Rank

by Richard Compson Sater

  *

  Daylight puts everything into perspective. However dark Sunday night might be, Monday morning comes, with a new week to face. I showered and shaved and dressed and fixed breakfast and drove to the base. Habits make things easy. When necessary, we can hit autopilot and accomplish the minimum.

  As I’d predicted, the general didn’t come into the office. Only my certainty that he would be absent gave me the courage to show up myself. He called Linda and pleaded sick. I cleaned up the conference room to remove all evidence of Friday’s special event, dumping the leftover punch down the restroom sink and vacuuming cake crumbs off the carpet. Otherwise, I puttered around with little to do, spending much of the day talking with Julia in her office. Lieutenant Colonel Cartwright remained surly, perhaps still angry about the promotion ceremony, but she left me alone. Friday’s debacle at the club seemed to have escaped her radar, and Linda’s, too. I was grateful for the reprieve.

  On Tuesday, the general called and told Linda he’d decided to stay home yet another day, still feeling out of sorts. I could only imagine the thoughts that coursed through his mind. I only hoped they were as torturous and cataclysmic as mine.

  I got out of bed on Wednesday morning with good intentions, but I knew he couldn’t stretch his absence to another day. Knowing I’d have to face him made me a little queasy. It was my turn to call in sick. Truthfully, I reported an upset stomach to Linda and told her I would be staying home myself. She sympathized and said she would inform the general.

  I made good use of the time, spending the first half of the day thinking the matter through. The general and I would have to discuss the situation, but what did I want from him? Did I seek an explanation or admission of guilt? An apology? A promise to change? A reconciliation or a formal breakup? Was there some wild card he might play that I couldn’t foresee?

  Our lives are shaped by the choices we make. If we opt out of making those choices through laziness or fear or carelessness, others will make them for us. If I squandered my life helping others accomplish their dreams, I’d never achieve my own. I had to accept the consequences, including the possibility of a Traveler-less future.

  Thursday came, and I couldn’t put off the reckoning any longer. We had to face each other, and I simply wanted to get past it. As usual, he was already in his office by the time I hung up my hat at seven fifteen. Linda warned me to step cautiously.

  “He was in an ugly mood all day yesterday, Lieutenant Mitchell. I thought he might still be sick, but he spent most of the time locked in his office, smoking that stinky old pipe of his,” she said. “I don’t know what’s gotten into his shorts, but I don’t like it. He’s already started in again today, so look out.”

  Hmm. I thanked her for the information.

  I made coffee as usual, only this time, I tampered with the recipe, eliminating the French roast and doubling the Maxwell House to see if he could really tell the difference. If he was already in bad humor, why not antagonize him more? When the coffee finished brewing, I poured a cup for him and for myself, and walked into his office. I set the mug on his desk, on the leather coaster where it belonged. In accordance with our routine for the past year, I sat down in the chair across from him, wondering how he would begin this day.

  He’d worn his blues, open-collared shirt neatly pressed, name tag and silver pilot wings but no ribbons, each shoulderboard bearing two stars, the very model of a modern major general. He sat at the computer, checking his email, probably still wading through the messages that had piled up since the previous Friday. The system seemed to be running slowly, and after a couple of minutes he lost patience, yelling “goddamn it” to the universe and abruptly yanking the power strip’s plug out of the wall.

  He finally turned to face me. He took off his glasses, but he would not look in my eyes. “Good morning, Satellite.” So he still hadn’t run out of nicknames for me, or else it was a habit too ingrained to correct. Or it was as meaningless as it sounded. On the surface, today might have been no different from any other day, but this morning, he looked as if the weight of two more stars had added eons to his age. He looked haggard from worry or lack of sleep or half a century catching up with him, tapping him on the shoulder and saying “Hey, you. Pay attention.” An angry red gash, still fresh and damp, marked where the morning’s razor had bitten into his cheek.

  “Someone distracting you again while you were shaving?” I said.

  Involuntarily, he touched the cut and winced. My question hit home. I expected him to react with some anger, disgust, at least one of his famous glares, but he seemed instead almost shocked I would have the nerve to ask such a thing, scratching open an old wound. The hurt surprise on his face twisted into me deeper than his sarcasm or anger could have, and his humble, honest answer suggested a beaten man.

  “No. No, Harris. Just carelessness.” He cradled the mug in his hands and took a swallow of coffee a minute too soon and burned his mouth on the scalding liquid. “Damn it,” he said. On the heels of everything else, this little thing seemed cruel, as if even the usual banal comforts of morning had turned against him. He set the mug down a little abruptly, and the coffee sloshed over the side, leaving a small puddle on his desk.

  He shook his head and muttered “damn it” again. “Are your folks still in town?”

  “They left on Saturday.”

  “Mine, too,” he said. “I thought my dad might stick around for a couple of days, but he didn’t want to. There’s no reason why he should, I guess. It’s not as if we’ll ever become friends. I’m surprised he came at all. And I can only abide Kathleen for so long.” He sighed. “She means well.”

  He blew across the surface of his coffee until it cooled enough for him to take a proper swallow. He frowned. Sipped again, suspicious, opened his mouth to complain and then closed it. So he actually could taste the difference in the recipe. Gotcha, I thought to myself, and felt immediately ashamed. Such petty victories offer small comfort.

  The phone rang then, and the general took the call. Its message or its messenger reminded him that he had a NAF to run, first and foremost, in spite of our personal differences and whatever hell we’d manufactured for ourselves. Immediately distracted and perhaps gratefully so, he shooed me away.

  I went to my desk and busied myself by updating various policy letters and other official communications to reflect the general’s new rank, but it was tiresome work. The general proved testy for the rest of the morning, and he found plenty of opportunities to fuss and yell. In retaliation, I manufactured some excuse to skip our regularly scheduled run, to his surprise. He set out alone while I spent an hour commiserating with Julia.

  His solitary exercise cheered him up not in the least. No one escaped censure during the afternoon’s lengthy staff meeting, the most uncomfortable I’d ever attended. Clearly, he was dissatisfied about every single thing, and he vented his anger at top volume. Later, pressed by coworkers for my opinion as to the cause, I pleaded ignorance and admitted to being as mystified as everyone else.

  Late in the afternoon, as I refilled his coffee cup with the renegade brew, I realized we could not go on like this even one more day. This was no place for such skirmishes. The general could do as he pleased, but I took too much pride in my own professionalism. Our showdown could not wait. The sooner I extricated myself from his proximity, the better for us both and for the NAF. After Linda had gone home for the day, I marched back into his office, closed the door behind me, and parked myself in front of his desk.

  “We need to talk,” I said.

  He sighed, a sad, careful, let’s-get-this-over-with sigh. “We do need to talk,” he said.

  Thus given permission, I said, “Last year, you told me if I wanted to take another position elsewhere, you would find me a suitable one and give me the highest recommendation. I’m ready to go, as soon as possible.”

  He shook his head. “I can’t let you go, Doghouse. Not like this.”

  “When you hired me, you told me if I wou
ld be straight with you, you would return the favor. You know as well as I do that I have to go.”

  “You’re the best aide I’ve ever had, and I’m not going to lose you,” he said. “End of discussion.”

  “Oh, yeah?” My embers could still blaze. Minus the glamour of being close to a man I loved, I could easily find fault with the position. “What’s in it for me?” I said. “I get to be your lackey? Your valet? Your chauffeur? Your waiter, all the time bringing you coffee and lunch? Your whipping boy? Your possession, like your boots or your ball mitt? You hold me hostage to a job description that doesn’t even exist so you can make me do anything you want, and then publicly humiliate me because I don’t measure up. It’s a great job, all right, as long as you don’t need any self-respect. Who wouldn’t jump at the chance to be General O’Neill’s aide?”

  I watched the color rise in his face, but he kept his temper. “Where do you get such notions?” he said when I’d finished my tirade. “I’m not your owner. I’m your boss. You’re my aide. You’re supposed to help me, whatever kind of help I need. That’s what an aide does. I may be noisy. I know I demand a lot from my staff. From you. I’m a general, and that’s what we do. But have I ever ever treated you like a servant?”

  I had to admit he never had.

  “Thank you,” he said gruffly. He’d earned the right to feel insulted, I suspect, and under other circumstances, he would never have dropped the matter. Given his disadvantage at the moment, however, such a detour would have been particularly unfortunate. I remained standing in front of his desk, my arms crossed. After an awkward pause, he asked me to sit. “You’re making me nervous.”

  I sat. He looked at me expectantly. I took in another deep breath and jumped in. “I’ve spent the last five days trying to reconcile what you told me last Friday afternoon with what you did at the restaurant later, in front of my parents and your family.”

  He looked away and hung his head.

  “I’ve been giving you the benefit of the doubt ever since you put me in this job,” I said. “I was convinced there would be a worthwhile payoff. When I fell in love with you, I thought I’d hit the jackpot, especially when you said you loved me, too. Maybe it means something different for you. Or maybe I assumed too much.”

  I congratulated myself for remaining calm. A few days ago, I would have been yelling, cursing, throwing bricks if I’d gotten my hands on them. He took a swallow of coffee and set the mug down. Pulled his pipe from his pocket and clamped down on the stem. He shifted things around on his desk. He sighed. Finally, he looked at me, unflinching,

  “I certainly deserve all hell and damnation,” he said. “And a court-martial first for conduct unbecoming an officer but also,” he lowered his voice, although there was no one around to overhear, “a man in love. I’m deeply sorry, Harris. How could I be that stupid? Obviously, I had too much to drink, but that’s a poor excuse. Maybe I was afraid. A man does some desperate things when he’s cornered.”

  “Afraid of what?” I said. “Afraid of me? Of being in love? I don’t get it. Are you trying to prove to yourself that you’re just not worth it? Or are you telling me that I’m not worth it?”

  He did not answer.

  “How can you think so little of yourself? Of me? Of us? Haven’t you figured out yet that happiness is an option? Why are you stuck in some useless past that won’t let you enjoy being a gay man, Traveler?” Instantly I retracted. “Sorry. I guess I should stick with ‘General O’Neill’ from now on.”

  He looked at me, and his eyes were damp. “No,” he said, hoarse. “Not that. Please, Harris. I couldn’t bear it. What can I do to prove that I’m worth one more chance? Please? I can retire in three years. That’s not such a long time to wait.”

  “What am I supposed to do in the meantime?” I shot back. “Look at your picture and jerk off?”

  “Okay, okay,” he said, hasty. “We don’t have to wait. I could retire right now.”

  “Would you?”

  “If you ask me to.”

  “But you’re hoping I won’t ask.”

  After a minute, he nodded. “I’m sorry. Maybe I’m just a selfish bastard, but I still think I can do some good for the Air Force. I’d like to try,” he said, and then took a deep breath and looked me square in the eyes. “Still, it’s not as important to me right now as a second chance. If retirement is what you want, then I’ll retire.”

  Perhaps he would, but forcing him to retire sooner than he anticipated would not be firm ground upon which to build a second chance. How did I know he wouldn’t resent me later if not sooner, wouldn’t throw it at me every time we had an argument? And, of course, there was the other matter that had been troubling me…

  I made up my mind.

  “I’ve got a better idea,” I said. “Come out,” I said. “You don’t have to worry about another promotion. You said so yourself. Why not come out and still serve your last three years?”

  He dropped his gaze, as if he were being scolded.

  We had hiked this trail before, and I reiterated my old arguments, how it would set a great example of leadership in action, show the Air Force’s core values in action. Make a strong statement. Make history.

  Silence.

  “Suppose I make that the condition you asked for. It would convince me you mean what you say.”

  Slowly he shook his head. “I can’t,” he whispered. “Please don’t ask.”

  I should have known. “And, whatever you do, don’t tell,” I said. “I’m sorry. You wanted a second chance. That’s what I want in exchange. Do you need a week to think about it?”

  I wondered if he recalled our first meeting the previous July, when he’d demanded I take a week to decide if I wanted to pursue our relationship. However, in this case, I couldn’t see his being any less intractable in a week or a month or a year. We couldn’t compromise. One of us would have to forfeit his position completely for us to move forward together.

  It would not be him. He didn’t even need to say no. What he didn’t realize was that it could not be me.

  I needed a break, a rest. He would be very hard to give up. I had so much invested, and I’d foolishly assumed our market would never crash. Damn him and his sorrowful eyes. My heart would run away with me again, and I would forgive him for all his sins. Would beg him to take me back, as if somehow our quandary were solely of my own making, as if his crippling doubt had been entirely my fault. I would give in. And I would be lost.

  “About that transfer to another unit,” I said.

  “Yes.” His voice frosted over. “You’ll find the personnel field a refreshing change of pace after your year of drudgery with me.”

  I’d had all the excitement I wanted. “I’ll do some checking tomorrow. I’m sure there’s a vacancy someplace. I’ll initiate the transfer paperwork for your signature.” It would do for the interim. In the aftermath of our apparently imminent breakup, I’d need time away to recoup my losses and decide if a career in the Air Force was really in the cards for me.

  “So that’s that,” he said, harsh. “Satisfied now, Lieutenant Mitchell?”

  There was one more thing. “I’ll need to get my bear.”

  Was divorce like this? The division of significant property? He said nothing, neither confirmed nor denied, but it was one more knife under the ribs. Finally, he nodded, slowly, and I wondered how we would effect such an exchange of hostages. My bear for his heart.

  “Is there anything else you want?” he said without inflection. “You’re welcome to it.” He stood before me, stripped to his bones, his eyes piercing me to my core. “Oh,” he said. “Here’s an idea.”

  He’d piqued my curiosity. As I watched, he rummaged through his desk drawers for a pair of scissors and then a white envelope. Purposefully, he pulled his blue shirt out of his pants and his white undershirt too, exposing his furry chest. Without a word, he clipped a generous fistful of the coarse hair, dropped it into the envelope, and sealed it.

  He tucked in
his shirt and handed me the envelope.

  I hardly trusted myself to speak. “What’s this for?”

  “A souvenir,” he said, hard. “You like it so damned much, and I’ve got plenty.”

  My eyes began to smart and sting and spill, and I wiped them with the back of my hand. I turned to go. I wasn’t sure exactly where I was going or what I’d do for the rest of the day. In spite of my brave words, I wasn’t so sure we had settled anything, and I was of half a mind to march directly to the personnel office and resign my commission, to hell with a transfer.

  “Lieutenant, you’re not dismissed yet,” he said, stern if not exactly angry.

  I paused, my hand on the doorknob.

  “Lieutenant Mitchell!” he barked.

  I turned to face him. He was a major general, after all, and he could certainly issue an order to a first lieutenant.

  “Come here,” he said. I did as I was told. “I can’t argue with a single word you said, but I’m damned if I’m going to let you go that easily. You have every right to be angry, but that’s the worst time to make any important decision. I won’t let you make this one until you think it through carefully. All right, I’m one sorry son of a bitch in addition to being a goddamned old fool.”

  He’d get no argument from me.

  “I’ll be twice goddamned if I know why you should give me a second chance, Harris,” he said, “but I’m asking for one anyway. I’ve done wrong, but if you don’t think I could be reconstructed, why would you bother telling me what I have to fix? All right. You’ve given me your terms. I don’t like them, but they’re your terms. We’ve both got some thinking to do, and we’ll leave it at that for the time being.

  “I know I stole your fishing trip when we visited your folks. Take tomorrow and all next week and go home. Go fishing with your dad. Leave now,” he said. “That is an order, and if you think carefully, you might realize it’s the first genuine order I’ve ever given you.” He may have been right. “Now you’re dismissed, Harris.” As I turned to go, he gripped my shoulder and turned me around to face him again, and he said, fierce, “We’ll pick up this discussion when you come back. Understood?”