Jamila 5

An article on Buddhism caught my eye, so I'm at the university library. After a couple hours, I opt for pizza for lunch. So Buddhism is a multi-faceted thing, answers on all levels. For the busy person with a couple hours to read, there are still things which could improve your life. Other end of the spectrum, you could spend a lifetime studying it.
So what is the #1 thing I have to do? Let go of the past, I ain't a M/Sgt packing $1,500,000 worth of weaponry anymore. Need a congruence, a fit, between mind and body.
Appealing? Not on your life, rather go on an Antarctic expedition or learn deep-sea diving. See, it's a contradiction. Just plain don't like women, but became one by accident.
So what is the #1, Mount Everest, face-the-demon-head-on thing to do? Seduce a guy of course! First, easier said than done, this jailbait look. Second, even if I could, I wouldn't, rather die.
Hold on, isn't that attaching? Getting too emotionally strung out on stuff? Wouldn't a Buddhist try to avoid attaching?
To test my theory, I flash the winningest smile I can muster at a guy 3 tables away. His reaction is instant, student newspaper up in front of his face, very interested in it as he eats. He leaves with the paper held between him and me, like a knight's shield.
I chuckle, I may not have the power to pick up, but at least I'm a little attractive.
My reverie is interupted by the pizza counter woman. She quietly says, "don't come back."
"Why not?"
"Should be ashamed of yourself. What would your mother say? Now go home and behave. Chase after boys your age, not my customers."

It's a small but messy account. A local mil reserve unit has a payroll account for mess honorariums. A nervous newly-minted Lieutenant is deathly afraid of Revenue plus paper-inept. He asks if he can come see me. Not in the unit, meeting rooms on main floor.
His fears are laid to rest. Doesn't owe $100 after all, once posting errors are sorted.
I stand, lock the door, turn to him and smile. He looks more nervous than ever. I start to unzip his pants.
"Before you start," he warns, "not available. Have a fiancee who'd kill me."
"Not looking for a steady boyfriend. Just desperate for some human warmth today. Spare a few minutes out of your busy schedule for a blowjob?"
A few minutes later, he's on his way, no big deal for him I'm sure.
For me, a watershed. So I am a real woman after all. Like a lawyer passing a bar exam or a student pilot doing first solo flight.

As I return to my desk, I see the grandmother clique showing photos, again, still. I ignore them because they don't talk with me other than "good morning".
The possessor of the photos sits not far from me. As the others leave, she says, "just picked these up. Son and his family. Just back from a tour of duty in Afghanistan."
He's a handsome dude, wife is good-looking. Various photos convey the family lives at peace or at least relatively so.
"So Lily what do you think?"
"Must be proud of him, has his life in order."
"Pure luck, I can assure you."
"Mothers don't usually talk so."
She laughs, "yes, most are given to boasting, stretching the truth. Luck of the draw, found by accident the right personality type of wife."
"What's that?"
"Everything has changed over the years. Army used to be so civilized. Long enjoyable tours of duty in Germany. End of the cold war changed all that. Now it's endless tours in dirty, dangerous places, alone, without your family. Come back after the first, wife is ticked. Second, odds are 1 in 3 she's gone. Third, 2 in 3."
"So how did your son defy this law of gravity?"
"Type of woman who is perfectly capable of living alone, doesn't get upset about it. But still, glad to see you get back, if you get back."
"Sounds like a rare type."
"You bet. You'd be surprised. He could introduce you to a couple dozen different friends, all a decent sort, just lost out after too many of those tours."
"I see and how would I know the sheep from the goats?"
"Simple, be friends with his wife. She knows everything that happens. So, you're free Saturday morning, join her and me for brunch."

We get a table by the window. I order coffee and Eggs Benedict. The wife, Cindy, warms up with several humorous anecdotes of Afghanistan. I could share a few with my encounters with Afghans, but better not to.
Then Cindy rattles on about the level of various addictions. My eyes glaze over. Surely this is a star-crossed idea.
Abruptly, she shifts topics, "you've seen how the bad half lives. Same as anywhere, Revenue, a factory. Care to hear how the non-addictive types live?"
"I'm all ears."
After this, Cindy asks, "so lemme guess what parameters might be floating around in your head. Say age 30 - 40, no real preference as to specialty, absolutely must be a non-smoker, very light social drinker or total abstainer. Good guess?"
"Could not have said it better myself."
"I could name over a dozen names that meet that. If it still didn't work, you could edge up or down a couple years age. How bout a nice electronics tech, age 35, voracious reader, total abstainer due to borderline on diabetes."
"Ah well"
"My husband's best friend. No kids. Lost his wife after 3 of those horrible tours in former Yugoslavia." She digs out a photo, showing him and her husband.
I shouldn't feel this way, but I do. Breathless, excited even.
"Meet him for coffee in a real public place, so there's no risk."

And so I'm sitting very nervously over an espresso. He breezes in, looks even better than the photo. Must recognize me from the description. "You are Lily?"
"And you Jean-Claude?"
He laughs, it's a nice laugh, "good I'm not a drinker. You wouldn't be getting into bars."
"Most women would feel flattered, I'm sure, but when you live with it all the time, it gets tiresome."
"Cindy says you're a reader too. So, what do you like?"
A very pleasant afternoon follows.
Eventually he smiles sheepishly, "look Lily I could push, invite you for dinner. Don't want to take the risk. See, try for a romance and it flops, then we can't just be friends. But I really like you. Even if there is no romance, sure like us to be coffee friends. So?"
"I like the idea. Awful short of friends myself. Coffee next week?"

Three Saturdays later, I find he's being dragged off to Haiti on a hastily improvised tour.
He grins, "they do have email."
"I don't."
He takes me to a cybercafe, sets up a free email address, shows me how it works.
I can type 55 words per minute from my work, so we communicate a lot while he's away.
As we meet for coffee after his return, he smiles radiantly, "you have no idea, how pleasant, how wonderful it is to come back from a tour, see a friendly face, not an uptight one."
I nestle close, ask if he'd like to see my apartment.

What follows is the happiest few months of my life. Then he's tapped on the shoulder again, another 6 month tour in Afghanistan.
Two days before end of tour, his entire convoy is wiped out by rocket attack.
Cindy was lucky. Her husband missed the convoy due to gastrointestinal problems.
In the final analysis, I shrug. Fate has spoken. See Jean-Claude would have died anyway, least he was happy a while. And me, I've changed bigtime.
The M/Sgt doesn't really exist anymore. It's like a mostly forgotten movie, seen years ago, only remember the odd bits.
Me, I am what you see. I am a woman. Arguably, as effective or more at it as the original Lily.