Her voice is soft and sweet. “Of course I’m coming. I wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
7
Bea
I pedal my new-to-me bike on the cement path toward the PDX. Tank was so proud of himself, finding the ten-speed with a basket on the front so I had some way to get around. He promises it’s temporary while he pulls out of our driveway in the Mustang to go to work. I appreciate the thoughtfulness. He needs his car and I need to not be trapped at home.
The PDX is only a mile away, and I need to pick up something sweet. I dash inside and grab some cupcakes that won’t jostle too much in the basket. I see a lip gloss in a pretty peach color and grab a box of tampons. Next week is period week and I don’t want to have to pedal down here with cramps.
I’m at the checkout and swipe my debit card. The card reader beeps and rejects my card. I look back and see a mom with two kids under five. She’s bouncing the baby and looking at me with a harried smile. The cashier seems impatient and I dig inside my purse for my emergency cash.
“Sorry,” I mutter to the people around me, and grab my bag, scurrying to the ATM outside. I check my account balance and see it’s hovering in the twelve-dollar range. With a slap to my forehead, I pick up my phone and call Tank.
“Hey, Honeybee.” I didn’t expect him to pick up, so it’s a real treat to hear his voice.
“Hiya Tank.” I don’t know how to word this. I’m broke. I don’t have a job yet.
“I’ve gotta get back to work. What’s up?” he asks. He’s never impatient with me, but I know he can’t stay on the phone either.
“I’m at the PDX and my debit card isn’t working. I had some cash on me but I think I need you to take me to the bank this week.” I mash my lip between my teeth, feeling awful.
“Shoot. I forgot about that. Listen, just use the credit card in my desk with both our names on it. It came the other day, but I forgot to tell you.”
“What about cash and stuff?” It feels weird using the card, but I guess that’s what married people do. I don’t know. I’ve been married all of six months and still don’t have a clue.
“Use the card, and when we have time, I'll take you. I have to go. Love you.” Tank hangs up before I can say I love you. I say it out loud anyway to the silent phone, because I do love him, but I love him more when he’s here.
It’s a slow pedal back to the house, where I park my bike next to the front porch and chain it to the post. My neighbor pulls up and honks her horn. I plan to check out the credit card later, and bring my bag from the PDX with me, getting into her car. She’s taking me to another WAGS meet-and-greet, and fingers crossed I’ll find some more ladies my age to bond with. She catches me up on the latest base gossip. Who knew these places were as bad as small towns, except with a defined pecking order I haven’t learned yet?
“You’ll want to get in good with the officers’ wives. They have all the connections.” Rhonda is the first person I met here, living on base, six months ago. Her house is across the street and her husband trains new recruits while she works as a nurse. She saw me bringing in boxes one morning while
Tank was out, and offered me coffee and doughnuts. It was the perfect icebreaker, considering Tank had been so busy that he’d brought me home to an empty fridge and a mattress on the floor until we figured out shipping furniture. There’d been so many phone calls to make I didn’t know where to start, and Rhonda was a blessing.
Today she’s pulling me through the throng of smiling women, introducing me.
“Don’t be shy. You said you wanted to find a job or something to keep you busy. These ladies practically run the base behind the scenes.” Rhonda makes a good point: I do need something to occupy my time besides scrubbing counters and laundry. Tank goes through a lot on his work rotations and it’s hard to keep up.
I scan the park area where we are meeting. Picnic baskets are filled with homemade salads and sandwiches. I went to the PDX and picked up cupcakes. I haven’t mastered cooking, besides the basics of macaroni and cheese, which is a little embarrassing. Tank’s mom sent us off with a cookbook and an Instapot, which kind of terrifies me. What if I blow something up accidentally?
“Everyone has a baby?”
Some women are older, a few are my age, and more with children than not tugging at their knees or settled on their hips. I don’t have baby fever in the least, and watching children back home was something of a last resort and only because I got paid to do it. I’m not prepared to start popping my own out. I’m lonely, sure, but not enough to make a kid. I’m better off with a fish tank. My insecurities are surfacing, reminding myself that I made this choice.
Some of these women have careers they can take anywhere their husbands get deployed. Rhonda could be a nurse anywhere. I didn’t even finish college because I didn’t know what I wanted to study. Four years seemed like a long time to study a subject I wasn’t sure I’d love twenty years from now. My resume isn’t anything special and my options are limited on and off base. I don’t like other people’s children well enough to try the daycare center. My mother would expire if she knew I considered the titty bar off base. Tank would lose his mind, and truth be told I only feel bold enough to go topless with my husband after a drink or two—definitely two drinks, and I couldn’t get past the embarrassment of his fellow soldiers seeing me like that. Tassels like that aren’t exactly stars and stripes.
I barely get through the meet-and-greet without frowning as Rhonda makes the rounds saying goodbye. She pats my hand and drives me home, dropping me off in front of our small house. She drives away and I stand at the front door unable to force myself inside the empty space. Instead I sit down on the cement stoop and watch the cars drive down the street of our little neighborhood. Tank won’t be home until after eight.
In the six months of being married to Tank, we’ve barely spent enough time together as he settles into work on the base. My patience is raw. He’s loving every minute of what he’s doing and he’s filled with tasks and mission objectives while I’m floundering. There’s only so many times one can clean a small one-bedroom house before you run out of things to scrub and hospital corners to tuck into beds.
Some nights I fall asleep on the couch and wake in the middle of the night wrapped up in bed, wondering how I got there. The amazing sex I thought we’d be having…sometimes Tank is exhausted and sometimes I’m too homesick to be in the mood. Tank calls as much as he can, I can’t fault him for that, but I’m lonely. My heart aches and nothing fills the space. Nothing I want besides him here, home, with me. When he’s deployed I’ll have a car. We share his Mustang since I can’t afford to go and buy my own. When he’s home I’m dependent on him to take me where I need to go, and sometimes a bus to bring me back if our schedules don’t jive. Let’s say I haven’t made the best effort to make friends. I let Tank think I’m happy, but inside I can’t tell you one good thing about living here besides Rhonda’s coffee if she’s home from work.
8
Tank
“How’s it going, soldier?” My commanding officer is grinning as I’m deep in thought wondering what to do for Bea’s birthday. I don’t share his good mood today, but I respond appropriately. The past few months haven’t been great at home.
“It’s all right.” My answer is noncommittal. I talked to Bea earlier, but she didn’t sound good. In fact, she sounded more despondent than before. I’ve been monitoring her moods lately, and not because I want to correlate if it’s her period or because the rent is due.