It was An Amicable Divorce

It was an Amicable Divorce

byEphesus14©

This is another re-post

I was sitting in my vehicle surrounded by sand and soldiers when I received the notice telling me I was divorced.

We had been married almost four years. For almost a year and a half of that time, I was in a hot, dry country half way around the world. She couldn't take it anymore and I fully understood. I didn't even try to talk her out of it. Being a military spouse is the second most difficult job in the world; being a parent is much more difficult.

My home was in Ponca City, Oklahoma. That's where I grew up and met and married Lisa Thompson. We were each other's first love. She was the first and only girl I dated in high school and in Community College. After Community College, I joined the Army and she went to college and became a nurse. We married after she graduated and were stationed at Ft Belvoir, VA. We had been there for a little over a year when I received orders to go overseas. Lisa chose to go home to Ponca City instead of staying at Belvoir. She started working in the hospital almost as soon as she got there.

When my year overseas was up, I returned to Belvoir and Lisa joined me. We had a great 13 months together before I received orders to go back overseas. Lisa, again, returned to Ponca City.

Neither of us was happy about this second separation, but we recognized that it went with being in the Army.

I had been 'in country' for about six months when I received a letter from Lisa telling me that she couldn't take being separated any more. "I married you to be with you every day and night. We have been married for almost four years and over one forth of that time you have been half a world away. I can't live like this. Please understand that I love you, but this loneliness is driving me crazy. I am including in this letter paperwork for getting a divorce. If you love me; if you care about my happiness, please sign them."

I wrote her a long letter, expressing my sorrow that she felt the way she did, but that I understood completely. I told her that I wanted her to be happy and if divorcing me did that, then so be it. I told her that I loved her and signed the papers.

Several months after receiving the notice of divorce, I was back in the States and stationed in Washington, D.C. at the Pentagon which was practically next door to Ft. Belvoir. She was still in Ponca City and, I assumed, working at the hospital. I was tempted to call her, but decided against it. 'Why open old wounds?' I asked myself.

I had gotten an Associate's Degree before joining the Army, and thanks to lots of hard work, correspondence courses, and 'On-Post' classroom work through The University of Maryland, I received my degree.

It was a Monday morning and I had just gotten to my office in the Pentagon. I was sipping on my first cup of coffee and checking my schedule for the day. The call came at 8:45. My father had a massive heart attack and died. By mid-afternoon, I was on a plane home. Ponca City doesn't have any commercial air service, so I flew into Oklahoma City (OKC) and rented a car.

My brother, Matthew (Matt) and my sister Tina and their spouses were with my mother when I walked in the house. Matt was on the Police Force and had been since turning 21. Tina, like my mother, was a teacher. I immediately went to my mother, who was sitting on the sofa between Matt and Tina. She saw me and we both started crying. Matt stood so I could sit and hug Mom. After we both settled down, she told me that his heart attack came while he was in the garage cleaning the inside of his pride and joy, his 1957 Chevy Bel Air Convertible.

"He died in that car and he wouldn't have wanted it any other way." She almost smiled as she said it.

The next couple of days were taken up with making final arrangements. Dad was a Veteran so the Army took a lot of the burden off Mom. The three of us children made no decisions. She and Dad had discussed what they each wanted and she was doing exactly that.

The only request she made of me was that I wear my Dress uniform at the funeral. It was still hanging in the closet in what used to be my bedroom. I hadn't needed it overseas or in Washington... so far. It just needed to be cleaned and my ribbons and badges needed to be put on it.

The morning of the funeral came and my mother looked at me, came over and brushed some imaginary lint off my chest. Then she stopped, looked up at me and kissed me. "Your father was proud of you."

Later that day, Matt and I were standing by the coffin greeting people as they filed by. We hadn't been there long when Lisa, my ex-wife, appeared. I reached out my hand to shake hers, but she ignored it and gave me a hug.

"I'm sorry, Michael." I was always Michael, never Mike, to everyone. "I loved your father."

"Thank you. So did I."

She acted like she wanted to say something else, but didn't.

The end of the day came and the family was gathered at Mom's house eating some of the massive amounts of food friends had filled the kitchen with. Mom had been unbelievably strong through the whole thing.

The sun was just going down when the phone rang. Mom and Dad still had a landline. Tina answered it.

"Hello." Pause. "Hold on. Michael, it's for you."

I took the phone from her and she looked at me and raised her eyebrows.

"Hello." I said.

"Hello, Michael."

"Hello, Lisa." That got the room's attention.

"Could we talk?"

"I don't think we have a lot to talk about. You made your decision and we are both probably better for it."

"I'm not so sure any more."

"Well, it's water under the bridge. I have an early flight in the morning so I'm driving to OKC (Oklahoma City) shortly. I'll spend the night there. So, I have to go."

"Where are you stationed?" She asked before I could hang up.

"Listen, Lisa. I don't have much time to spend with my family. Thank you for coming today. Goodbye."

I hung up the phone, turned and everybody was looking at me.

"We're divorced. It's over. I'm fine. She's fine." I said to them. "Now, I have to change and pack. I have to leave soon."

Shortly after that, I had my bag and was ready to leave. There were hugs, kisses, and handshakes all around and I finally made it out to my rental.

The next day, I was back in Washington.

One of the good things I got from Lisa was an appreciation of classical music, especially Beethoven and Bach. The other one of the 'Three B's', Brahms, was never a particular favorite of mine.

Two weeks after getting back to Washington, the National Symphony Orchestra was presenting a program of some of Beethoven's works. The Bagatelle was one of their pieces as was his Symphony No. 7, Op 92. It was an eclectic program, which also included works by Copland and Bernstein. Tickets were difficult to come by, but the Military District of Washington was generally able to obtain tickets to some of the major events in the area. So, I went to the Recreational Services Office and was able to get one.

The night of the concert came and I made my way to The Kennedy Center. I had been there before and loved it.

The first half of the program was all Beethoven. At intermission, I had gotten a drink and returned to my seat. Other audience members were returning to their seats as well. There was a couple coming down my row to their seats somewhere to the right of me. The woman was in front of the man. I stood to make it easier for them to pass. When the woman got right in front of me, she stepped on my foot. Stilletto heels when applied to the top of a foot can cause a great deal of pain. I yelped pretty loudly, which caused her to lose her balance and fall into me; which caused me to fall back in my seat. She, being off balance, then fell into my lap. I have no idea how I avoided dropping or spilling my drink.

We just sat there looking at each other. I was enjoying just smelling her. The perfume she was wearing was Tabu. My ex-wife used to wear it and it always turned me on.

"How's your foot?" She finally asked in a voice which would give a hardon to a eunuch.

"Not bad."

We sat like that for a couple of seconds looking at each other until she spoke again. "You know, we're going to have to stop meeting like this."

"Why?" I asked.

"Are you a pervert?" she asked.

"Pretty much."

"I like some perverts." She said.

We heard someone clearing their throat. We looked and it was her escort. She gave me a last look and stood. She smiled and moved down the row to her seat.

At the end of the concert, we were all filing out. I found myself behind her. I looked for her escort and didn't see him. I tapped her on the shoulder. She turned and recognized me.

"Tabu?" I asked.

"Yes. How did you know?"

"It's my favorite."

"Mine too."

"Where's your friend?"

"He's behind us in the crowd somewhere."

"Your husband?"

"God no."

"Serious relationship?"

"Noooo."

"In that case do you give out your phone number?"

"Rarely."

"I'm a pretty rare sort of guy."

She laughed. "What you are is a pervert. You said so yourself."

"You said you liked perverts."

"I said I liked SOME perverts."

The people around us were taking an interest in our conversation. Some of them were chuckling, while others were 'tsk, tsk, tsking.

We had gone through the lobby to the front door. She stopped. "I better wait for my friend."

"Would you like company?"

"For what? Thirty seconds? He can't be far behind." She laughed.

"In that case, I guess I'll take my leave. It was my pleasure to have been stepped on by you."

She laughed again. "And it was my pleasure to spend some time in your lap."

I laughed and waved as I went out one of the many doors. I looked and she was waving back.

It had been almost a month since I had gone to the Beethoven concert and I was ready for another one. It didn't have to be Beethoven, but almost any classical music concert would be okay. I checked the Kennedy Center Schedule and saw that there was a concert featuring the music of Maurice Ravel the following week.

I went to the Recreational Services offices to see about getting a ticket. There was one left. I took it. When she gave me the ticket, she told me. "We were only able to get two of these tickets. The seats are together so you will be sitting next to a Colonel's wife.

I was a Staff Sergeant at the time. Enlisted folks and Officer types, even wives, seldom walk in the same circles. In my job, I dealt with two Colonels and assorted Lieutenant Colonels and Majors. In the Pentagon, Captains and Lieutenants were even rarer than Staff Sergeants. I had never even met a colonel's wife. It didn't bother me, however, because I was going to listen to the music.

The night of the concert came and I put on one of my two suits and headed out. I was in my seat early and reading the program when I smelled it. Tabu. I looked up and there she was. I stood and spoke.

"I thought you said you weren't married."

"I'm not."

"I was told that a colonel's wife would be sitting next to me."

"My mother is married to a Colonel." She sat and explained that her mother had gotten the ticket but couldn't use it. "By the way, my name is Connie. Connie Self." She stuck out her hand.

I took it. "Michael Carter."

"So, Mike. Do you like Ravel?"

Mike. Nobody had ever called me Mike, but I didn't correct her because when she said it, it sounded like 'I want you to fuck my brains out'.

"I do. Particularly 'Gaspard de la nuit'."

We talked until the program started. At intermission, we had a drink in the lobby and talked some more. The program ended with Bolero, considered by some to be the most boring piece of music ever written; but by others to be the most sensual. I count myself among the latter.

After it started, I would glance at Connie Self and a couple of times, caught her looking at me. Eventually, it ended and I decided that if it had affected her sensually, she hid it well.

I walked her to her car. She unlocked the door and I opened it for her. She started to get in, but turned to me. "Aren't you going to ask me for my number?"

I looked at her. I had asked for it the first time we met, but that was before I knew she was a Colonel's daughter. "Look," I said. "I'm a Staff Sergeant. You're the daughter of a Colonel. I'm sure your father wouldn't approve of you getting involved with someone like me."

"Who said anything about getting involved? Friendship isn't determined by rank."

"I didn't mean it that way."

"Which way did you mean it?"

"I, uh, it's just that, uh ..."

She grinned at my discomfort, got in her car and drove off. Maybe you just royally fucked up Staff Sergeant Michael Carter I thought to myself.

Three days later, I answered the office phone. "Special Operations, Sergeant Carter. How may I help you?"

"You can help me by writing down ten numbers." Said the sexiest voice I had ever heard and as she spoke, I could almost smell the Tabu she was wearing.

"I beg your pardon?"

"You heard me. Now write them down."

She started saying them and I dutifully wrote them down.

"Now repeat them." She said. I did. "Good boy. Now do you know what to do with them?"

"I believe I'm getting an idea."

"Another 'good boy' for you. Keep it up and you might get a gold star."

"Yes ma'am."

"Don't wait too long."

She hung up. My first thought was how did she get my number, but then I realized that her father, like the 30,000 others of us who worked in the Pentagon, had a Pentagon phone book.

That evening I used the numbers, but no answer, so I left a voicemail.

The next evening she called me. "You didn't mess around." She said.

"You told me not to wait too long."

She laughed.

We talked. Same thing the next night. And the next. And the next. One night was different, however.

"Are you ever going to do it?" she asked.

"Do what?"

"Ask me out on a date."

"I would love to, but ..."

"No 'buts' damn it. Either you want to or you don't. Which is it?"

"I want to."

"Then do it."

"Okay. Would you like to have dinner with me?"

"Of course. When?"

"Tomorrow night?"

"Fine. What time?"

"Seven?"

"Seven, it is." And she gave me her address. She lived in a two bedroom apartment. When she showed me around, she seemed to take particular pride in her shoe collection. The guest bedroom closet had very few clothes in it. The rest of the closet was filled with shelves. Those shelves were filled with shoes. Hundreds of shoes and she took great pride in showing them to me.

I was happy she didn't live with her parents. I was still a bit uncertain how they would react to her dating an enlisted man.

We dated for two months before we had sex. As a matter of fact, it was the same night I met her parents.

She had invited me to have dinner with them. She noticed my hesitancy. "Oh, come on, Mike. They won't eat you. They're normal parents. Curious, of course, because I've never invited anyone to have dinner with them."

"Do they know I'm enlisted?"

"Will you stop that?"

"I'm sorry, it's just ..."

"Another word about your rank and I'm going to get really pissed so knock it off."

The dinner went surprisingly well. I liked Colonel Jacob Self and his wife, Marian and they seemed to like me. As Connie and I left that night, her father walked us to the door. His parting words, and I believed them, were 'It was a pleasure meeting you. We hope to see more of you'.

That night in her apartment, we got naked and made love. Fucked. Screwed. Showered together. Fucked again then made love some more all the while with Bolero playing in the background. Turns out it did turn her on.

Fourteen months later we were married. Fourteen months after that, newly promoted Brigadier General (BG) Jacob and Mrs. Marian Self had their first grandchild. A girl. We named her Ruth and she was born in Virginia while I was still stationed at the Pentagon. Then another granddaughter, Kerry, who was born in Germany and, finally, a grandson, Jacob, after her father. He was born in while we were stationed at Ft. Lewis, WA. We started calling them Big Jake and Little Jake.

Life was good. Big Jake and Marian retired and moved to Florida while Connie and I found ourselves stationed back at the Pentagon.

Connie, the kids and I were in Florida visiting her parents. Connie and her mother had taken Ruth and Kerry shopping. Big Jake and Little Jake were playing in the backyard while I watched and smiled.

My phone rang. There had been an accident. An elderly couple in their brand new motor home had crossed the center median and crashed head on into the car driven by Connie. Apparently, the old man suffered a heart attack while driving. He died, but his wife was in the rear of the motor home and survived with lots of bumps and bruises after being tossed violently around.

The three of us rushed to the hospital only to find that both Connie and Marian had died at the scene. Ruth and Kerry were injured but would live.

They were still in the hospital when we buried Connie and Marian. We buried them side by side. The next two months were the hardest of my life. Both of my daughters spent almost three weeks in the hospital. Big Jake and I almost lived there.

I was grief stricken, but life had to go on. The girls were released and we went home ... only it wasn't. It was the first time we had been back since before we went to Florida and the four of us had to grieve all over again. Everywhere we looked, we saw Connie. The clean clothes in the basket she hadn't folded, her house robe lying across the bed. Her clothes hanging in her closet.

Being in that house with her presence all around was almost as bad as losing her a second time. The four of us cried for days, but it was worse for Ruth and Kerry. They never had the chance to say goodbye to either their mother or grandmother because they were in the hospital and unable to attend the funerals.

It was difficult, but I got up every morning, got the kids up and off to school, and went to work. It was a long time before I was productive again. The kids missed their mother as much as I did. It didn't take me long to realize that being a single parent of three young children was unbelievably difficult.

Three years after Connie died, I retired from the Army.

The kids and I moved back to Oklahoma. We bought a nice house not far from my mother. My brother and sister both lived nearby as well. My children seemed to enjoy spending time with their cousins; the children of my siblings. Connie had been an only child.

I took some time to get settled and after a few months started getting restless. I applied for, and got, a job substitute teaching in one of our two high schools. If all went well, I would be hired full time the following school year. Life was going along fine, but I still missed Connie, as did the kids of course.

One Saturday evening, Ruth started complaining of a pain in her side. It seemed to get progressively worse so I rushed her to the hospital. My sister Tina came over to get Little Jake and Kerry.

At the hospital, they took her into surgery immediately and removed her appendix. I was going to spend the night with her. She was sleeping and I fell asleep watching her.

About two in the morning, I was awake and sitting in the chair beside her bed. I watched as the door opened slowly and light from the hall began to fill the room.

It had been a long time, but I still recognized her. She was still a very attractive woman.

"Hello, Lisa." I said.

She hesitated. Then recognition hit her. "Oh my God. I didn't know you were here."

"Well, I am. Come in." I stood as she walked over to the bed.

"How is she?" She asked.

"You should know more about that than I."