Fort Benning, Georgia. United States Army Airborne School Headquarters. 1977.
“Shouldn’t you be working down the hill?”
The young lady admonished the lieutenant sitting by her desk. He grinned back at her and stood up.
“Yeah, I think I’ve slacked off enough. See you later?”
“You obviously know how to find me…”
He caught the hint of a smile at the corners of her mouth.
He returned an amused smile of his own and turned to go.
As he approached the door he saw a captain hurrying to intercept him. Damn, he thought, two seconds from a clean getaway. They were out of the girl’s earshot.
“Lieutenant, what the hell are you doing?”
The lieutenant had scanned the captain’s uniform as he’d approached. Nothing. No Jump Wings, no Pathfinder Badge, no Ranger Tab, no Expert Infantryman’s Badge, no Combat Infantryman’s Badge. And no wedding band.
“Sir?”
“You know what I’m talking about. She’s engaged. Leave her alone.”
“Just making small talk, sir.”
“Well, make it somewhere else.”
“Yes, sir.”
The lieutenant adjusted his cap as he stepped into the sunlight. Yeah, I’ll leave her alone. Sure thing, you jealous REMF [ed: Infantry slang – Rear Echelon MotherFucker]. The lieutenant had already made inquiries and had discovered that she had been engaged since the age of 16. She was 20 now.
Subconsciously, the lieutenant’s attentions were driven by instinct. A short passage of time proved those instincts correct. What happened left him shaking his head. Only in the movies, he thought.
Her fiancé broke off the engagement.
In her shock and grief, the girl reached out to any sympathetic shoulder that would pause long enough to provide any measure of support. The lieutenant was there, lending an empathetic ear and treating her with the kid gloves her heart so desperately needed. Their friendship grew.
One night after work she was his guest for dinner at the Officers’ Club. He watched as she finished her drink, her chair pushed back and her legs, looking longer than he’d remembered, casually crossed under her short skirt. She would take an ice cube into her mouth and then, casting him a glance from the corner of her eye, would let it slide back into the glass in her hand.
They ended the evening in his room at the BOQ [ed: Bachelor Officer Quarters]. He marveled at the smoothness and perfection of her nubile body. He ran his hand gently along her curves, her flushing pink contrasting sharply against the stark whiteness of her skin. The desire within him melded with a testosterone-driven need to be the protector of her porcelain vulnerability. He caressed her and spoke to her softly. She stirred more within him than simply the familiar desire.
When she left the next morning he was truly sorry to see her go.
She smiled. “Let’s stay in touch.”
He returned her smile. “Of course”.
The weeks that passed were peppered with the lieutenant’s failures at the bar scene. He would call her but the uncertainty of a new conquest proved overpowering. Besides, he convinced himself, she’s a nice girl. She’s a settle-down-and-drag-her-home-to-mom-and-dad girl. You don’t need a nice girl. You need a trashy vixen. A screaming witch to hide from mom and dad. A wild-eyed, untamed, howling lioness to scrape her claws across your back and parts of your body you don’t mention in polite company. The time for a nice girl will come later. Much, much later.
The lieutenant crossed three lanes of traffic and a curbed median as he spun the big Thunderbird around. The smell of liquor rode hard on his breath as he pulled into her gravel driveway and knocked on the trailer door. Her surprised roommate answered.
“I’m sorry, she’s not here. She’s on a date.”
With carry case in hand, the lieutenant pushed past her and stepped inside.
“That’s OK, I’ll wait.”
The roommate was visibly uncomfortable as they sat and watched television. Finally, she stood up.
“Well, I’ve got work in the morning. I’m going to bed.”
The lieutenant looked at her. He hadn’t missed the barely veiled hint.
“Have a good night. If I get tired, I know how to find her bedroom.”
The lieutenant had known that she would be on a date. She’d told him earlier when he’d called. She’d ended the call as she ended every telephone conversation with him.
“I’d rather be with you.”
He’d responded with his customary silence. Then…
“Have a good night.”
He’d hung up.
Now he unzipped the small carry case that he kept in his car. He took out the Ruger Blackhawk .44 Magnum that it contained and laid it on the bedside table. It was illegal at that time, in both Fort Benning’s Georgia and neighboring Alabama, to carry a loaded, concealed handgun without a permit. The lieutenant didn’t care. At this point he held no illusions about pursuing a career in the military so he opted on the side of being prepared for any eventuality. He undressed and climbed into bed, keeping the revolver under the covers.
He’d lost track of time when he heard a car in the gravel driveway. Rapid footsteps in the hallway meant the roommate was awake. Then the squeak of the front door opening followed by women’s voices in a hurried conversation. Then a man’s voice. The man’s voice grew louder. The lieutenant, lying on his back with the big Ruger in his hand, now eared back the hammer to the fully cocked position. He waited. Then a car door slamming and the sound of tires on gravel. He eased the hammer forward again.
The bedroom lights suddenly flooded the room and there she was, blocking the doorway, the picture of feminine fury.
God, he thought, she’s gorgeous.
She moved toward him.
“What the hell are you doing here!?”
The lieutenant grinned.
“Waiting for you, baby.”
She unleashed a torrent of profanity and anger that continued unabated even as he laid his handgun on the end table. Each time she would pause to breathe he would attempt to interject a word in his own defense. Finally, she began to wind down. Finally, he was able to engage her in conversation. Finally, they smiled at each other. Then laughed.
They would awaken the next morning in each other’s arms. Neither knew that circumstances would make this the last time that they would see each other.
It would be years before the lieutenant would understand the emotions that had driven her behavior. It would be years before he would understand the emotional price of his own actions.
The old man sat back in his chair and stared blankly at his computer screen. Several minutes passed as he swam in the pool of memories of a time long ago. A growing feeling of regret and emotion slowly thickened his throat. With a start, he brought himself back to the present.
Rising from his chair his joints reminded him that his Glory Days lay in the distant past. He paused for a second then walked away, cursing the burden of a conscience.
~ Dempsey 🌵
Chalk Dust 