freedoms I had been striped of; favorite foods, movies, friends, sleeping, driving . . . .

As she asked the question, from the outside of my olive-drab t-shirt I lifted up the bottom of my cross your heart Platex bra to allow the sweat to drip down instead of pool up on the shelf the 2 inch wide elastic band had created.  I let the bra go, causing a slight snapping sound and I looked up at the lady and I said:

"I'm going to wear pink panties."

Today as we celebrate Memorial Day people will be dressed in their patriotic red, white and blue but for me, today I am going to wear pink --simply because . . .

I can.

Thank you to the men and woman that so bravely and sacrificially serve.  Thank you to the families that give to us their sons and daughters.

It's a Boy!

I was a soldier on active duty at Ft. Riley, Kansas.  The Big Red One.

My mother was terminally ill.  She was dying.

I was pregnant.  Not married.

And there at Ft. Riley living alone, I decided I was having a boy.  I convinced myself of it.  And so, me and baby Zachary, we got along just fine.  I called him Zach, for short.  Zach was due to hit the scene November 14th.

Jerry and I didn't have much opportunity to talk on the phone but the letters flew back and forth and in those letters we made plans for him to be home for the holidays, and the birth of our son.  Because I had determined I was having a boy.


After I left Germany, Staff Sergeant Newsome transferred to a new unit, just down the street from Hindenburg Kaserne, Katterbach Kaserne, 501st LRSD (Long Range Reconnaissance Special Ops Detachment).  At HHC, 1st AD, he had a staff position, a miserable existence for an 11B (Infantry soldier) except for a certain 71D (Legal Assistant) that kept his interest and existence less miserable.  After I left Germany, he wanted to get back into soldiering --stuff like jumping out of airplanes and shooting guns.  Stuff like that.  The point is --he had to get leave approved because they were a forward movement company (er --Detachment) and you just can't up and leave, on leave, like that.  So there was some uncertainty exactly when Staff Sergeant Newsome would come to Kansas and there was some uncertainty if it would be before or after the baby was born,


More uncertainty.

Making it through a heat record breaking summer in the dry plains of Kansas, autumn was a welcomed change and before we ushered in winter, I'd be a mother.  The uncertainty wore on me, worried me as did many others.  Everyone I worked with would ask me, "What are you going to do if you go into labor?"  I mean, I guess I'm going to have a baby.  The civilian secretary that I worked with asked met that one day and   she said, "You know you can't drive yourself to the hospital in you're in labor, right?"  No, I didn't know that I mean, I never had a baby before.

But I was used to being alone and doing things alone.  I guess I could have a baby alone, too.

Dear Mom & Bob

A letter to my mother with a post date of June 1988.

Hi, I hope all is well with you.  I'm just fine!  Not too much going on here.

Bob, thank you for sending those medical reports from the doctor.  I really appreciate it.  There's so many medical terms its hard to understand.

Mom, how's radiation going?  It should be about half over by now.  Hang in there Mom, it will all be behind you soon.  Do you still have hair?  It doesn't matter because I know you look beautiful anyway!  I truly mean that.

Mom, there's something I have to tell you.  You have been a great inspiration to me.  Even through your illness your faith in the Lord has remained strong.  I know that's why you are recovering so wonderfully.  All this time you have been in his precious care.  So many many prayers have been said and the Lord is answering them all.  You're a strong lady Mom and a great inspiration to me.

When are you going to Chicago/Michigan?  I'm going to come visit for a weekend when you're there.  Even though I just saw you, I still miss you very much and can't wait to see you again.  I know the grandkids will be  very happy to see both of you.  Liz will be having her baby soon.  I can't wait to have mine.  Sometimes I feel like I'm going to be pregnant for the rest of my life.

Well, I just wanted you to know I'm thinking about you always.  Take Care.

My love,

Mesa

The Neighbors, II

While standing there between the abuser and his victim, I had all sorts of those split moment thoughts --and the thought of my imminent death also crossed my mind.  But for some reason, I was giving this abuser more credit that he deserved as I thought to myself, "He's not going to hit a pregnant woman."  I knew both she and I were weak compared to this man and so in those split second thoughts, the ones that race through your head at lightening speed, I tried to think of what upper hand I could have.  I prayed  and asked, "Lord, now what?"  Then I dawned on me --I got my answer.  You see, right there in the bushes, dark and late at night --standing there with a helpless abused woman and a strong abuser I had the power of . . . .

THE ENTIRE UNITED STATES ARMY.

You see, when you're a soldier, you're a soldier 24/7, 365 --in uniform, out of uniform, at work, at home, on duty, off duty, in the office, in your home --it just doesn't matter.  The Army has control over you in both your civilian and military affairs.  And --the Army just don't take much of a liking to abusers.  Period.  I knew these neighbors both knew my rank because we had seen each other in uniform several times --coming and going to work.  I knew I out ranked both of them.  The man was a SP4 and the woman was a PFC (E4 and E3).  I was a Sergeant (E5) and though I knew I couldn't or wasn't going to pull rank out here, I still knew rank was going to play an important part.

So wait, are you asking me if I had two entire paragraphs worth of thoughts while I had an abuser standing at my back?

Yes.  Yes I did.  Like I said, it was in that moment of panic when you literally can see your whole life flash before you --so two paragraphs is rather short compared to an entire life.  Can we please continue on with the story now?  Thank you.

So very calmly I turned around and I said to the man, "Hey, what company are you in?"

That's all I needed to say because behind that word "company" I had the United States armed forces on my side.  I knew it.  He knew it.  She knew it.

Abuser Guy:  Uh, why?

Me:  I don't know --I was just wondering.

Abuser Guy:  Wondering for what?  What's that got to do with anything?

Me:  Well, I was just wondering how interesting your 1SG would find all of this.

Girl:  We was just playn' --I tole you.

She walks over to the guy and he puts his arm around her.

Abuser:  Yeah, we do this all of the time.

Me:  (speaking directly to the girl)  One call to his 1SG or Commander and all of this will be over.

Girl:  I tole you --we's just playn'!  Awe, this ain't nuttin.

I walked away and as I did I hear whispering and kissing sounds.  I guess they were making up --or whatever that was.  I got back into my apartment and locked myself behind my paper thin door.  I realized I was trembling and I didn't know if I had just started trembling or if I had been that scared all along.  I was just glad I didn't know, that I didn't realize how scared I really was.  I prayed for protection again --because I had no idea who this guy was or what he was capable of.

After that I didn't hear much more fighting.  I heard a lot of yelling but nothing like before --or even that night; crashing noises and screams of pain.  And then pretty soon I didn't hear yelling either and then I realized, the girl left.  GOOD FOR HER!  I hope she left him for good --I really don't know.

A while later, even after I had my baby, there was a knock at my door one night.  I looked through the peep hole and saw the abuser standing at my door.  I opened my door and he was very friendly --like we had been  lemonade sipping neighbors all along, "Hey uh --I'm moving out and uh --well one of our end tables broke --I'm not sure what happened --but anyway, so the landlord is going to make me pay for it and I was wondering, do you have the same tables as we do?  Because I thought maybe I could borrow one of yours and then after the inspection I could bring it back.  (tries to look over/around me into my apartment) --so do you have one of those brown wooden end tables like . . "

I cut him off, "No--I don't have the same furniture as you but even if I did, that just doesn't sound like a good idea to me."  I start to close the door.  And he pushes the door, gently but still pushed it.

And then I was more frightened than that night standing in the bushes.  This time I had a baby in the house and no other witnesses around.  That's when he did it --

He turned on his charm.  Like I said before, he was a very attractive man --and he knew that.  This guy started smiling and batting his eyes and turning on charm like the waters of Niagara Falls.  All I could think was --UN-BE-LIEV-ABLE!  What a jerk.  He was making me sick to my stomach.  I felt like he was a creepy poisonous spider weaving his web and hungrily looking at me to see if I'd just dare to get caught in his trap.  Whilst trying to charm his way to my table, I looked at his hand on my door and then looked at him, "I already said you can't have my table.  Now if you would please take your hand off of my door --because if you don't, I'm going to call the police and when they come I best assure you I'm not going to tell them "we was just playn'".  He took his hand off of his door and then waved it at me saying, "Awe, forget you man!"  Then he walked back towards his apartment.

I again locked myself behind my paper thin door, in my crappy apartment and once again, my hands were trembling.

I never saw the girl or the abuser again.

The Neighbors

Remember I lived in a small crappy apartment?  I had neighbors, too.

I mostly stayed to myself as I really wasn't interested in making friends with my fellow apartment dwellers.  There were three floors to the building with 2 apartments on each floor.  I was on the second floor and in the apartment across the hall from me was a young couple.  They could have been married, or not --I really don't know.  They were both active duty soldiers as well.  That's pretty much all I knew about them.  I heard them more than I ever saw them.

And heard them I did.  Almost every night there would be screaming and yelling coming from their apartment.  It was more like the man yelling and the woman screaming in fear or pain --and loud crashing noises too.  The woman would be yelling things like, "Please stop! No!  Okay, I won't. . . ."  Sometimes it was just inaudible words.  It always scared me.  I would go over to my door and double check the locks and put the chain on the door --that really didn't make me feel much safer but it seemed something smart to do.  Sometimes I would hear their door slam as if someone left.

The first time it happened I called the police but I did not give my name.  I was too afraid too.  When the police showed up, the woman came to the door and told the police everything was fine.  I, of course, through our paper thin doors, could hear the entire conversation and even see bits of it through the peep hole on my door.  My heart was pounding and my palms sweaty as I realized there was just a paper thin door between me and this man across the hall --and this woman seemed to be defending him.

That angered me and scared me all the more.  After the police left I heard the man yelling, "DID YOU CALL THEM?  DID YOU CALL THE POLICE ON ME?"  The woman was crying and assuring him she had nothing to do with it.  Calling the police only made the situation worse.

On occasion when I'd see one of them in the hallway, they were both so nice and friendly.  The man was very attractive, which surprised me.  I wanted him to look like the monster I thought he was.  The young woman was very attractive too and timid and shy.  Without looking like I was gawking at her, whenever I saw her I tried hard to see bruises, marks or any other signs of injury.  She was a lovely dark skinned woman, these things were difficult for me to spot with just a quick glance.

This went on week after week until one night, it was the worst it ever had been.  By this time, I was well into my pregnancy.  The fighting began as it usually did but soon it had escalated beyond anything I had heard before.  There was a loud smashing sound --like something very large had been throw against the wall.  It was horrible.  Then I heard their front door open so I quickly looked out the peep hole and saw the woman running out, she was terrified.  The man ran after her and I could hear them outside.

I have no idea what sort of lack of sense came about me but when I thought about calling the police I remembered that only made things worse the last time.  So this time I decided the last thing this guy wanted was a witness --so slowly I slide the chain off of my door, turned the door knob and found myself walking down the stairs toward the screams.    I got outside and looked over to find the woman hiding in a bush.   She was crying and trembling so I walked over to her and said, "You don't have to take this.  You can get help.  Let me help you."  She looked at me and started to step out of the bushes and suddenly her expression changed and she conjured up a fake smile and said, "Oh man, we're just playn' and stuff."  She stood there with stone cold eyes, staring behind me.  I turned around and there he was, the woman beater and I was standing between him and his victim.

Burning Coals

My chapel experience rattled me.  I was already reeling in my own guilt and shame and grasping forgiveness seemed far out of my reach.

Because I didn't deserve it, right?

That's what Satan wanted me to believe.  And it worked, for a time.

I was rattled and uncertain and I never wanted to go back into a church again, not if that was how I was going to be treated.  And so for a time, I put off the quest for a church.  I couldn't bring myself to endure that rejection again.

Jerry and I were not able to call each other, because of the crazy overseas calls expense.  But we wrote to each other every day.  That was the only form of communication we had with each other and as it were, mail was slow to reach him and we were constantly a week or two behind each others lives.  It was frustrating in a way, but it was all we knew.  It wasn't like we had any concept of emails, chatting, skype or the like so though we had limited means to communicate- --it just was what it was.

I was also torn between wanting to be married and not wanting to be married.  I did not like the looks of disapproval my unwed pregnancy brought upon me.  I did not like how people seemed to equate my pregnancy with a lack of intelligence.  I did not like the assumptions people made about me because I was pregnant.  And mostly, I wanted to be a family; Mom, Dad & baby.  I wanted that.  I desperately wanted that.

But I was scared.

Because a baby did not seem a good enough reason to get married and before I left Germany, prior to knowing I was pregnant, I was already beginning to have doubts, doubts about Jerry and me, doubts about marriage, doubts about the Army.  And those doubts scared me.  A lot.  For as much as I wanted to bring my baby into a complete family, I also did not want to jump into a marriage that wouldn't last and put my child through divorce and separation. 

But what bothered me the most was how people just assumed I was going to get married.  It was never asked of me but rather stated like, "When you and Jerry get married . . ." And the assumption was that the only reason we were not married yet was because he was in Germany.  I found that odd.  On the other hand, they found it odd that I wasn't running to the alter.

In all the hurt and rejection I was already facing, this matter wasn't making it any easier.  In a conversation with a close family member about me getting married it was asked of me, "So when are you and Jerry getting married?"  Not "if" but "when".  I didn't know how to put into words what I was feeling and confused about so I simply said, "I don't know."  And to that, this person responded, "Well, this has gone on long enough.  It's embarrassing.  What do you expect us to tell people when they ask about you?  You're being selfish and not thinking of the position you have put your family in.  We are uncomfortable telling our friends about your pregnancy and you're not even married."

Those words cut deep and even to this day, sometimes they resound in my head and my heart has a hard time wrapping around them  Selfish?  I was so desperately trying not to be selfish and conceive what was best for my baby.  How was that selfish?  And wow, an embarrassment to my family?  Hurtful words.

Hurtful words to a young woman that was alone, losing her mother, confused, pregnant and without any means to even have these conversations with Jerry.

But I did realize that I wasn't the only one struggling.  This was huge to my family --all of them.

And coals of guilt and heartache were heaped upon my head.