Deference By Association

When I kind of casually mention his rank, people are instantly deferential. Gives me a bit of a leg up, I soon enough noticed. Respect by association. Although I’ve earned my own, in fact. Still, it doesn’t hurt to mention that kind of thing.

My father always thought of himself as an astute judge of character. He could tell right off by closely examining someone, he always said, what they were made of. First impressions, he would tell anyone who’d listen, are important. I was really pleased when the first impression Mike made on dad was a good one. “Fine young fella”, he said.

I’d already been going out fairly steadily with him by then. My mom was less impressed. Mike was with the military, the air force, and my mother wasn’t thrilled with that, on my behalf, she said. Urged me to look around a little more. I could do better for myself.

“You wouldn’t like it, trust me, Sheila, living with someone in the military.”

“What on Earth would you know about it, Mom?” I recall asking. I wanted her to be as generous in her acceptance of Mike as dad so obviously was. Why I cared what my mother thought anyway, puzzled me more than I cared to admit. Truth was, I didn't know.

“I know”, mom responded. “I know that you’d have to share him with the military. His first allegiance will be to the military. That’s just the way it is. If he’s needed somewhere, called to duty, off he goes, and you’re left at home, holding the bag.”

“What bag might that be, Mother?” A little arch; she thought she knew what her mother was getting at.

“You want it spelled out? Ever thought what it might be like living on a military base? What kind of support do you think you’d have there, isolated from everything you’re familiar with? You’d be stuck there, with your kids, months, even possibly years at a time, if this country ever gets involved in another big war.”

“Kids!” she laughed. " There won’t be any.” Now that really shocked her mother. Mothers always begin thinking about grand kids. She’d have to get used the idea that her only kid won’t be having any. Tough, but that’s how it is. I can't envision myself as a mother.

“You can’t really mean that! You’re telling me you’ve given that thought and you’ve come to the conclusion you don’t want children? What about your future husband? Even if you don’t want any kids, what makes you think he won't?”

“Relax, Mom, he doesn’t want kids any more than I do. We’ve been through all that. It’s a mutual decision.”

“You’ve had that depth of conversation already? You’re that certain you want to spend your life with this guy?”

That was then. And since then so many things went down in their lives together. He took university courses and so did I. His were political history, economics, mine psychology, media studies. We had ambition. I often thought how alike my dad I am in identifying other peoples' strengths, and I was right; he had an abundance of great qualities.

Of course that wasn’t what brought us together. Sheer animal magnetism was what did it, back then. He was rough and ready, a handsome, tall male and I was ready to settle into some guy’s life. Things just seemed to mesh. I was lucky, I knew that.

He surprised me, frankly, about the sex thing. Just didn’t seem like he was prepared for it. Didn’t want, he said, to compromise me before marriage. My mouth kind of hung open. Was he for real? Was he just kidding me? As though I hadn’t any experience. I was open with him, but that didn’t seem to change. He would wait. Bloody damn, I thought that was really, truly stupid, absolutely Victorian; antediluvian, actually.

I wasn’t, that way inclined, just bloody frustrated and just a little uncertain about him, over that. It just wasn’t … kind of … normal. For a guy not to press the issue. It made me a little uneasy. Besides which I had a good dose of sexual urges and saw no functionality in waiting. What the hell for? He wouldn’t budge. So despite some misgivings, we agreed, finally, to put the wedding date forward.

After that everything was fine. But again he surprised me. Oh, it wasn’t that he couldn’t perform. He was good, great, sent me into the high Cs. No complaints, just a bit of a surprise about his attitude. He waited for signals from me. Once he thought he had that - and those signals kept coming - he'd to sweep me into the bedroom, the living room, the kitchen, anywhere, any time. He was amazingly good.

Still, I couldn't help wondered why he had this tactful delicacy about holding back until he thought the time was good for her. Sometimes that wasn’t what I wanted. What the hell was his problem? Made me wonder about whether there was some kind of twisted relationship somewhere in his history.

I thought I would try something else, and began to practise being cold to the prospect of inviting him. Turn my back to him in bed, forget to kiss him, push him away after the perfunctory kiss and embrace when he arrived home in the evening. The cues were absent and he respected their absence. And positively infuriated me.

Here he was, a big strong male, a military man no less, and he found it difficult to approach me demanding sex? What the hell!

He asked what was wrong a couple of times and I said nothing, nothing was wrong. He brought me flowers, took me out a little more often. But I stayed aloof. I was determined to wait this thing out, to make him puzzle out what was wrong in this relationship. But he was always so bloody busy, damn him.

Was anything wrong with that? I wanted him to assert his masculinity, wanted him to sweep me off my feet, let me know in no uncertain terms that he wanted me. I needed him to take no notice of my assumed coldness, to take me by storm, overcome my weak 'objections'.

Nothing. Finally I couldn't stand it any longer, and though I didn't really mean to, I blurted that found it strange that he wasn’t able or willing to be a little more sexually domineering. That’s what I wanted, I told him, what I expected from him. His passivity bugged the hell out of me. I couldn't understand what was going on, I could see he enjoyed sex as much as I did.

“That’s it, that’s what’s been bothering you?” he asked. “You’re my wife, I love and respect, cherish you, why would I be physically overbearing with you?”

“It’s just that … it doesn’t seem - kind of natural. The way you do it”, I said. “I … I’d like a little more physicality … know what I mean?”

“No. No, not exactly. But I’m getting a hint, here. My performance isn’t up to par, you want to be roughed up a bit, that kind of thing?” He said it with an air of disbelief. And maybe, I thought, a bit of hurt feelings. I was challenging his masculinity, after all, getting into dangerous territory.

Things changed after that, though. We had one hell of a time together. And he was ascending rapidly up the line of career appointments. Helped along by a stint at the Royal Military College where he obtained his Masters degree.

And I was getting plenty of experience working as a case manager for a local social services agency. And then transferring that experience to a career with another branch of the military myself, using my expertise in social welfare to advance myself as an advocate and support for military families. I felt pretty comfortable around the bases he were assigned to and managed cross-assignments.

As he rose in the ranks, I often tagged along. Europe, East Asia. Secondments that increased his reputation. While he did his thing I did my own. That was another thing; through this exposure to foreign countries I learned more about people, formed some perceptions in opportunities to augment my formal training, sharpening my instinctual ability to diagnose idiosyncrasies in people. Kind of a more informed knock-off of my father.

So when Mike returned to National Defence Headquarters, there I was, ready to launch out again on another career tangent. We did all right, me and him. Some people (snidely I suspect) referred to us as a “power couple”, and I suppose that’s right on the mark.

Mike helped me through some tough times, too. A couple of times there were some really ugly, violent things that happened in places where he was stationed. The local media would cover these gruesome things, and for some reason, they bothered me more than I think they would have if I’d read about them back home. Women going missing, their bodies found later in desolate out-of-the-way places. Evidence they had been sexually assaulted before being cut up, partially dismembered. But all the pieces found together when they were finally discovered, in a state of decomposition.

Thinking about things like that made me pretty hysterical. Mike comforted me, reminded me how safe I was surrounded by the military, and being with him. He would never allow anything bad to happen to me, he always said.

Back home again we bought a nice little vacation property, and a house as well in a suburban area of the city. As part of the executive contingent of the military Mike makes good money, and so do I, working as a consultant with a large national health-advocacy charity. And then, Mike got a really terrific assignment; base commander of the largest and most important military base in the country.

There’s this about Mike; he doesn’t’ stand on ceremony; he’s affable and good natured, and treats everyone well. People respect him, they like him. And that makes me really proud of this guy I married. I’d never have been able to imagine he’d make that rank and be given that kind of responsibility. He’s a full colonel; on track, I’ve been told confidentially, to becoming a fairly young full general in the near future.

I discussed that with him, of course. And he told me it’s in the future and fairly assured, but we’d do well not to say anything about it. Or, he said, if I really needed to tell someone, I could mention it to my parents, and he would to his, telling them to keep it to themselves. It was nothing that had to be spoken of, because there were no guarantees, only speculation at this time, despite what anyone said.

His parents were thrilled, naturally. And my dad kept saying how he knew all along that Mike would amount to one whole hell of a lot. My mom? Well, she smiles and doesn’t say too much these days. She’s not all there at times, she’s gone into a health decline; early symptoms of dementia. That worries the hell out of me. Not only for my mom and my dad, but for me, too. I imagine I’m genetically inclined toward the same. Mike laughs that off, tells me no one could be healthier, more involved with life than me.

We keep fit, both of us. Lots of time spent building up muscle and resistance to ageing; we’re in good shape. Couldn’t do that kind of thing if we had kids. No spontaneity. No fun, too many constraints. Our leisure time activities are heavy on golf. There’s a golf course close to where our summer cottage is located.

A few weeks after Mike took up command of the base, some young Corporal, a military flight attendant at the base was found dead in her home. Her boyfriend found her there, dead. In her nightclothes, torn, throat slit, sexually abused. Her boyfriend, evidently, wasn’t a suspect. He was military too. Mike said these things happen, they happen anywhere. There are plenty of sadistic people around, psychopaths. Society would never be rid of them, he said. It’s simply an unfortunate fact of life.

More stuff went down. Seems to me women are plagued by men who turn out to be these criminal misfits. I can’t understand for the life of me how a mother can raise boys without imbuing a stiff sense of respect in them for other people, for women in particular. What kind of a man would brutalize, rape and torture a woman? A lost soul, Mike says, trying to comfort me. But they’ll get their own in the end, he said to me.

There were two home invasions a week apart in the area during the summer. In both instances it was women alone at home at night. A masked man entered their homes, raped and robbed them. This is a small town not used to this kind of stuff. Doors often not locked. One of the women had recently been separated from her husband. Both women reported intimate apparel missing, afterward, that they'd been photographed,naked, in degrading positions by this monster.

I thought about our neighbours, the people we bought our cottage from. He’s an amateur photographer. And I kicked myself for having those thoughts. He’s a nice enough guy, and his wife, too. He's not much of a conversationalist, but we don't have much in common; they're country people, and we're busy; he's retired, got lots of time to shuffle around. She shares garden produce with us, mostly zucchini; guess they grow too much of the stuff and don’t know what to do with it. I don’t either; I tend to just toss it.

When the second of the two home invasions occurred, soon afterward police actually arrived at the place next door to question this guy. Even though I’d thought about him, I was appalled. I just couldn’t believe it. They came back a second time to question him and his wife again. We never had much to do with them after that, hardly spoke beyond the occasional brief hello, that kind of thing. Never said anything to her about that, didn't want to hurt her feelings.

But I did say a lot to Mike about it. He tried to steady me, told me that if the police had any leads, any evidence or witness accounts that supported their suspicions they would arrest the guy. Sure he was questioned, Mike said. So were a lot of other local males. It was standard procedure. People were nervous and angry and upset and wanted some answers. So the police react and go around questioning everyone. Probably, he said, everyone but the person who did it. Often, he said, that’s the way things go.

I told him I just didn’t feel comfortable there any more. We should sell the place. I wanted to return to the house, summer be damned. I wouldn’t spend another night sleeping next to where this guy lived. So he agreed. He always does, he never gives me any grief about anything. He has pointed out often enough that I might be a more effective social worker if I managed to remain personally calm in the face of human relation difficulties. I know that. That’s why I switched over to fund-raising isn’t it?

That’s why I’m back here again, at the house. And Mike, of course, can’t be here right now, since he’s no longer stationed at Headquarters. He’s back at the base. With his responsibilities. Enormous responsibilities, I might add. But he’s more than able to match his abilities and his talents to the work needing attention.

I miss him. But he comes along most week-ends and he tells me it won’t be all that long before he’ll be re-assigned. Likely back to Headquarters. A year, maybe two. In any event, it’s far more convenient for me to be able to drive down to my own office from this location. Tele-commuting is a drag.

My God, another young woman missing. An alert went out when she didn’t report to work as expected. Her family is frantic and search parties have gone out looking everywhere. The community is helping, people are putting up posters. Word has spread through Face Book postings and the news media are really playing this one up. Probably went off on her own, sick of living in a small town, the cloistered atmosphere, lack of privacy. I hope. God, I hope her body isn't found somewhere, that would be horrible for her family. I think I knew the girl, her face looked familiar from the news shots.

And then. And then I discovered, listening to the radio early Sunday morning that that young woman who has been missing for weeks now - her body was discovered in a remote location. Mike heard it too, he was in bed beside me. On the week-ends when he’s home, we sleep in. And we listen to the radio when we awake, trying to stretch out as long as possible the luxury of staying in bed before we’ve got to get up and going.

Things happen so fast, when they happen. Our house is surrounded by yellow tape. I was advised I’d have to leave, to somewhere else for the time being. I went to my parents’ home. I’ll stay there for a few days, I guess. Or as long as it takes while they search our house. They'll let me know when I can return ... home. My mother knows absolutely nothing, she's just kind of back at an earlier time in her life. My dad is grim-faced and tries his best to comfort me. He’s going nuts, I think, going from my mom to me.

Mike, he’s been arrested. Two separate first-degree murder charges. And two home invasions. Investigating authorities say they’ve launched further enquiries into unsolved assaults against women that occurred over the past years, in places where he’s been stationed. There's all kinds of police forces working together on this, the media are reporting. Mike's face is everywhere, standing in uniform, handsome and resolute, standing next to the Minister of Defence, showing him around the base.

That guy who lives in the cottage next to ours said something to the press that really infuriated me. He said that while he was being treated as a prime suspect in the murder of the missing woman his wife was getting telephone calls and people at the other end would say to her “What’s it like, being married to a murderer?”