Ask the Right Questions Ch. 01

"What did your parents think about you joining the Army?"

"I guess they were happy, I really never asked them." Certainly, more to that story, but I wasn't going to volunteer anything she could pick at in greater detail.

"Why not? Do you think they approved?"

Oh, my fucking God! This isn't what I signed up for. I shifted in my chair and shrugged in reply. I casually looked over at the clock on the wall, then back to the doctor, fifty-one more minutes of this shit!

"Cazz, were you born in the states?"

"No Ma'am." I didn't care if that answer made her feel uncomfortable or not. I could feel the frustration really rolling on now, my shoulders tightening, knee...

She pursed her lips as if thinking, "But you obviously became a citizen and enlisted."

"Yes..."

"Where is your family from?"

"Mazatan, Mexico," and to beat her to the rest of her twenty questions I added, "That's where I was born. It's a small town outside of Hermosillo. My parents worked on a farm and immigrated to the US to provide a better life for my sister and I. I was five, my sister was three, and my parents were both in their mid-twenties. We moved to Vegas. I don't remember much about it, but we got in line and became citizens. Anything else?"

I'm sure I sounded defensive and like a real asshole, but I didn't care. These questions were frustrating me and there was no way I was going to get shit out of this time with her. Where is she going with her questioning? I watched her sit back as I continued my deadpan stare.

"Family and societal demands on Hispanic males is often not very fair, would you agree?"

The fuck!? Fair? Is she kidding? The sanctity of one's manhood, to family and on display to the world, is the cornerstone of any 'Hispanic' males being. What's your point Doc? I shook my head slightly, "Yes, there are certain expectations..."

"Did you join the Army to prove you were a man?"

Mother fuck! I leaned forward in the chair, "You don't know me! You don't know my life, my struggles...," my voice trailed, and I could feel a lump in my throat. What the hell!

"I don't Cazz, but I've been doing this for eighteen years and know a few things about how or why people do certain things. You said you enjoyed the Army and your job, I'm not sure you've really thought about it. Maybe I'm wrong. Maybe you joined to escape something," she leaned back in her chair.

OK, get a fucking grip... She's fishing for shit to pick apart or put a check mark in a box on a form. She's trying to trip me up - but why? Time to flip this around! I leaned back in my chair and cleared my throat, "Doctor Kurt, I'm not comfortable with your questions..."

"Why is that Cazz?"

I snapped, "What do you need me to say so that you can rubber stamp me and I can get the fuck out of here?!"

Checkmate bitch! There was no reaction on her face that I could see, even though I had basically flipped her off using the script from her own game of 'I'm not comfortable'. Good! Stop playing with me and wasting my time!

"You are free to leave at any time Cazz, but I do need to supply an assessment to the Army. I can say you were cooperative and have control over your PTSD or I can say you were combative, and the findings of the Army psychologists are accurate. Choice is yours," she replied in a controlled and monotone manner.

"But you said the Army hadn't told you much about me," I answered, concern dripping in my tone. What had the Army shrinks said, thought, and shared with her?

"Well, certainly they gave me a general evaluation, but nothing I," she emphasized the possessive, "Can make a judgment on without asking a lot of questions of my own. I'm trying to understand their concerns and how I can help you get past anything they didn't pry out of you," she said while closing the file in front of her.

"What are you evaluating me for," I asked.

"The big one is the PTSD. They don't want to cut you loose from the Army and have you do something stupid because you were fighting demons from conflicts you've been involved in or depressed about your injury."

"That's ridiculous," I shot back, "I've done everything in my power to get rehabbed and back to active duty. This is bullshit Doc!"

"Did you try to commit suicide?"

Ah... So, that's what this shit is all about! Fuck! "No... And I explained that to no less than three doctors, the civilian and military police, my platoon sergeant, company commander, and the Army shrinks..."

"What happened?"

"I was out with a couple guys from my platoon," I stopped speaking for a second, embarrassed to have to speak this out loud yet again, "I... I had taken a pain killer before joining them at a bar. I drank a couple beers, one shot of Jack Daniel's, and ended up passing out. I woke up in a civilian hospital strapped to a bed. Not my finest moment, but I didn't try to off myself Doc..."

"How are you sleeping?"

You don't want to know more about the pain killers? How I was combative in the hospital?

"Most nights I sleep just fine."

"And other nights?"

"Just can't fall asleep," I replied, but it was only part of the truth. I could fall asleep easily, but then I would wake with what the Army shrinks said were 'night terrors'. I would wake from a dead sleep screaming and sweat soaked. Then it was impossible to fall back asleep.

"Night terrors..."

Fuck! She's holding out on me - she knows way more than she's letting on. That was what the Army shrinks had said my problem was, "Yes..."

"Tell me about how your knee was injured..."

I looked at the clock purposely, forty-four minutes... God help me!

"We were on a classified operation deep in country and our position was infiltrated by a suicide bomber. I caught a piece of his payload in my knee. Nothing much else to tell..."

"Explains the Purple Heart, why did they feel you deserved the Silver Star," she asked.

"I didn't. I mean I don't deserve it...," I said softly and hung my head.

"Why do you feel that Cazz?"

Breathe... I closed my eyes, "When I saw the kid... I knew he was there to take us out," I swallowed hard, "I... I shot him as he was raising his hands and I saw the detonator...," I couldn't go on.

"Did you shooting him cause the bomb to go off," she asked in a low, soothing voice.

"No, he went down and...," I flushed a full breath out, "As we were approaching him lying on the ground, his arm moved, and instead of unloading my magazine into him I turned to... To run..."

"And the bomb went off?"

I could only nod...

"I see, so for removing the threat you were awarded the Silver Star?"

She sounded confused and in truth, I have no idea how someone could have mistaken my cowardice for anything looking like bravery. Shame, that's what I felt when I thought about this wrongly awarded medal and every time my knee ached.

"No, as I turned to run, I ran into two of my teammates who were approaching to cover me and knocked them to the ground... They claimed I had done it on purpose and the CIA guy running the operation said the same thing. It's pure bullshit and..., " I couldn't speak, my voice was cracking, my head lowered, and as I tried to hold back the emotions of that day a slow sob began to take over my body.

I felt a hand on my shoulder, "You likely saved your buddies lives or at the least severe injury to them Cazz. You might think it was bullshit, but your brothers know better. You need to let go of any notions you have to the contrary..."

Her words pushed me to my breaking point, and I couldn't hold back the sobbing. Fuck me...

"Can I get you some water?"

I did my best to nod and heard her open the office door to access a mini fridge in the waiting room. She returned with a bottle and softly placing it next to my hand. I took it and unscrewed the cap, tilted the bottle back and gulped down a hard swig. When I looked up, she had a box of tissues extended; it's what I was looking for. Bitch, don't make me like you! I smiled thinking that; she took it to mean she could continue.

"Are your night terrors because you're reliving that day?"

I nodded, "I see his face nearly every night... He was maybe fifteen. Fucking Taliban...," I hung my head.

"Tell me about your upbringing, school, family," she asked.

Good, I really don't want to explore that shit anymore, "My parents were typical, strict. I did enough to get through each grade in school, no problems if that means anything. And we didn't see much of my parent's families..."

"Were you responsible for your sister?"

Yes, but what does that matter? I noticed she was writing something down on a page within the now reopened folder.

"My parents worked; my dad had two jobs for as far back as I can remember. I was responsible for my sister when they weren't home. Why do you ask?"

"I'm trying to understand the range of pressures put upon you. This session isn't about breaking you down Cazz or trying to expose any flaws. I'm only trying to understand your life, what drives you, how to help you with feelings you have about Afghanistan, what you really want from this next phase you'll be entering," she replied calmly. She put the pen down and looked at me a long moment, "Did you have many girlfriends in school?"

Huh? Really? You want to know what makes me tick, what I want in life, and whether I had girlfriends in high school? What good is knowing that? I felt cornered, frustration rolling on again, "No, there really wasn't anything like that. I didn't have time..."

"Because you had to look after your sister?"

I nodded.

"So, no relationships in high school. After enlisting?"

"No time Doc. I did basic training, then 25S schooling, and went Ranger...," I replied as controlled as I could. Most of that was true, except that it took three-years to get accepted into Ranger School.

"Alright, no time," she said but not as if she was satisfied with my answer, "I see you're taking college courses, what are you studying," she asked looking again at the folder.

Was my whole life in there? "I'm not gay Doc...," and as soon as I said that I regretted it. My tone, was it defensive? Why did I say that?! Was there something in my file that...

"I didn't say you were Cazz."

"Well, I'm not, that's all I wanted to say..." Fuck! Stop! You're digging the hole deeper. Just shut the hell up and move this on to another topic.

"Being gay is not a mental defect. Whether you want to believe it or not - gender is fluid, who we're attracted too is..."

I interrupted her, "Well I'm not and I don't care if someone is. Why is this an issue?"

"It's not, I can assure you no one cares Cazz. But if you're repressing trauma and you've got other conflicts weighing you down it can make dealing with that trauma a heavier burden to bear. That's all I'm saying."

"But you think I gay. The questions about Hispanic households, not dating... That was your point," I barked louder than intended?

She took a long moment before answering, "I told you already the reason for my questioning. The PTSD and night terrors are not going to just fade away after you're discharged Cazz. Until you sort out and come to grips with Afghanistan and any other parts of your life that could be points of contention - you're going to be stuck in this same loop. Things could even get worse. I'm not saying they will, but as hardened as you are as a soldier, that thing between your ears can break even the toughest person down. You realize suicides by service members have risen steadily since the Gulf War?"

No, no, no... I don't want to talk about this shit. I looked at the clock, twenty-eight minutes; I had to move this grilling somewhere else, "I'm studying journalism..."

She looked surprised, "You enjoy writing?"

I nodded.

"What do you know about those in conflict with their gender, Transgender Women or Men," she asked not taking the change of subject I'd tried to bait her with.

The question caught me off guard and I'm sure she saw that. I knew enough, but I wasn't going to say that. Fuck me...

-- Present day --

Friday June 8th, 5:36 AM, Phoenix, Arizona

I had been trying to quell my anxiety by doing breathing exercises. The exercises really weren't doing much to calm my panicked state, but I kept at it. Concentrate, breathe... I pulled a pillow over my head and decided to start over again.

Augh! I found the key was to exhale deeply first, then take in a slow, deep, breath. I exhaled slowly, fully, and then took a deep breath. Repeat, don't think, just let go, focus on a point in the distance, a place of calm. After my third set of these breaths, I stopped, giving in that this technique wasn't of any use right now. Hard to stare at a point in the distance when you've got a pillow over your face! I should have left after, after we'd... I smiled into the pillow.

I could see light around the fringes of the pillow and froze. The master suites bathroom door had just opened, filling the room with light, and then quickly got dark again as the door was pulled almost shut. I peeked from under the pillow and saw Lena entering her walk-in closet across the room, returning afterwards to the bathroom with a plain white silk blouse. She looked to be wearing business suit pants, a laced white bra that perfectly cradled breasts that were still perky and full for a woman in her mid-forties.

She noticed me peeking and came over to the bed, sliding the pillow aside and placing a tiny kiss on my lips, "Good morning," she said with a husky voice and a smile.

"Good morning," I replied smiling, leaning forward to grab a second peck on the lips.

"Did I wake you?"

"No, I'm usually up around this time. I should probably get going," I said softly.

She leaned in and kissed me again, slipping a hand under the covers to run it lovingly over my chest, stopped, and looked deep in my eyes, "I'm really glad you stayed..."

I smiled up at her. She was so genuine, I could feel the truth in her voice, and in the way her fingers felt electric against my skin on my chest, "I'm glad I did too."

Which was true, but of course I couldn't just focus on the positive I needed dwell on the negative - which started my panicked state and failed breathing exercises. I'm sure I looked like something drug in by her cat right now and let's not even comment on my breath. Why do I insist on focusing on the negative? I was way to skilled at self-sabotage. I hated myself when I couldn't just ride the wave of good in my life.

"So, I'm about out of here," she continued, "Feel free to hang out, shower, borrow whatever you need, eat, whatever... Just lock up before you go, Okay?"

This was the second time I'd spent the night since meeting Lena. We met at the animal shelter I volunteered at last month by accident. She had come in to donate cat litter and food after we'd made a plea for help on a local morning talk radio show. I felt an in explainable connection with her, like nothing I had ever experienced before. Love at first sight? Was that even possible?

The only interaction we had was I accepted her donation, unloading it from her car, and thanked her. She smiled and asked if I'd like to get coffee sometime. It was mind blowing to be hit on, but fulfilling in a crazy random way. My emotional state had been all over the place as we got to know each other these past however many weeks.

We started out slow, a couple dates for coffee after work, a few dinners, a few kisses after those dates, and then I spent the night last week and again last night. The first time we were together was awkward, at least for me, but she was patient, slow, sensual, and certainly wanting. Try as I might I couldn't help but be embarrassed that I wasn't fully myself. She of course knew my story, knew my vulnerabilities, and she didn't care. She did not care! She said the attraction for her was the person I was - she saw and accepted the true me.

And yet the negative side of that coin I couldn't let lay undisturbed. Like when we began to get intimate that first time - it was over before it really began. To say I was embarrassed beyond words would be a complete understatement. She said she understood and the rest of that night we held each other as we slept - she slept, I worried about staying, falling asleep and waking up screaming due to night terrors. In the morning, Saturday morning, we explored each other a little slower, with purpose, with some reserve. The result? I still couldn't make it past a couple minutes of touching before popping.

While she was a good sport about it - the second premature climax embarrassment - loaded up the dysphoria dump truck. It made it difficult to be there with her in the present as all I could focus on was my failure, faults, and inadequacies. I spent a lot of time beating myself up over not being a giving lover last week. I laid low all week - though all I wanted to do was see her, talk to her, and most importantly make it up to her. Augh!

Last night though, everything about being with her was mesmerizing. She led and I followed. When she sensed I was 'over stimulated', she slowed everything down by having me focus on pleasing her with my tongue, hands, and eventually... Was the 'third time' the charm? It was and her climaxes were such a boost to my fragile psyche.

Everything about being here was surreal. This relationship - I think it's a relationship, right? Fuck it - this relationship was crazy scary! It had been nearly six months since I'd put myself out there after the last abusive relationship, I had gotten sucked into. This relationship was new, different, and consumed so much of my brain's idle moments I could barely think straight at times. I didn't want to screw anything up or scare her away. She let me be me, accepted I was evolving, and the sexual connection was beyond anything I could have ever imagined.

While last night was a success - my anxiety and dysphoria alarms were screaming in my... STOP!!! I tried to smile, tried to move my mind back to the here, the good, the now.

"Okay...," I offered after a way longer than necessary pause - did she think something was wrong? "Did Marisa come home last night," I asked as casually as I could muster - because I needed to know.

Marisa was Lena's daughter. She was nineteen and in her second year at ASU studying to be a doctor. Her daughter's successes were a direct result of Lena raising her to be a strong and independent woman. I had met Marisa a couple times and she had her act together, something I was still trying to get right in my own life. Yeah, that feels about right, let the negative slide right back in you idiot!

"No, but she texted. She'll be home tonight, so she says...," she said smiling and then rolling her eyes.

I caught the eye roll and one immediate stress point was removed from play. I was relieved I would be left here alone after Lena left and I didn't need to be on my game with her daughter should our paths crossed in this big empty house. That was a huge relief!

I watched Lena return to the bathroom and watched her put on her blouse, flipping her hair up to get the collar to sit right. Then she buttoned it up and tucked it in to her slacks. She held the vanity with one hand for balance and pulled on a pair of pumps. She looked at herself from each side, pulled a stray hair that had settled on her sleeve, turning around to get the view from behind, then said, "You're staring," she was looking out the bathroom at me with a hint of smirk.

She was beautiful, stunningly confident, soft spoken, caring...

"You're beautiful, you know that...," I stated as if my mouth had a mind of its own. I felt flush, embarrassed. Should I have said that?!

She watched me, smiled, and returned to the bed, leaning in to kiss me lightly, sensually, "Will I see you tonight?"

"I would like that..."

"I would too, Cass...," she said smiling, kissing me quickly one last time before making her way to the bedroom's door. She looked back at me, "I'll call you later. I'm in court at one o'clock. Should be fairly quick, discovery stuff..."