The Willing

         Ring, ring.
                I looked at my clock.  Its green lettering blinked 06:13 AM.  I had intended to sleep for another four hours at least; today was my only day off for the entire month.  Then again, I reasoned grudgingly, if someone was calling me this early it must be important.  I rolled over and propelled myself out of bed and grabbed the phone.  “Hello?” I said, my voice thick with sleeplessness.
         “Am I speaking to Bridget Dowager?” asked a vaguely familiar, deep voice.
         “Yes,” I said, my voice slightly less fuzzy now.
         “I know it’s been a while, but this is Chris Lavoie – your Air Force recruiter, remember?”
         I sat down, a smile spreading over my lips in slow degrees.  It must have been twelve months, at least, since I’d spoken to him last.
         Upon graduation from college, I had wanted to enlist in the United States Air Force.  Serving my country had always been a dream of mine.  Additionally, because it was only a few years after the September 11 attacks, there were a lot of benefits for enlisted personnel.  Unfortunately, I had asthma as a child and required a medical waiver.  I had submitted the paperwork to the Surgeon General’s office and waited hopefully, but after a few months, I had taken a full-time job and reluctantly given up on my dream.
         “Do you remember?” he asked again, his voice faltering a bit.
         I realized that, lost in my reverie and over-tired, I had not acknowledged the question.  “Of course,” I said quickly.
         “It seems that your waiver was delayed because it got lost in the shuffle somehow,” he said, and I could hear a smile creep into his voice.
         “And?” I said eagerly.  A pregnant pause elapsed between us and I found myself chewing my lower lip.  It felt like a minute passed.
         “You’re cleared for Military service.”
         I leapt to my feet.  Hope and joy blossomed in my chest.  I was unusually aware of my body and all of its sensations.  I wanted to throw open my window and scream the news to the world.  I contented myself with asking Senior Airman Lavoie, “Are you serious?”
         He laughed.  “I wouldn’t joke about something like that.”  He paused; I did not trust myself to speak, and waited for him to continue.  “So,” he said after a sufficiently awkward pause, “how soon can we get you up here and get all of your paperwork figured out?”
         I fell back into my seat, thoughtful.  I knew that I could not simply walk away from my job; they needed me.  At the same time, I was excited to get the process under way.  Hadn’t I waited long enough?  Pushing my hesitation aside, I said, “I can be there in two hours.”


         Twelve hours later, I threw my keys onto the counter in my quaint little apartment.  I felt eagerness, excitement, and an unrestricted enthusiasm growing in my chest.  The decision felt right, from my hair to my toes.  I had a satisfied, comforted confidence that told me I was making the right choice.
         Now it was time to tell the people I loved.
         I placed the first phone call to my long-time boyfriend, and asked him to come over for dinner.  “Sure,” he said, a smile evident in his baritone.  “What’s the occasion?”
         “You’ll see,” I smiled back.
         My parents received the news over the phone.  My father was thrilled; he had served in the United States Air Force in his day.  My mother was, understandably, worried but supportive.  “Just promise me you won’t go to the Middle East,” she implored at the end of the call.
         I felt a twinge of guilt, knowing that once I was deployed she would live in perpetual uncertainty.  “Mom,” I said gently, “The Middle East is where we need Airmen.  They’ll train me well, though.  It would be a waste of their training resources if I got hurt.”  I chuckled lightly to let her know that I was joking.
         She sighed.  “All right.  Are you sure about this?”
         I laughed.  “I couldn’t possibly be any more certain, Mom.  This feels right to me.  You know I’ve always wanted to do this.”
         We said our good-byes and I continued on my way, informing the important people in my life of my choice.  To my surprise, relatively few were supportive.  My mentor cautioned me about the fallacies of the war in which I would fight; my best friend hung up on me.  Her only words for me were, “I don’t understand how you can risk your life for an unjust war.”  I felt a brief, sharp pang of regret, but little more; as our lives were going in different directions, maintaining that friendship would have been challenging to say the least.
         Shortly after that phone call, there was a sharp knock on my door.  Looking at the clock, I smiled; it was William.  Will and I had been dating for a bit more than a year; he was my closest confidant, my partner in crime.  Checking my hair briefly in the living room mirror, I pulled open the door and felt the familiar rush as my eyes met his.  Undeniably attractive, he was a Company Commander in the United States Army.  He was loyal, bold, intelligent, funny, caring without being over-the-top, calm – in short, he was everything I had ever wanted.  He grinned upon seeing me and kissed me briefly.  “So,” he said, “What is this all about?”
         I smiled and took both of his hands, leading him into the apartment, towards the kitchen where I was making spaghetti.  “Well,” I said confidently, “I told you that I wanted to join the Air Force, right?”
         “Yeah.  But you couldn’t because of a medical DQ.  Your waiver got denied, right?”
         I smiled a bit more broadly and shook my head. “I thought it did, because I never heard back and it’s been over a year.  But it turns out that it just got lost in paperwork, or something.  Will, my waiver got approved.  I’m eligible to enlist.”
         I thought his grin slipped a little bit, but assured myself that I was just seeing things.  He cleared his throat.  “Well, uh, are you going to join up?”
         Slightly puzzled, I replied, “Of course.  I’m going to MEPS tomorrow to pick my job and swear in.”  His hands slipped a little in mine.  I cocked my head to the side, thoroughly confused.
         “I don’t want this to come out the wrong way,” he said carefully.  He broke our eye contact, his sky-blue eyes sliding to the linoleum floor.  I waited, breath caught in my chest.  “Uh,” he started.  He paused again and his blue eyes locked with my emerald ones.  “Bridget, if you join up…there can’t be anything between us.”
         Instinctively, I bit my lip.  “Why?” I asked numbly, working diligently to conceal my shock.
         He sighed almost imperceptibly.  “Bridget,” he said, more confidence infused into his tone now, “I just don’t date military women.  I have a pact with myself.”
         I felt defiance surging up through me.  I cleared my voice to ensure it was devoid of emotion.  “Will,” I said softly, “I am the same person whether I am a civilian or an Airman.  That makes no sense.”
         He shook his head.  “I hear about it all the time.  Military women have a lot of opportunities to cheat on their boyfriends and husbands, and they usually do.”
         I could not keep passion from my voice.  “Civilians married to service members are the same way!”  I exclaimed.  “Will, don’t you know that I am faithful to you?  Becoming an Airman will not change who I am.”
         He kept his cool, as he always did and replied, “I know you are now.  But it could change.  You know we’d almost never see each other, between both of our deployments; we might be stationed on opposite coasts.”
         I knew he spoke the truth.  There was no guarantee that we would ever be stationed together.  My defiant streak runs deep, however, so I countered, “If we want to make it work, we can.  It’s not as if we’ve never been separated by thousands of miles before.”
         He didn’t respond, just studied me.
         I squeezed his hands, cherishing the feel of his large fingers intertwined with mine.  I inhaled his scent, admired his eyes and cheekbones.  I was trying to memorize every part of him.  I still refused to accept that this man, my match in everything, my support, my strength, my love, would abandon me.  I released his hands with deep regret and turned around to turn off the stove.
         “You’re really going to do this?” he asked.  His voice was gentle; his sorrow almost palpable in his tone.
         I turned to face him.  With absolute certainty, I said, “Yes.”  As I uttered this one, incongruous syllable, my heart seemed to crack within me.  It was a nearly physical pain, sharp and swift, subsiding into a dull but deep ache.  I felt empty, suddenly; hollow.  It was as if my intestines had vanished.  I saw him steel himself and knew he had felt it, too.  I reached up and cupped his face in my hand, feeling as if I was bleeding from every pore.  Overwhelming sorrow rose within me but I choked it back.  I could feel tears threatening to run down my cheeks, held back by immense willpower alone.  Slowly, his hand covered mine.  I closed my eyes at the sensation, a warm touch when I felt as though I was wrapped in an enduring winter, and my eyelids squeezed the tears out.  Racing down my cheeks, they seemed to almost burn, such was the contrast between them and my numb flesh.  He wrapped his fingers around mine and gently removed my hand.  He squeezed it gently once, then let it drop.  “I should go,” he said softly.
         Every cell in my body screamed that he should not; he should stay and change his mind while he was at it, but I could not speak.  I merely met his eyes as calmly, proudly, and confidently as I could.
         Slowly he turned away; slowly he walked to the door; slowly he turned back.
         “Bridget, I know you can do whatever it is you want to do.  And I’ll support you through anything.  As a friend.  That’s all we can be; that’s all we can offer to each other, now.”
         With those words, he took a last long look at me, turned away, and walked out of my apartment.