I hate mornings. Mornings are the culmination of every kind of inconvenience. Sometimes I just stay in bed until morning goes away. But today, I drag myself out of bed on time so I can make myself pretty. I fry my hair into submission and fix my face with makeup, hurrying because Chris is always a little early. When he arrives, I’m ready.
“Hey you,” he greets me when I open the door. He grins, and I smile weakly back. “Ready to go meet my pa?” I cover my face with my hands in fear that is only half pretend.
“Aaaaa….I barely survived the morning, give me a chance to recover!” Chris laughs and takes my hand as we walk down the stairs together. He glances up at me, his face distracted. “What?” I ask.
“You look pretty.” He smirks a little bit, satisfied with his smooth compliment. I roll my eyes and say sarcastically,
“You look pretty, too.”
“Woah, hey now!” he exclaims, mock offended. “I thought we discussed this!”
“Sorry—you look very dashing,” I correct myself. He grins as he unlocks the car door, opening it for me. I slide in.
“Watch your skirt,” he calls as he closes the door.
The drive to Salt Lake City is about 45 minutes, but traffic around the airport is ridiculous on Saturdays. We arrive half an hour later than planned. As we pull up, I see a big, tall man in an army uniform sling his bag onto his shoulder and step up to the curb. ‘That must be The Rick,’ I think, half scared, half amused. ‘He’s not intimidating or anything.’
The Rick climbs into the car and we drive off, headed for the Air Force Base. ‘He is friendly,’ I think, ‘but that could just be to lull me into a false sense of security before he pounces.’ My hands are shaking, and I feel like a frightened rabbit.
The Rick tells stories about his army buddies and laughs with his belly. He’s a down-to-earth, common sense kind of guy. The kind of person you want to like you, the kind of guy you want on your side—especially since he is the father of your boyfriend. And has guns. My voice sounds squeaky in comparison with his deep one. Not that I’m talking much. My vocabulary has dwindled down to “yes” and “no” within the space of one car ride.
We pull up to security at the entrance of the base. Chris and The Rick hand their military identification to the guard. Boy, does my driver’s license make me feel like a wimpy civilian.
“So, are we swearing you in first, or meeting with the colonel about the contract?” asks The Rick.
“Contract, I believe.”
“All right then.”
Everyone on base is in uniform…except for Chris and me. I quietly thank God that I decided to wear a skirt instead of jeans. The first building we go to seems like an administrative one…lots of pictures of important people in uniform, lots of flags. We walk up the stairs and into some guy’s office.
For what seems like hours, this guy talks at us about the GI Bill, the Kicker, and different benefits Chris will get from his contract. Basically, Chris signs away 6 years of his life, and they pay him to do whatever they want. After a long, long time spent talking about the terms and agreements, Chris signs the contract and we leave the building to meet with his recruiter.
Who absolutely freaks me out.
“Hello, are you the girlfriend?” She smiles at me. Her office is a weird combination of decorations that absolutely scream the words ‘mom,’ ‘soldier,’ and ‘fluffy.’
“I’m Rosalind,” I say, not sure how to answer. ‘The girlfriend’ isn’t a name I’m accustomed to responding to.
“Nice to meet you, Rosalind. And you must be Dad…”
I am completely confused by this woman. She reminds me so much of my middle school teachers that told us to ‘take this slip home and have Mom and Dad sign it.’ I have a hard time reconciling this awkward motherly type of woman with the uniform she is wearing.
She leads us into a big room, and a few soldiers start trickling in for the ceremony. Someone with a loudspeaker makes an announcement that there will be an enlistment in the assembly hall, and suddenly the room is full of big, tall, intimidating people in uniforms.
I stand near the front, and to the side, clutching a camera. I feel slightly less useless with it, since it makes me look like I have a reason for being there. The room quiets, and Chris and The Rick stand in front of the American flag. The Rick gives a speech about the military and how proud he is that his son has chosen to follow in his footsteps, adding,
“I told him, if he ever joins the military, to go for the air force—I love the army and I’ve served my years, but we in the army don’t get the benefits the air force does.” The audience laughs appreciatively. He looks at Chris and says, “I’m proud of my son. He’s the only one of my 5 kids would ever make a good soldier, and I’m proud of him for joining.” Chris looks down, smiling slightly. I am touched by the tenderness in this man’s voice, and my fear of him recedes slightly. His father adds, “My other sons are hopeless.” Again, the crowd laughs, but they quiet quickly as Chris and his dad raise their right hands to the square. Rick speaks first, and Chris repeats after him.
“I, Christopher Burns, do solemnly swear that I will support and defend the Constitution of the United States against all enemies, foreign and domestic; that I will bear true faith and allegiance to the same; and that I will obey the orders of the President of the United States and the orders of the officers appointed over me, according to regulations and the Uniform Code of Military Justice. So help me God.”
I take pictures of them during the oath, and of them shaking hands after. I feel a flutter of pride in my chest, watching Chris. He looks at me, and I smile at him. He walks to me and hugs me. I laugh and whisper in his ear, “Congratulations.” He smiles back, and turns to shake the hands of all of the soldiers crowding around to wish him well.
“Could I speak with you for a minute?” I turn to see Chris’ recruiter at my side.
“Yeah, sure—what…?” I am surprised and a little confused as she leads me out of the assembly room and into the hall.
She stands facing the wall, looking at photographs of air force units hung there. She motions me over to stand next to her. I join her in staring at the uniformed men framed on the wall. They all look so young—and so serious. ‘What a burden,’ I think to myself, ‘Carrying the safety of a country on in your two hands.’ She is quiet for a moment, perhaps to create a dramatic effect, because then she says,
“They kill people, you know.”
I turn my head to stare at her, and she continues,
“It’s the military.”
I am stunned. Does she think I thought they played paintball with those guns? I don’t know how to respond. This isn’t really a conversation I planned on having—with anyone, least of all a recruiter I met 20 minutes ago.
“Some of these men get killed by people. Others do the killing. Some do both. Are you okay with that? Can you handle that?”
I realize she expects me to respond, and manage to stutter, “I—uh—yeah?”
She looks me in the eye and says, “It is a big commitment, and it’s hard, loving someone in the military.” I stare at her, shocked. She smiles at me and says, “Oh, and if you are interested in joining, I can help you negotiate a contract.”
“I—no—got a major. In college. I like college.” I try to pull out something intelligible from my jumbled thoughts. “Thank you for the offer, but I think I’m…I’m really good.”
She smiles again, then turns abruptly and walks away. I stand frozen for a minute, feeling like I just had hard truth smashed into my face. ‘Am I really okay with this?’ I wonder. I remember Chris’ earnest face, telling me about how much he loves his country and wants to serve and protect it. ‘Do I really support him in this cause? Can I love a soldier?’ I think of the life I live, of my freedoms and privileges, won for me by others who had the guts to fight for their land and their families…and now Chris is one of them. I search my heart for uncertainty, but it had gone. ‘I truly am proud of him,’ I realize, ‘and I want to be with him. He is a great man.’ I feel peaceful, sure. I glance again at the photos of men I owe my safety and freedom to. ‘I am glad that Chris is one of them. I wouldn’t change that, even if I could.’ Then, remembering I have feet and I am free to use them, I walk hurriedly back into the assembly hall. Chris is there, looking around for me. I join him and his dad, who is talking to another officer.
“Where did you go?” He whispers.
“Your recruiter wanted to talk to me,” I respond.
“Oh no…” He looks at me more closely. I roll my eyes and laugh.
“It was fine.” I say, honestly. Chris looks relieved. I couldn’t resist adding, “She just says you like to kill people, but I’m okay with that.” His eyes widen in surprise. We stifle our laughter and wait until everyone is through talking.
As we walk back to the car, Chris takes my hand. I squeeze it back, smiling a little to myself. The world stops spinning, and the future that was once blurred and confused comes into focus.
