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Tania’s Story

Cora Tate

    Why did I ever join the army? I qualified to enter university, but so what. Yeah, Dad talked a lot about his days in the military and seemed to have fond memories of those times, but that isn’t why I enlisted. The army seemed like a good place to meet a lot of guys. That appealed to me as much as to other girls, but that isn’t why either. I guess it seemed like a good job with some adventure but no real danger.
    Our peaceful nation never waged war against anybody, so being a soldier didn’t seem like a dangerous job. We took our turns doing international peace-keeping assignments with soldiers from other UN countries, of course, but our soldiers never seemed to be anyone’s targets. Turns out our personnel did find themselves in some dangerous situations—fortunately, I wasn’t there at the time. My two overseas assignments both stationed me many miles from combat zones, and that suited me just fine then and still.
    So, why did I enlist? I was popular at high school, so I wasn’t compensating or running away from disappointment. I hadn’t broken up with a boyfriend or gone through any emotional trauma like that, so why did I run off and sign up to be a soldier. Oh, sure, I had a crush on Mr. Bronson, my math and physics teacher, but I always knew that wasn’t going anywhere—he was married, for goodness’ sake—so it isn’t like I was broken-hearted over him. I wouldn’t have joined the military because of that. So, why?
    Maybe I just don’t know. I usually know why I do things, but maybe this time I don’t. Strange, though—that is so not like me. I’m more inclined to analyze things to death, including my own actions. I suppose that’s why I keep worrying at this question like a dog at a bone. I really want to understand why I did that—even if it’s all history now, I want to know why.
    Not that I’m complaining—the army did a lot for me. For one thing, they instilled in me a discipline for keeping myself fit, although I probably don’t utilize it the way they intended. Still, I’m good about exercising regularly, I’ve eliminated sugar and artificial ingredients from my diet, and I eat organic food almost exclusively. Also, the army funded two years of tertiary education for me—I had to re-enlist for them to do that, but now I’m half-way to a real degree with an associate’s diploma—they call it a degree, but we all know it isn’t really—in legal studies. So, no complaints.
    But that, of course, isn’t why I joined the army, and I really would like to know. I should ask Mr. Bronson—I mean, Jared. He’s so intelligent and so good at analyzing things. I don’t have a crush on him anymore, but he’s still very attractive. He’s single now, too. That came as a shock—his wife must be a fool to have left him. He’s very bright, he’s talented, he’s nice looking, and he’s so nice. I ran into him yesterday at the supermarket and couldn’t help feeling some of the same desire I’d felt as a schoolgirl. I’m more mature now and didn’t jump on him like I wanted to six years ago, but I definitely felt attracted. He’s probably the only person I know who’s intelligent enough to help me figure out why I joined the army—but that isn’t his only attractive trait.
    He was—I suppose he still is—such a wonderful teacher, partly because he is so intelligent and knows so much but also because he treated his students as people and not just names in a roll book. Right from the beginning, we could tell he respected us as individuals—he even knew all his students’ names before the end of the first week of school—and he obviously liked all of us, or, at least, almost all of us. There are always a few who are nothing but trouble—for their teachers and for other students, and for themselves, for that matter. Mr. Bronson even liked some of them—I remember hearing him tell a couple of naughty boys he liked them but didn’t like their behavior.
    We almost all liked him, too—all but the few who didn’t like anybody. I wasn’t the only girl who had a crush on Mr. B., but I’m pretty sure none of the others had the hots for him like I did. Six years of soldiering knocks the crushes out of anybody, but I still like M—I have to remember to call him Jared, ’cause he isn’t my teacher anymore. There’s more to my feelings than liking him, but I’m feeling confused and not confident I know what I do feel. I must, though—they’re my feelings, after all.
    We talked a long time—although the time went by so quickly, I didn’t realize how long we talked until later—at the market and have arranged to go for a hike together tomorrow. I guess I’ll get to see how I feel about him then. Maybe I already know. Funny, I always wanted to have time alone with him, and I never could. Now, I’m going to get just what I always wanted, and I’m feeling a little scared about it.
    Scared? How ridiculous is that? Scared of what? That he’s going to rape me alongside a trail in the woods? That’s what I wanted for my last three years in high school. Now, I’m a trained fighter and don’t need to worry about that. Not that I would need to worry about that anyway: Mr. Bronson isn’t at all like that, he’s sweet and kind and considerate. I haven’t seen him for five years, but I still know him well enough to feel sure he would never do anything I didn’t want him to do.
    What do I want him to do? Maybe I’m scared he won’t want me. But, no, he already told me he feels attracted. Maybe I’m afraid of not knowing what I want. That’s just weird. I do like to understand my own thoughts and feelings and actions, but surely not knowing couldn’t scare me. Maybe I’m afraid I’ll feel disappointed, if he can’t keep up with me—he is several years older, and I’m very fit—but so what if he can’t. Why should I feel disappointed? Am I thinking that could have implications for other activities a relationship might entail? No pun intended, of course.
    Do I feel scared he won’t find me as attractive as he gets to know me better? Do I want him so much that his not wanting me would hurt? MmmmmÉyeah, I do, but I don’t think that’s why I feel scared—or is it? I don’t so much feel scared—more nervous, like before a job interview, not that I’ve had a lot of experience with those. That suggests I’m afraid of disappointing Jared—I remembered!—but that’s crazy. I’m still intelligent and a nice person, probably a nicer person than I was when he knew me (not in the way I wanted him to know me, in the Biblical sense, but he was acquainted with me) as a student. Six years in the military have left me no longer a spoiled brat.
    Now, I have two things to worry about, two unanswered questions about myself and my feelings and my actions, or maybe three. Most immediately and urgently, what am I worried about? Likewise, what do I want? I’ve heard guys make jokes about not knowing what women want. Christ! No wonder they don’t know what we want—we don’t know, or at least I don’t. Then, of course, there’s the question about why I joined up, which has bugged me for weeks, months.
    If I’m going to go walking with Jared tomorrow, I want to be sharp, so I’d better get some sleep. Maybe my thoughts will crystallize while I sleep, or maybe in the course of the walk. I’ll add some to these notes tomorrow evening, if I can.

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    My thoughts and feelings didn’t clarify themselves overnight, but I’ve learned two things in the course of the day: he sure didn’t have any trouble keeping up with me, and I want him just as much as I ever did. As for keeping up, I think he might’ve had more in reserve than I did. Desire, whew, it’s still there just as strong, but it doesn’t feel the same—I don’t feel the same. Well, hell, I’m not the same. I’ve been a soldier for six years, and I see the world differently. I still feel that desire, but I guess maybe now it’s somehow more mature.
    When I was sixteen, seventeen, I just wanted to get Mr. Bronson into bed and bounce around all night. Now, I want to get him into bed and start a family. Holy mackerel! Did I just say that!? Is it true? I wonder how he would feel about that—it’s one of the few things we didn’t talk about today on the mountain. Is that one more thing to worry about? I think we need to spend some serious intimate time together.

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