Chapter 33
Another Hazard of Being a Good Conversationalist
Six rings,
I let it go.
It rang again.
I answered on the third ring.
“Hello…
I told you that last night…
Yes, I did.
Why did you leave it here?
I don’t have the car; you do.
Look, I don’t care if you look good for a general or not…
Come home and get it if you want it…
Because I’d have to get Brant’s maid to pick up Patrick too…
Because I always let Flora go home…
Of course you can’t.
Of course I can.
Do I dress to do this, or can I wear what I have on?
I’ll be there in twenty minutes…
No—Twenty minutes at least.
Look, I’m on a bike and that’s a huge hill.”
Click.
One quick phone call to Brant’s house.
I dug the bike out of the maid’s quarters.
I had just packed it away.
Don’t forget the lock.
I really don’t want to get back on that bike.
At least I haven’t showered yet.
I tossed my husband’s class A uniform over my shoulder and took off on my bike.
Down our driveway and onto the street was always fun. Then…
Uphill.
The whole way.
Uphill.
Helmet, knee pads, biker’s gloves, short shorts and no shoes.
My feet were filthy.
They had passed dirty back at the gate guard shack on my way home.
Halfway to his office and I stopped replaying the phone conversation in my head.
I had just about decided the only way to avoid being manipulated into doing whatever he wanted was to stop listening to him.
I should never have answered the phone.
It is a five-minute drive home.
He could have driven home in three minutes.
Changed in two.
Drove back in three.
Twenty minutes out of my day.
He doesn’t remember talking with me last night.
That’s why I don’t talk to him.
That was the last time I replayed the conversation.
The hill got so steep all I could think about was getting one more foot down.
I stood up on the pedals.
That made it easier.
I would have walked it, but barefoot, the black top was too hot.
Dang hill.
Dang man.
Dang General.
I drove my bike straight up to the awning by the back door.
I locked my bike to the metal pole supporting the roof.
It could be stolen while I am upstairs.
It’s an $80 bike.
It seemed everything in Panama got stolen at least once.
Last week, we had come back from a day at the beach.
All our wet shoes were left on the porch.
The next morning, the kids’ and my husband’s shoes were missing.
My husband wondered why my shoes were still there.
When I told him, “I told you. No one touches my stuff. Drug lord protection.”
His reply was, “Shut up about that already.”
So I shut up.
Now, I’m doing him a favor he could have accomplished faster himself.
There’s our car.
It’s sitting there, watching me.
Laughing at me.
I wonder how I can have such deep feelings about something that isn’t alive.
I personified the car the entire way up the stairs.
His office was on the second floor.
Everything in Panama was on the second floor.
That’s because the first-floor floods, a lot.
I opened the suite door and Rhonda pointed toward my husband’s office.
Apparently, he had been listening for me, because he threw the office door open as Rhonda pointed.
“Get in here quick!”
“Well, hello to you too.
You’re welcome.
See you later.”
“You can’t leave!”
“I can leave.
I have to get Patrick from Brant’s and walk him home.”
“The General is out there, and he can’t see you like that.”
I looked down at my filthy feet.
“I’m not military, he won’t care.”
“No.
Absolutely not.
Is this buttoned straight?”
“Yes.
Hand me those other pants,
I’ll hang them here.”
“I hear them out there.
I’m almost ready.
Stand back there.”
He directed me to a spot behind the door.
I could hear the Colonel in the hallway begging for a place on Saturday’s cruise.
The General was blowing off his questions.
Robert opened the door before I was ready.
The General caught sight of me before I could jump back behind the door.
“General, this is Warrant Officer Jackson.”
Salutes were exchanged.
“Is that your wife in there?”
It was the General.
My heart sank.
I did not like military formalities.
I did not want to leave this office.
“Sir?”
“In the office, get that little lady out here.”
The door swung wide as the Colonel pushed it and regretted it at once.
The Colonel’s face expressed his thoughts as his gaze landed on my dirty bare feet.
In Panama, bare feet signified being poor.
Wealthy people even wore socks with sandals.
I was poor.
Accurate enough.
The Colonel covered the way he knew best, I suppose.
“General, as I was saying, this is Warrant Officer Jackson… and his wife Lee Ann.”
If he had stopped there, the whole afternoon would have gone differently.
But he didn’t stop.
“You’ll have to excuse her, she’s from Alabama.”
A thousand things went through my mind in a flash.
He doesn’t know the General is from Alabama.
I was glad.
I never liked the Colonel.
The General’s is turning purple.
I should do something to make this better.
So, smelly, messy, and gross, I stepped out into the hallway.
Bold and brave.
Not a word had been said since the last sentence.
The Colonel didn’t seem to notice the way it hung in the air.
“Forgive her. She’s from Alabama.”
My husband didn’t notice.
Three people noticed.
The General.
His aide.
And me.
I smiled.
I gave the general a wink only he could see.
I stepped all the way up on my bare tip toes.
I sloppy-kissed my husband’s left cheek declaring…
“We’re first cousins, too!”
I kept a straight face.
Dead serious.
The General’s aide was the first to lose composure.
The laugh came out so real and true, it broke the General.
He had a smile on his face, but only one laugh.
The Colonel was speechless.
My husband was furious.
The General placed his arm around my damp shoulder and pulled me close to his side.
Don’t do that.
I stink.
Don’t get too close.
Okay.
I’m doing this.
He turned both our backs to everyone else and took two steps toward the suite door.
When the Colonel saw the General was about to leave with me, he started to ask again about the cruise.
The General came to a full stop.
Without looking back, he said,
“Colonel, I told you no once, I’m not saying it again.”
He turned to me,
“Little lady, you and your family are going to be there aren’t you?”
“No Sir, my husband has duty and I just can’t make it if he doesn’t go.”
“That’s right, General, he’s got weekend duty tomorrow.
He can’t go.”
That came from the Colonel.
“Colonel, you are pulling it for him.”
No. No. No. I had this worked out.
“Sir! The trip?”
“You are pulling it for him, Colonel, is that clear?”
The General turned to say those words while he looked the man in the eyes.
“Sir, yes Sir!” The Colonel said as trained.
“See Little Lady.
That all worked out just like I told you it would.
Now, I’m on my way out too.
How about I walk you to your car.”
“Sir, I’m from Alabama,
I can’t afford a car.”
With that, the General, his aide, and I walked out into the hall and shut the door.
Then the General lost all control.
He doubled over laughing.
We stayed there for the longest time, just enjoying the levity.
The aide was all formal stance again.
I managed the entire affair without a single laugh.
I was smiling though.
The General wiped his eyes as he said,
“I absolutely enjoy talking with you.
Let’s get you to your car.”
“Sir, I told you.
I don’t have a car.”
“How’d you get here Little Lady.”
I’ve seen that look before.
He is going to offer me a ride home.
I love my $80 bike.
We were on the ground floor now,
about to open the outside door.
“My bike,” I replied.
There, chained to the pole, was the same bike he saw in my classroom.
“You don’t have a car?”
He said pointing to the bike.
“Well, technically”—I pointed to our broken-down Toyota I verbally wrestle from the shady mechanic—“That’s my car, but today my husband is driving it. So, I have the bike.”
I began to unlock the bike and tuck the chain around the pole that held the seat.
He stepped close to me, motioning the aide back.
“Little Lady, your husband is going to be mad when he gets home.
Mostly because the Colonel is mad about not going tomorrow.”
“Give him my spot.”
“That’s not going to happen.
I don’t like him and I like talking to you.
You are real.
Like, down home real.
I don’t get that too often.”
“Thank you, Sir. You’re real real too.”
“The Colonel is pretty mad.
Your husband is going to be mad too.
Give him a message for me.
Let him know that he can’t say anything,
but that Colonel won’t be around long.”
“I don’t like him, and he’s not staying in my command.”
“Your husband will have to put up with him for a bit.
But, in three weeks, he’s transferring to Guam.”
“I can’t promise I’ll tell him that, Sir.
I really don’t talk to him very much.”
That sounds sad.
The aide had left to start and cool down the general’s car.
He changed the subject.
“How do you keep it from getting stolen?”
He pointed toward my bike.
I hopped on and pedaled a half stroke, anxious to end the conversation and get my son.
“People don’t seem very interested in stealing my stuff, Sir.”
As I finished the pedal he called out.
“7 AM Saturday, you can’t be late.”
I waved and left.
I’m glad home is mostly downhill .I really don’t see how I can get out of Saturday now.
Daniel's Den 