PART TWO i – The Townhouse

  I was prepared for some funny yelling, but he had this one down pat, I was taken completely aback. The one who asked almost spilled her coffee, and the other one's eyes bugged out and she looked at me with a nervous smile. He turned around, and asked as politely as anything else that came out of his mouth that morning, would she like another cup of coffee. She did. Then the other one pushed her cup over, and he warmed that one up too. He put the coffee pot down, and it was like he forgot his promise. When he whirled around, though… he gave her what she had asked for.

  "I am sorry! I did not hear you! You?! Will have the common courtesy, the basic human dignity, to say thank you, when someone does something you ask!! And what are you smirking at? You zy piece of shit! You're no better than the other one. Why do you think, we have higher ASVAB requirements, shit-stain! Because we expect you can speak, and not just point and grunt!! You expect the Air Force to trust you, to handle multi-million dolr pieces of equipment, when you can't even speak?!?! You have to be fucking shitting me!! This, is what they expect me to train, to be an airman?!?! I wouldn't trust you to wipe your own ass and expect the toilet to get flushed!! What moron sent you to me, and expected me to train you! You see that jar?!?! That's the feelings jar!! We all put our feelings in there, on day one! It is now day 23, and I don't give a single goddamn shit, about your feelings!! Are you going to cry, like a little bitch?!?! Because you look like you're going to cry!! How in the ever loving FUCK, are you going to keep your head, and operate a keyboard, when the enemy is dropping bombs?!?! You're not! You're another useless piece of human shit!! That the recruiters sent here to meet some GOD damned quota!! Pointing, and grunting? That is what we have the Marines for!! When I need a goril, to point and grunt, I'll go get one!! We need airmen that are able to effectively articute human speech! If you have not evolved yet?!?! I will evolve you, you worthless, knuckle dragging troglodyte! When you are in public, you represent the Air Force! You will speak English! You will speak it clearly! You will treat every human being you meet, from now until the day you DIE, with respect, and courtesy! You will say please! You will say thank you! You will carry things for people, and demonstrate that you are trying to make your sorry ass of some service to humanity for the first time in your worthless goddamn existence!! We have no white! We have no bck! We have no women! We have no men! We just have AIRMEN! And by god as my witness, you will speak and do it politely!! If you do not?!?! I will pull your eyeball out, and I will SKULL-FUCK you!! If you cry right now?!?! I'm going to pull the other eye out, and shove it up your goddamn ass!! You!! Are!!! DISMISSED!!!"

  We all three, had nervous smiles and giggles. We were in no way expecting that performance. It went on for far longer than we would have guessed it would. He was leaning down, and yelling in their faces, and if their hair would have blown back, it would have seemed appropriate. The coach yelling at us when he was supremely pissed, didn't even come close. Most likely, none of us had ever experienced that. He leaned on the table, and gave them his best crazy eyes. He wasn't screaming, but his forced speech sounded like screaming, even though it was slightly more subdued. He could keep it up for as long as he wanted.

  When he turned back around, the scary face and eyes were vanished again, and he was once again the polite and quiet man we had come to know. In the sweetest of lilts, he addressed them with one's mouth still hanging open, and the other still biting her lip like a little girl. Their own fathers had never spoken to them like this, I had to guess. They were shocked. Yet, it vanished as quick as it had developed, a sudden spring storm out of nowhere, now gone.

  "I'm sorry. Did you dies want cream or sugar? Please, let me get that for you…"

  Which was when we all three burst out in ughter.

  "No, I'm really not that good at the drill instructor voice. I wasn't the best guy in barracks at it, I was kinda in the middle, when we voted on who won."

  He went about gathering up the ptes and silverware, and rinsing them off and putting them in the dishwasher. Then he sat down with us, and asked politely and softly, what was on the agenda for today.

  I was first.

  "Oh, you have to teach me how to do that. I could use that some days, I'm sure."

  "Actually, drill instructors are taught, in a css, how to project their voice without damaging their vocal cords. All sergeants, learn to project their voice. So they can address rge groups of men, and know their commands are heard, and there's no mistakes. All us regur enlisted guys, just along for the 4 year ride? We learn to imitate it, for fun."

  "That's pretty good. Thanks for that."

  "Same here. I thought it was just going to be her, then I got dragged into it. Gd I wasn't left out of the fun."

  "Wow. I can't believe the other one didn't get woken up and come down to see what was going on."

  I sipped my coffee and chuckled.

  "After st night? I'm sure she's perfectly happy to have someone else get yelled at, and not get it again. Besides. You know her. She'll sulk and hide in her room for the next couple days, embarrassed. She'll just let it blow over, so she can avoid apologizing."

  The one changed the subject.

  "I didn't know you had tattoos."

  "Why would you? I never had my shirt off in front of you before. But yeah, I do. Didn't think about it, I figured she would have mentioned it. But. There you go."

  "I wouldn't have guessed you had any tattoos. And if someone told me you did, I would have guessed some… computer tattoo."

  "Do you want the obligatory story what they mean?"

  "Sure."

  "Okay."

  "She already knows. We share everything. But since she never shared that I have ink on my back, I can only assume she didn't tell you that either. Because, little one. If she had told you the why? You would have already known I had some. If you're curious, and I wouldn't want to bore you, if you're not interested."

  "No. Go ahead."

  "Lots of guys in the military have ink. The biggest one, the grim reaper? Some joker in housing must have thought it was funny, to stick one computer geek, hey I resemble that remark, in to live with all the MPs. That's the military police. These guys made friends with the computer geek they were housed with, and took me with them anywhere they went. Whether I felt like it or not, actually. I pyed some sports, track and soccer, in high school. I also lifted weights, like a lot of guys do. I was a track star, and I lettered three times over, for so many first pces at meets, winning the mile run. The only guy that could beat me? Was some kid who I found out was the one that won county every year, so I didn't feel so bad about that one loss every year. Soccer? I pyed, but I was a bench warmer and a scrub. I wasn't good enough, not like you girls. I'm quite sure, as I hear about you two from her regurly, that you would all three just smoke me, so I won't even embarrass myself pying for fun with you in the yard. Anyways, are you sure you want to hear about the tattoos?"

  He could tell a story. I already knew that, now they were seeing it.

  "No. Go on."

  "Okay. So. These MPs, were the toughest guys on any airbase, and everyone knows it. They come in and take down big, muscur, pissed off Marines when they act up in the bars. Nobody fucks with these guys, and I had to live with these scary lunatics. Anyways, these guys dragged me with them anywhere they went. I naturally went to the gym to work out with my new friends. They lifted weights and jogged, like I did. I also ran long distance, I ran 10K's and had decent times. But other than lifting weights? This is the military police. These guys were all doing kickboxing, and dirty wrestling, too. They dragged me to the range to learn how to shoot rifles and handguns with them. They dragged me to drink beer and they dragged me to chili cook offs, and rattle snake roundups. I prefer what I call snake mc nuggets, by the way, but I digress. Shall I continue?"

  "Yes!"

  "Okay, just checking. So, they wanted me to do kickboxing and dirty wrestling, too. The MPs practice what they call take-downs. Which is of course, ripping some big, jacked up, drunken Marine off his feet by his head, and wrestling him to the ground to sp cuffs on him. I practiced all this stuff for fun with them, because I wanted to impress my new boyfriends I was running around with every day and all weekend. Within a year or two, I was able to py with them at these fun games. When my boyfriends decided one day that I was one of the boys, at all these fun games. They took me out to get me drunk, and they all pitched in to get me my tattoo. I was told, I was an honorary member now, and that I could have the same tattoo they all had. Which was of course, they all had a grim reaper of one kind or another. Am I putting you to sleep, little one?"

  "No!"

  "Anyways. If you resist an airbase MP, trying to take you in? He will beat you senseless. If you insist on endangering his life? He will kill you with his bare hands. Marines and Airborne Rangers, who all trained for some csses on our base, by the way, will not fuck with these guys, that should tell you something. When they insisted, that their mascot, hey that's me… simply had to have their own patented tattoo they all had, and were all pitching in on it? I was touched. I picked the biggest grim reaper I could, of the design I liked the best, because hey, someone else is paying for it, and hey, I had a few drinks. Now. I am not an MP, but they said I was an honorary mascot, on account of passing muster at pying their fun games every night and weekend with my boyfriends. I was a computer programmer, if you remember. The wizard at the bottom of the grim reaper? My nickname in the computer department, was The Wizard. Everyone picks the programming assignments out, and grab for the easier and shorter ones they can handle. You don't wait, or you get the big, impossible one. I used to deliberately wait, and take the biggest, most impossible programming assignment they had, and got it done and working properly before everyone else could finish their scrub jobs, if they completed them at all. Hence, my nickname… The Wizard. And that, expins the whole left side of my back. If I have not bored you, I will expin the others."

  "Sure. You gotta finish now."

  "Since you insist. On the right hand side, you will see the electronics components. One of my hobbies? Is designing digital electronic circuits. Here at school, I hang out with not only the computer nerds, but also the Electronics Engineering students. It is not my major, yet I make side money, doing junior and senior projects for some of the EE students. I guarantee a B or better, and I have yet to fail to deliver. The EE students, all have electronics tattoos, many of them. So? Me too. You guessed I would have had a computer tattoo? And I do. What no doubt might look like random letters and numbers? That is ASCII code. It says, fuck you. In the code that computers and the internet use, to send text around and store it internally. My computer nerd friends, get quite a kick out of that one. The rest of lines of text you see over on that side? Is a bit of computer programming nguage. It is a core routine, that I was once told was impossible to program. I came back the next day, with a working example. I am, after all, nicknamed The Wizard."

  "Go on if there's more."

  "The left side? Was my military life. I was given the grim reaper, because I was told I was as good as they were, at pying the fun little games all the MPs py to train, and the wizard, because I was not an MP, I was a computer geek. The right side is all… geek and nerd stuff. The other half of my life. This leaves a space at the top and down the middle. Which is the big dragon you see. The dragon is actually not a symbol of evil, death, and destruction. Despite how they are often portrayed in books and movies. In fact, most dragons were able to talk, and were actually smarter than most human beings. Plus, I think dragons are just pn cool. As a geek and a nerd? I used to py Dungeons and Dragons. The dragon? Is wise, highly intelligent, and also very dangerous. And misunderstood. Plus? Dragons are just pin cool. This? Is yet another one, that my computer nerd friends think is cool, because we all used to py Dungeons and Dragons, and they know all this about dragons, too."

  "That leaves just the water at the bottom middle."

  "Ah. I always ran long distance. I am not fast, but I can run a lot farther than a lot of people. I also, for whatever reason, learned to swim long distance. Almost anyone can smoke me for speed, just like running. What very few people can do, is swim long distance. Its not about speed, its about being able to swim, literally forever. I can go for miles, and its not hard, its just pin fun. I love the open water. I can float on my back, and take as long of a break as I want. I can literally fall asleep on open water, and get as much of a nap as I need to keep going. The MP boyfriends? One had a Navy Seal buddy that would come around. One weekend, after we all were done pying at take-downs and other fun games, he bet me I was lying about swimming long distance in the open ocean, like Navy Seals cim only they know the secrets to do it. I took that bet. We took a little boat out, and I jumped in ten miles out. They stayed 100 yards from me, if I need it, and to ensure I did not get a ride in, to cheat on the bet. I took a nap a couple times, in the Gulf of Mexico, in 15 foot swells. I made it to shore, and won my bet. The MP boyfriends? Thought that was the coolest thing ever, for their little computer geek mascot, to win a bet with a Navy Seal. Once again, I was gotten drunk, and they pitched in so I could get my water tattoo. Since it is below the dragon? There's steam separating right from left side, and filling in the little spaces."

  "Wow. I wouldn't have guessed."

  "And why is that, little one."

  "You… spend all day with the computer guys…"

  "Ah. I see now, what you mean. You naturally assume, that because I am a spastic geek, and that I love being one, and am in fact proud of it? That I should not be… how would I say this. All boy. With my shirt off, because my girlfriend here said she wanted to… show me off… her words, not mine. Do I appear to be in any way feminine to your eye? Perhaps because I am quiet and polite, you might naturally assume I am not… all boy. My parents raised me to be polite, to say please and thank you. This was again taught to me, in the service. I actually like being called a spastic geek. If people actually stopped and thought about the words coming out of their mouths? Which most do not, by the by. Yet, if they did? The more a person attempts to make fun of me, for being a geek, a nerd, what have you. What they are really saying? Is that I am much more intelligent than they are. I'm fttered when they do it."

  The other one looked at me, with a quizzed look on her face.

  "Is this for real?"

  "I'm going on a month and a half, with my new steady boyfriend. I can tell you that I don't think he ever lied or even exaggerated to me before. If I had to guess, I would say I believed him."

  "We teased her, for… wanting to have a boyfriend… you know, from the computer department."

  "Okay. I take no offense. In the math and computer science department? We think many of the jocks… well, we have some jokes of our own."

  "Ha! Let me hear one."

  "Okay. Here goes. A basketball pyer, in a math css, was asked to count from 1 to 21. The basketball pyer, came to the correct answer. Which was quite amazing, naturally. Now. You were not there. How do you prove to me, mathematically… whether they were on the girls basketball team, or the boys basketball team."

  We were all looking at each other, and shrugging. He went about cleaning up, putting things away, then quickly wiped off the table and counter top. He left out only the sauce pot with the coffee left in it simmering on the stove top, the milk and the sugar. He then thought better of it, put the milk away, and left a small gss of milk out. He sat down.

  When we asked what the answer to the joke was, he smiled.

  "It was obviously, a member of the boys basketball team. Duh."

  We wanted to know why.

  "The girls basketball team? They can only count to 20."

  When we wanted to know why we didn't get the joke, he feigned an apologetic tone.

  "Oh, my. I thought you girls pyed soccer, that's my bad. I didn't know you girls once pyed basketball. My apologies. Oh lord, I would never want to offend such pretty dies."

  He sat there, sipping his coffee. Obviously quite amused with himself. He obviously wasn't going to tell us the answer to the joke. We had to figure it out for ourselves. Then one of my girls ended up with a furrowed brow, and actually started counting to herself. On her fingers. She did this twice, and still had a furrowed brow, puzzled. The other one, did the same thing. She got to ten. Then asked if she could have a hint. He sipped his coffee, and pointed at her feet. She now stared at her bare feet, and counted to 10. On her fingers. Then because he gave her a hint, she counted off her toes as well. She arrived at, predictably, 20.

  I suddenly ughed. It started out as a chuckle, then a giggle. Then a few small ughs. It wasn't as much a joke about jocks, or even basketball pyers. It was as much a silly kids joke about the difference between little boys and little girls. When both girls looked at me for my expnation.

  "I just got it, and I'm not telling. I'm curious which one of you two, gets it first."

  Both of them counted on their fingers to ten, then looked at their toes and went from 11 to 20. They each did this twice, before the one made a "pfffft" sort of ugh. I was keeping score.

  "That's two of us."

  She finally gave up, and smiled and upended her palms. I looked at him.

  "I guess she should have gone out for the basketball team instead. You wanna give her another hint?"

  He counted off on his fingers, to 10. Then he dramatically looked at his own feet, and went 11 through 20. Then he stood up and pointed at just below his waist, and proudly announced, 21.

  "Great. We're both retards."

  "No. You, came in third. I came in second. So I'm only half retarded. You're the only retard at the table."

  "And my smart girlfriend came in first. I'm proud of you honey."

  "Thank you."

  "You're welcome."

  We sat there, finishing our coffee, divvying out the rest slowly. He spoke first.

  "So. What are you two girls majoring in?"

  I raised my hand. I pointed at the one, then the other.

  "Basket weaving, and, advanced basket weaving."

  "Is that even a real thing? Or just a euphemism. Seriously."

  The one that came in st, piped up.

  "What's a… yoo-fah-mizzim. Heard the word before."

  The other one, chided her.

  "That's why you're the retard, whereas I? Am only half a retard. Its… like an analogy. Tard."

  "Oh. Blow it out your twat. Because this tard? Has you by five goals st year. This year? I pn on ten. So tard that."

  "That's just because you can only cover left wing and center. Because only your right foot can do anything. I, can py left, right and center? Because both my feet work. Which means, once again… tard. You only have half a brain."

  "Ew. I can use both my feetsies, I'm so brilliant. How the fuck, does that mean I have half a brain? You don't even make any sense."

  "Well. Tard. The right side of the brain, controls the left side of the body. The left side of the brain, controls the right side of the body. Which clearly proves, that I, use my whole brain. Whereas you, only use half of yours. And, since only your right foot can do anything? Your clearly in your left mind. Now, people that can use their left foot? We're in our right mind. You, were obviously dropped on your head when you were little. I can tell, you nded on the right side."

  I sipped my coffee, and ignored it. Hell, I'm used to this. This is every day. Mildly amusing, but not much more. This was new to him, this was the first time he had actually sat and spoken with any of the girls for more than ten seconds. He sat and followed it as it went back and forth. When the one resorted to making retard talk to make fun of the other, he looked at me.

  "This is normal?"

  "It is."

  "What are their degrees again?"

  I pointed at advanced basket weaving first.

  "Human retions. Started out elementary education? If you can't pass enough math to be qualified to teach grade school kids math time? New major. Plus they have to hit a 2.5 to keep the schorship active. Human retions, has much easier math requirements. She's almost up to a 3.0 now. I'm so proud."

  I pointed at basket weaving.

  "Women's Studies."

  "Oh."

  "Yeah. It wouldn't be half as tragic, if she didn't have trouble keeping the schorship in that demanding course of study. I don't think they have to count above 20, so, she should be able to finish her degree."

  "What… exactly does a degree in Women's Studies qualify one to do for work, other than of course teach Women's Studies."

  I sipped my coffee, and gave him my best deadpan.

  "Oh. That genius? Will be qualified to work for some big technology company's human resources department. So that the big tech company, is being socially responsible enough, by hiring an expert in male female diversity."

  His look back without a word gave me all I needed to know we were on the same page here.

  "Yeah. Someone just like her? Is going to determine if someone like you, gets hired or not, at some big shot technology corporation, to program on the computers. Doesn't that inspire you with all the confidence in the world, how successful you're going to be one day."

  "Christ's throne. I'm a programmer. I'll be a software engineer. I have to get through her, to get hired?"

  "Human resources, has to approve all new hires. Because as we all know, if you have more men than women computer programmers… that's sexist, and it hurts the company's social credit score. Which means, they can't have the really big contracts, because diversity is a requirement."

  "Can she even turn on a computer?"

  "She can. But if it's unplugged? She once came running to tell me it was broken. True story."

  "What… do the papers for a course in Women's Studies, even look like? Color me curious."

  "Oh. Really high end stuff. I know, because I have to proof-read her papers, and make polite suggestions on things like what periods are for, what the whole concept of a paragraph is. Heavy lifting like that. Which is fine. She's a big concept thinker, you understand. Not a details person, which is stupid to be concerned with. That bullshit? Was invented by the patriarchy, to keep women out of the leadership roles in the workpce, where they clearly belong. The st paper? Was all about proving that not only were men and women equal in intelligence? But women are actually smarter. Because they have emotional IQ scores, which are higher than men's. And the ability in a technology environment, to connect emotionally to your coworkers? Is much more important than pesky stupid stuff, like… anything that you would recognize as… you know. Actual intelligence. You're looking at yet one more future girl-boss of America. As a senior? She'll be taking the css where they learn which shade of gray business pantsuit makes you dominate the men in the workpce, and I'll get to see her practicing her newscaster voice, and helping her pick out her fake reading gsses. So she can be smart, and compete with the men, on an equal footing. Has mommy scared you yet?"

  "Terrified. Is that offer still open?"

  "Which one…"

  "The one where you get the good career job first, and purchase the tiny farm house for the two of us. I get to have a bedroom for my study, where I finish my work on my programming nguage and edit my textbook."

  "I get to pick the property. I get some kind of barn, as well as a basement. Deal?"

  He watched the battle over who was smarter, and the retard voices seemed to be proving to be decisive blows. The other was getting frustrated at not being able to make her quit making the retard voice at her. He made a fake shudder, and looked back.

  "Deal."

  I sipped my coffee.

  "Shake on it."

  I extended my hand, and we shook on it.

  "So. Can you see my philosophical objections to feminism? I feel feminism, on the whole, actually makes a woman like me look bad. If you see my point."

  "Oh. Indeed, I do. I just realized something."

  "What's that, dear."

  "I'm embarrassed to admit it, now that it pops into my little pea brain. But. I just realized I know these two Rhodes schor's courses of study here at our major university we all attend. What's yours? I seem to remember I was going to ask you, two different times, and both times… I, quite mysteriously I might add, ended up staring at your long, tan, muscur legs. And? Forgot all about what I was talking about. Now that I have my second coffee in me, and I have at least half my wits about me… please?"

  "Does it matter?"

  "I suppose it doesn't really. But… why wouldn't you want to answer me?"

  I sipped my coffee again.

  "I was holding off, for as long as I could. I was a little afraid you would… take it, somehow, some way, wrong. But since you cornered me finally, and my legs are hidden under the table, I don't have my secret weapons to hypnotize you out of it a third time. Promise me you won't be mad at mommy."

  "I promise."

  I sipped again.

  "Swear it."

  He swore he wouldn't be mad.

  "Psychology major, dear."

  "Oh…"

  "You okay with that, honey?"

  "Yeah. I guess that would expin a lot."

  "Are you mad?"

  "No, I'm not mad. Did you…"

  "Use any of it on you, at any point?"

  "I guess that goes without saying."