I think I'm changing here, changing in ways I hadn't expected. It's like this place makes you look at yourself, makes you question. I had a guest the other night. He came knocking after dark, assuming I'd let him in. As usual. And I did. I did everything he wanted, as usual. But after he left, it was not as usual. Not the thrill, the high, just me. It felt sordid. I didn't like it.
"Well, Major, it's been a pleasure, as always."
He walked over to her, buttoning the last buttons on his shirt. Margaret pulled the sheet around her, got up off the bed, and smiled up at him. Leaned her head to the side, letting her hair fall over her shoulder. He liked it when she was cute and playful.
"My pleasure, General."
He ran his hands up over her bare arms, over her shoulders. He had soft hands, General Clayton, very warm. She could feel the metal of his wedding ring as he rested his hand around the back of her neck and tried to move a little so it wouldn't touch her directly. It didn't work.
"Such a pretty flower in this hell hole."
He pulled her closer.
"I always knew you would grow up to be so pretty. I used to tell your daddy that. 'She is gonna break hearts one day, Al', I said. And I was right."
Margaret felt her smile fade a little. She didn't want to be reminded of her father while she was standing dressed in only a sheet in front of a man who had known her as a little girl. Honestly, she liked him best when he was in a hurry, when their meetings were rushed. It felt exciting and passionate. When he had more time, he tended to get nostalgic. Sappy. Keen on taking long strolls down memory lane, the lane she had done her best to close the door on.
"Always daddy's little soldier," he continued, apparently not receptive to her silent plea to change the subject. "This skinny little girl with pigtails, and scrapes on her knees."
He grabbed two strands of her hair and twirled them around his fingers.
"You would sit on my lap and I would tell you all these stories, you remember that? And you would look up at me with those pretty eyes of yours, hanging on to every word I said."
She laughed a little, she hoped it didn't sound as forced as it felt. That her embarrassment didn't shine through. For the love of god, why was he so fond of speaking about things from another lifetime? She had done her best to put those memories away. Buried them deep in a dusty corner of her mind, filed under 'D' for 'Denial'. She was perfectly content with the version of the story where she first met General Clayton at Fort Dix when she was 22. She had no desire to reminisce about sitting on his lap as a little girl, and now he forced her to remember, once again.
He hadn't been a General back then, though. The man who would one day be a General had whispered stories to her, stories of brave men fighting the righteous fight, winning glorious victories against impossible odds. He had sneaked her hard candies that came in a little tin box with an autumn landscape on it and tasted like cinnamon. She hadn't really cared for them but accepted them anyway, because she was a polite little girl. A good little soldier. The candy had been a secret between the two of them and it made her feel special.
Over the years, the way he looked at her had changed. She had grown out of sitting on his lap until she was one day there again. A young sergeant then, used to the way men looked at her, addicted to the power she had over them. The more brass on their shoulder, the bigger the thrill.
And then one day, she and Clayton shared another secret, and right there in her tent, it didn't make her feel special at all, only vaguely sad.
But of course, she couldn't tell him that, so she forced her mouth to smile again. Rested her eyes, that had once looked up at the man who would one day be a General, on the man who was now her lover.
He smiled back, and his eyes were the same, just surrounded by more wrinkles and bushier eyebrows.
"Yes, always such a good little soldier."
He wrapped his arms around her and kissed her. She kissed him back because that's what good little soldiers do. She could swear he tasted like cinnamon.
"You know, Major," he said, still holding her close, the metal in his wedding band was now at the small of her back. "Why don't you ask the loon that tries to run this place for a weekend pass? Come to Tokyo, and we can spend some real time together."
A weekend in Tokyo. Yes, she would like that. Dress up, feel pretty. Go out and eat. To be served food on actual plates and not metal trays always felt like such a luxury. Decadent, really. The sound of cutlery against china could truly make you feel like a real person for an evening. They could go dancing. Twirl under chandeliers, while a real band played, not just a jukebox. Yes, she would like that. But what if he wanted to keep walking down memory lane, talk about pigtails and innocent eyes. The good old times spent with her father. That, she did not want. And yet, her smile remained.
"Yes, General, that would be wonderful."
He grinned and gave her another kiss.
"Well, it's settled then. It's a date. Call me with the details."
"I will, General."
He nodded, went over to the desk to get his helmet, winked at her, and was gone out the door.
She walked up to it and locked it. Pulled the sheet closer around her while her smile faded. Her cheeks actually hurt a little, she moved her jaws trying to get them to relax. Plastered-on smiles took their toll.
She felt exhausted. Once upon a time, spending time with a General had thrilled her. To have a powerful man look at her with desire in his eyes used to make her walk on clouds for days. But now, everything felt so pointless. A routine. Filing her nails, brushing her teeth, entertaining a man, jobs that needed to be done. She really wanted to brush her teeth right now, she could still taste the cinnamon. Hear the little click the box made when he opened it. A secret little click.
She stared at her room. Two glasses on the table, an empty bottle of wine. Leftover crackers and some cheese he had brought, now slowly melting. The red piece of fabric over the lamp, the messy bed. The record player still filling the air with soft jazz. It looked sad. A room full of things but still it felt empty. The lipstick marks on her wineglass looked sad. The crumbles from the crackers.
She had thought about bringing out the box of chocolate she had bought on her last trip to Seoul. The pieces were shaped like fish and seashells and they were filled with this nut paste that melted on your tongue. They were just for her, though, she had decided. Now, she craved some more than anything.
She got the box from the shelf in her closet and climbed back into bed. Bit into a piece shaped like a shell, the kind you could hear the ocean in if you held it to your ear. The cover burst with a soft pop and then the taste of chocolate and hazelnut filled her mouth, chasing away any remnants of cinnamon.
She could eat the entire box if she wanted to. Could just pick another one up in Tokyo. If she went. She probably would.
She ate another piece shaped like a clam. It would be nice to wake up next to someone, even if it was just General Clayton. It had been a long time, she never let anyone spend the night. Not Frank, not anyone.
Frank had looked a bit sad when she left her shift in post-op. Did he know? Yes, of course he did. He was so gullible in many ways, but he wasn't completely oblivious. And Clayton was so incredibly indiscreet, the entire afternoon he had buzzed around her, standing too close, winking at her. She had to shoo his hands away on several occasions, dear god, men were like children sometimes. Most of the time.
She took another piece of chocolate, this one shaped like a seahorse. Bit its head off.
She should change the sheets, shower, and go to sleep. Spend her morning trying to get back on Frank's good side, because she needed to have someone, someone needed to be on her side. But she didn't feel like it. Not change the sheets, not shower, and not beg forgiveness from her married lover.
Frank hadn't looked sad because he thought he was losing her to someone else, he had just been sad he wouldn't get lucky tonight. He could have said something, fought for her. But no. There was no true passion there, no commitment. Just convenience. But sometimes, in short glimpses, she really could see a future with Frank. A porch. A garden. Barbeques in the backyard. Stepdaughters. An ex-wife. Why did everything in her life have to be secondhand, used?
Margaret swallowed the rest of the seahorse down. They were monogamous creatures, seahorses, she was sure she'd read that somewhere. Mated for life. Gave their tiny seahorse heart away to that special someone and was theirs forever. How she wanted to give her heart away completely. To have someone who was just hers. But she never got to have that, all she ever got were scraps. Glimpses. She got to close her eyes and pretend. Sit alone and eat chocolate in tangled-up sheets.
She picked the other seahorse from the box and ate it. There, now they could be together forever.
Both of them mush, slowly dissolving. That's what everyone was in the end, wasn't it? Just mush.
Wow. That was melodramatic. She scoffed at herself and sighed. What on earth had brought on this mood?
She shook her head to clear it. Get a hold of yourself, Houlihan, she ordered, got out of bed, and turned the record player off. Maybe it was the soft jazz that made her gloomy.
A shower, clean sheets, and a bright smile at Frank in the morning, and everything would feel better.
Business as usual.
Back to the glimpses.
Back to the scraps.