A Healer’s Geste

A Man in Uniform

For my sixteenth birthday, I wanted a Bunco party. My social life and connections were newly emergent, and I was thrilled to have enough friends to fill the twelve spots necessary for a game of Bunco. Unfortunately, two people were unable to come. I did not despair, however, because I still knew enough people to invite replacements! Not letting on, of course, that they were back-up, I invited Matt and Barbara Winckler. Their mom had been my Calvinette teacher, I had hung out with Barbara a bit, and knew that Matt was my age, though he wasn’t really in my group. When he came to functions, he remained a background figure; he was certainly nice, certainly homeschooled (as was I, but I was beginning my effort to shed the stereotype), and certainly a bit gangly. What else could a tall and skinny fourteen and fifteen year old be? I was never a noticer of the opposite sex, so I had my first general impressions from that 8th grade year and not paid him much mind since. He, however, had been paying me some mind, though I did not know it. Barbara couldn’t come, but Matt could make it a bit late, coming straight from a Civil Air Patrol function. There was another brother-sister duo I could invite, but now I only had one spot to fill; I pondered briefly the propriety of inviting a guy whose sister wasn’t also coming (in short, I briefly considered how to uninvite Matt), but in the end a family member took the extra space.

The day of the party, Jessica and her mom arrived first. I was standing out with them in the driveway, chatting. I enjoyed Mrs. Novikoff. Then Matt, in his growling, tan, manual Mercedes drove up — early, not late. He was already 16 and he had his own car. This alone elevated his social status. Then he stepped out of his car — straight from a Civil Air Patrol function, remember — in an Air Force blues uniform. All impressions of gangliness dropped away in that instance. I was thoroughly impressed. But my stare was quickly interrupted by Mrs. Novikoff: “Oh my! A man in uniform! No girl can resist a man in uniform!” I know I blushed. I did not enjoy Mrs. Novikoff at that moment.

Unfortunately, the first thing Matt did was use the bathroom to change into “civilian” clothes. And this was accomplished before any one else arrived. Although I would have never in a million years owned it, I did wish he could have stayed in uniform — and sat next to me. Instead of Matt being gangly, the other guys appeared short, stocky, and unimpressive. He also had the manners of a gentleman, always opening doors and such, and I felt — though I did not consciously admit it — that if I could contrive to have him open the door for me on some occasion while he was in uniform, I would be in bliss. When I was opening my birthday presents, he also gave me a gift. It was a birthday party, after all, so of course he did, but I remember feeling some surprise and embarrassment still. After all, really I didn’t know him very well, and I was embarrassed about noticing him and perhaps I also sensed that he was not completely indifferent himself. Anyway, I remember the silly feeling that the keychain he gave me (sixteenth birthday, after all) was some sort of token. I really wanted it to be such, and tried to keep it as such, but — alas! — it was a WWJD keychain. But one of the first proofs to my newly conceived attraction is that I actually used it for almost a year thereafter.

But, no, reader, the story of the day I fell in love with Matt does not end there. The end of the party brought omen and prophecy, and my initial attraction and first fledgling teenage “like” was not to be left alone and allowed to follow its own course. The party was over and the peoples dispersed — most picked up by their parents. The only people left, now sitting around the living room, were my parents, Jessica and her mom (who had returned to pick her up, but had come in first), my long-time friend Anne (who also had a car), and Matt. I wondered if he would change back into his uniform before he left. Silly girl. Why was he still around, though? He didn’t know Anne at all, Jessica less than myself, and myself very little. But there he was, sitting in the circle, a sociable but silent figure. I regretted his silence somewhat, because I was impressed by him and I wanted other people to be, also. But I certainly wasn’t going to say anything. Mrs. Novikoff perhaps asked him a few questions, but what I remember was a lightening bolt hitting me from nowhere.

“Matt, you and Mystie would make a cute couple. You’ll have to wait a couple years, of course, but I think you two should get married.”

Of course I did not look at Matt after that. I’m sure I turned away so he would not see my red face. Jessica’s face was red, also; her mom often made her blush, but she in turn made her mom blush at times.

The heart is deceitful, and I was not fully aware of my own feelings that day. At the time, the shock to me was that my reaction was elation and pride and hope. I attempted to deny it, I did remain calm and cool, but I could not deceive myself that I actually thought she might be right.

I wish very much that I could remember what Matt replied, if he replied at all. But my mind was full of its own thoughts and I remember being conscious that Matt had responded and that I had missed it and I suddenly wondered desperately how I could find out what he had said!

Mrs. Novikoff never brought the subject up again until her prediction was confirmed a bit sooner than she herself probably anticipated, but such was my respect for her opinion that from that day forth I watched Matt minutely to discover if there was any reason I should rather spurn than encourage his attentions. And though his attentions were subtle, I noticed every one of them. He never spoke a word to me that smacked of singling me out, much less of love, but somehow I knew. And he knew. And we didn’t say anything about it. Well, to each other. Barbara was my all-important informant, whispering and spinning little details that confirmed I was not deluding myself, and she furnished me with stories and information that even years after our marriage Matt has denied. And so it was, that by my seventeenth birthday I pretty much knew that Matt was mine and I would be his whenever he made the move. He made the move a year after that and we spent my eighteenth birthday completely in one another’s company with our mutual affection finally acknowledged and made public. And not many weeks after my nineteenth birthday we were married.

Time flies. Three months after my twenty-first birthday our first child was born. A week before my twenty-third birthday our second child was born. And three birthdays have passed since then and our very comfortable relationship has continued and our love has deepened.

Then, two months after my twenty-sixth birthday, Matt walked in the door in uniform. And I experienced once again that flutter of schoolgirl admiration and attraction.

After all, who can resist a man in uniform?