After the kerfuffle around our match, I couldn’t blame Randall for his skepticism. I’d marched down to that office expecting to call out a computer error myself. “I totally understand.”
“Jackson wants a husband to come home to. A person to be part of his refuge after he’s been fighting. That fucker he dated did a number on him. We wanted him to wait, but then he said, wait for what? He didn’t have time to meet anyone. So he signed up, and we haven’t figured out what to do with that.” Randall indicated his wife, and then himself. “That’s on us. So’s the bias that comes with it.”
“I don’t get the idea you mean, ‘the bias that his husband was chosen by a computer’,” I said.
“No, though you’d think that would be plenty, wouldn’t you,” Randall said. Then he winced. “We were always gonna be a tough sell when it came to you, boy, because I’m not sure there was ever a way you could win with us. We’re a military family. My beautiful bride, she can engineer the shit out of complicated military hardware. Plenty of soldiers are still alive because of her. I served. All my kids serve in one way or another. And you’re about as civvy as a man gets. A history teacher, of all things. We want a man who’ll be there for Jackson when he comes home. But-”
“-but my brother gives everything he has to serve his country. How the hell can we respect a man who wouldn’t do the same?”
We all looked over at Laramie with surprise on our faces. He stared casually at his plate, spearing pieces of steak with his fork as if he hadn’t just let loose the social equivalent of a fart in a church. When he sensed us staring at him, he looked up, unconcerned as could be.
“What?” he said. “I’m just saying what we’re all thinking. You’re good enough to marry a soldier, but you’re not good enough tobeone. We all hear what you get for volunteering at Mail Call Mates. You here for the bonus money? The healthcare? The death benefit?”
I opened my mouth to reply, but Jackson beat me to it.
“Laramie!” he barked. “You don’t talk to my husband that way.”
“Why not? You afraid of the answer?” Laramie turned back to his plate to continue eating as he talked. “I figured you’d’ve learned after you shared an asshole with Jody the first time.”
For those not aware, “Jody” isn’t anyone’s real name. He’s the bête noire of the deployed soldier. The civilian snake back home courting your boyfriend or girlfriend, the one who leads them to cheat while you’re serving your country far away. Laramie had decided to take some low blows at his brother.
Again, I opened my mouth to reply, but Randall cut in with a deep, cold rumble of, “That’s enough, Laramie. Sebastian’s a guest at my table, and he’s family now.”
“He’s not family to me.” Laramie set his fork down at last and turned to look at me. “Whydidn’tyou serve, Sebastian? What made you feel you were too good to bloody your knuckles for your country?”
Another deep breath to prepare a reply, another breath wasted as Jackson, angry now and not paying attention to anyone but his father and Laramie, said, “Not everyoneshouldserve. Some folks aren’t suited to it. I’d rather we have fewer soldiers who want to be there than drag in people who don’t want to serve. Eager soldiers fight better. They come home more often.”
“Who cares if the rest don’t come home?” Laramie shrugged. “We go out there and we die so these soft fuckers can live easy and wring their damn hands over how much it costs to get to Mars. Letthemgo bleed for those easy fucking lives.”
Randall stared down the table with a dark look. “I get what you’re saying. I’ve said it before, and I’ll say it again. I’d be happier if everyone did a four-year stint, even if it’s only so they’ll understand what soldiers go through. You don’t really appreciate your country until you fight for it.”
“See?” Laramie smirked at Jackson.
The smirk fell when Randall spoke up again. “But.Jackson ain’twrong.We’re a free country. One with a volunteer military we ought to be proud of. We don’thaveto draft folks. We don’thaveto enforce mandatory service. Peoplechooseto defend their country.”
“And we can choose to judge the ones who won’t sack up and defend it,” Laramie said.
Brenda stood up. “I’m not getting into this again. I’m going to go do the dishes.”
I thought about joining her as she exited, stage right, to avoid this entire dumpster fire of a conversation. That seemed cowardly, though, since my husband had waded into battle with his family to defend me. Yes, I’d noticed that he’d jumped straight to my aid when his brother spoke up against me, and my heart beat hard to think that he’d do it.
The most important people in his life had expressed their opinions. Jackson had stood up and contradicted them, in my name. You better believe I had some heart bubbles floating around me.
But I also had a bleak pit of concern falling into the depths of my gut, growing deeper and wider with every word.
“That’s part of being a free country,” Jackson said. “Not everyonehasto fight. Bastian’s doing his part for our country. He teaches our history. He signed up to givemesomeone to come home to. You think that’s not important?”
“Oh, boo hoo, he grades papers and meets you on a damn airfield,” Laramie fired back. “Can’t you see you deserve better than this, Jackson? You deserve anequal. You deserve someone who loves you for what you do. You deserve someone withbackbone.Not some cripple who’s happy to soak up your pay and sit in a classroom while you get shot!”
NowI understood. The family did venerate military service, no doubt, but Randall’s own words had proved he’d realized his prejudice and wanted to move past it. Jackson’s father had judged me because a computer had chosen me, and because he had acknowledged biases against people who never enlisted. Not, by the way, an uncommon sentiment among military-heavy families.
LaramieveneratedJackson. As I listened to the desperate hurt in Laramie’s voice, I saw a younger brother who held his older sibling up as a hero. Who wanted to follow in Jackson’s footsteps. A brother who’d seen his brother hurt once and never wanted that pain for his brother again, especially not from some civilian high school teacher with a cane and a computer’s approval.
And I saw fear. Fear that if Jackson had to tolerate this sub-par substitute for a real spouse, Laramie might have to as well. Fear that his hero hadsettled.
Laramie wanted to protect his brother, and protect himself. That worried me.
Jackson growled, “I respect what Bastian does. How many teachers changed our lives with what they did for us, Lar? That’s what he’s doing. Changing lives. How many more people might appreciate our sacrifice if they knew more about what we’re doing? Weneedpeople like Bastian!”