My Soul or My Soldier?



I’m starting to wonder if I was born in the wrong century.

I’m not sure how it began, and yes, I know, trust me, I know, many suggest Adam lost his virginity after losing a rib, which was put into his woman, Eve.

I suppose she was thrilled the only jackass left in the garden was throwing her over his shoulder, so I wonder how she enjoyed it, waking up to a rib, a man, God, and some good old fashioned Garden of Eden humping.

Adam would say it was, “Good,” wouldn’t he?
Don’t they all still say that?

I still don’t understand how they populated the earth.
The lady teaching VBS was certain they weren’t fornicating with each other’s sister or brother, but 20 something years later,
I still have my hand up, not getting called on.

That shit doesn’t even make sense.

Neither does Match and all online dating, believe me, I now see the sense of losing a body organ to get this shit over with.
What a bizarre phenomenon it is to click a small square of someone’s face, and yep, in documented form
here have your potential rib mate who is listing out traits like they came straight off the Kroger lot, stamped, separated and organized by ingredients listing everything from their perfect date to the height and age they want in a man or woman.
It’s kinda creepy.

I think tribal days were at least more relaxing, some body paint, your already naked so you skip that whole nightmare.

Those ladies shake breasts all the way down to the floor with fire, not like Eve who had all the shame of being naked, which is a plus.

Not to mention I bet if you are top contender to the chief, he will pass the pipe, or at least I know my Tribal man would.

Maybe next life but in this one, it goes quite like this.

(A smile or a “Hellllll NOOO” usually fills the silence) and sometimes a call to Thelma to laugh in hysterics at what these men have to say, as I grocery shop on, sampling contenders subject lines, like I’m hungry at Costco or something, but five hours later, still never full.
Shopping for men is way harder than Eve ever knew, considering she had ONE to consider, not 100 Adams,
all using their best sales pitch, bringing on the charm,
as they advertise why you should well, sample their “meat.”

I have 100 blogs saved to entertain you on that alone, but this is about a contender in camo, a dude I shall call “The Soldier” for now, but that still doesn’t sit quite right yet either.

My pointer finger was actually needing cracked from overuse of hitting “Delete” again and again, but I saw him and quite out of my routine frankly, I stopped.

Strange move to make for myself actually, seeing as men in uniform give me that unescapable heart race, not the good kind, but the kind that sends adrenaline telling you to make a mad dash for the bushes and hope to God smeared mascara doesn’t qualify a breathalyzer or even worse, handcuffs.
It’s completely stupid I know, seeing as I haven’t run from the cops since my prom limo caught on fire, CLEARLY not my fault but my drunk ass date, who made no apologies for the fact this event was only happening because of his mom, who without a doubt picked out my rose wrist corsage, now soaked in beer by her belligerent son. I can still picture her pointing to her mouth a lot like Honey Boo Boo’s Mama, with her little digital camera, waving like we were going out at half time during the Rose Bowl.
Tires come hard to find I suppose on white limos, and thank God I didn’t order steak, or I might have had to put out.

I did stare for a minute, unsure how a young man cub who appeared to be riding something like a bob cat, but loaded with Rambo accessories, probably during the George Bush administration, I assumed.
I don’t know why I assumed Georgie Porgie, probably Clinton should be a better choice when I saw what I believed to be the gas mask I had not hit since college, but that mask could clearly kill you from the smell of bong water, no protection from fumes there.

He was stoic, and staring at me.
Kind of a serious face too, and even a little dead or coldness could be felt from his eyes, but he had beautiful big blue eyes, which didn’t seem to fit anything around him.
His expression was a shot I would have liked to claim myself as a Photographer, the one you can’t ever have.
No one can be coached or still for long enough, or that good of an actor. That expression couldn’t be explained but it had it’s own explanation, just the same.
He was just what he was, a baby face with dead gorgeous eyes staring straight thru me, telling me he had the smell of man’s blood right beneath him.

I read people pretty well in photos and in emails so I was instantly curious what the hell this man wanted with me.
I think I said I was the poster child for ADD and liked tube socks and sex on dryers.
Judge me.
I like to keep it light when being added to someone’s grocery dating cart.
I don’t believe I suggested violence, war, mohawks, or stone cold grinless dudes, and what they came packaged with, I had not a clue.

I felt that immediate guilt of being one of those damn U.S.A. “Love the Troops” assholes while privately grinding my teeth at night for all the reasons I did not agree they be dying, something I had no thought of attempting to do myself.
Even more, I would never entertain disrespect of that act of courage and maybe even insanity, a few friends I had that did come back, never did.
How do you see someone you love deteriorate before your eyes and even worse, who do you blame, where and who will pay for the loss, the very brothers cheered by celebrity telethons are left moaning drunken four o clock a.m. horrors, mourning and howling songs of dead children and a weeping so deep and so I ask, who cheers them on now?
I wanted his soul back and I wanted someone to pay.

So, I passed that email, my friend’s memory made my stomach queasy, a little uncomfortable at any forced political polite discussion, certain I would never look back to read the stoic man’s emails, but I did.

I did.

It was long.
It was extremely serious, with many demands, such as “YOU WILL READ” and “YOU WILL SEND” with little commentary as to what he wanted in the first place, any question of such was left with the maddening answer, “I need you to answer some of my questions first,” as if he were on a special part of the Universe the rest of us had to take a “Special” SAT to be considered, his questions only, none of yours seemed important, only what you did not get, understand, or what he would not be tolerant of.
HIs needs were loud and in bold print.

I couldn’t stand the guy.
I wanted the guy.
I couldn’t stand the guy.
I wanted the guy.

I thought I sent out a pretty harsh reaction, certain this was the type who accepted no subordination from anyone, much less a female, the kind he pointed out needed help understanding, the fire within burst into mad scribbling, and the “send” function was in progress way before a real thought, something not usual for me.
I like to put things away, to avoid reactionary statements and hurtful assumptions, but this guy was KILLING me.
I was certain he was done.

And then, a thoughtful and intelligent reply, explaining what can’t be said in a text, words linking before sounds and body mannerisms even put into play make a lover into a fighter, with nothing but a tone to understand the difference.

He was right.
I hate being wrong.
He was right. I had been mistaken so many times through text, with best friends, and so this soldier, one of a billion, just opened the thought that changed my mind.

By this time, men were squirreling into the picture, and yet that heart flop when he was there in the email, suggesting a playlist read NOW sent an irritating thrilling sensation into me, and there was no doubt that fire came from beneath his fingers, wherever he was, for I felt it, a touch delivered through the phenomena of the digital age, it didn’t matter.

I could feel him, everything about him, without any idea of how to understand him, just the same.

That was the most difficult of all.
A few intoxicating conversations drenched in sexual chemistry and hot exchanges right before we met, he left.

He called me at every point, from plane leaving, landing, exchanging, to baggage and back home, even during dinner, his friends from out of town were put on hold, and I was crazy about him, or the idea of him.

I realized I had been hungry for someone on the planet to connect my experiences with, and to be challenged by someone who had shared and seen the loss I had, to give me direction and history of their own path, and just by being alive and awesome, I knew I had fit somewhere no one else could.

That is rare in the world of Soldier and I.

I told him a big secret, one no one, family or friend or journal alike, had known.

I couldn’t believe his reaction, my stomach almost unable to breath from fear, my heart almost muffled his reply, but I stopped and heard laughter and in that deep sexy working class man’s throat, “That’s awesome.”

I am absolutely positive the secret I shall take to God with me is nothing but awesome, but from him, he justified it as such, and I laughed along, certain I had it all wrong until not meeting him.

But, like all people who change us, who teach us, who remind us we are capable of loving like mad wolves unable to be kept caged or controlled, these are always the ones who are the lone wolves, certain to claw the other members of the pack to death, the intention never mattered, only the emotion in the moment, what might be playful could eventually kill us, and as he believes, “Violence is Everything.”
It is just the nature of the beast, and no matter what I say about my love of peace and hatred of war, I am torn from his cloth, and I as well, can not make my heart beat to satisfy his, no matter how he moved my mind in ways others hadn’t touched.

It was in fact, the first realization I was meeting another member of the wild, a lone wolf who decided who and what entered his territory, and as much as I wanted to be that, I could not.
How I wished it different, the intensity of desire lit me from places I forgot were even a part of my body, drenching, begging, asking, teasing.

That is what it is to be from the wild.

It is a lonely, intoxicating and passionate ride.

The day he said he would never contact me, yelled at me and hurt me, a child who accidentally picked up the kitten the wrong way, making it yelp and everyone turned to stare was me, on the other end of the line.
He was the screaming lion, angry at the way he had been tossed about with little respect from the likes of a child, biting his way nastily out of my reach.
Like all children, I cried from confusion and sadness.

The ending came with tears on the very day of a long day at work, long driveways and hills kept me breathing hard and fast, within minutes of our ending, the hurt came, the lone wolf had returned to camp.
Or in my case, human form, no other being like him there to remind me of that wild alive beating lioness inside me.
Now I was just me, a human working, a heart barely feeling, a job just doing.

I heard a child yell up at me, and I turned.

“Miss!!! Watch out! The mean dog is loose!”

I nodded, in this place, a dog lover anyways, plus with a heart burning and beating pain, I shrugged.

“Bring it.” I thought.

And then I saw him.

He was bigger than I had seen, a German Shepherd, trained, and I knew it by his eyes, moving like a human’s would, identifying his prey.
He was smart as hell.
He circled wide parts of the yard, never stopping in, but surveying his options, and I knew I should be scared, but I wasn’t.
I waited, allowed him to see what stepped onto his own, this wolf was of royalty, and I now understood the child.

He would be respected.

I thought it was just him and I, alone, and so I in the most centered place I had ever known so far, spoke aloud.

“Listen, I know this is yours, alright?
I know you own and will use violence and any cost to keep me away.
But, I really want to knock on that door you see and I will just sit here and wait until you say it’s okay.”

I have no idea where this came from, nor the lack of fear, perhaps from losing that fear of death along time ago, I really didn’t give a damn if my last moments alive were being eaten to shreds and posted all over the news.

It sounds gruesome, but in that big yard of woods, he was really beautiful and I knew he had a part to play, just as I did.

He began to circle, fast and loud, so loud my heart pounded at first, in large demands of me, but I just sat and played with a stick.
Then he circled closer, snarling and sniffing, and I almost laughed at his attempt to show teeth, as if a human’s teeth couldn’t destroy his, only humans don’t leave marks. Nor do they kill, but it’s worse, I thought.
You walk the earth wounded and nothing to prove how or why or what happened.
He then stopped, looked, stopped and so I followed, bringing up a few things here and there about the yard needing some service work, and when he brought me up to the door, I knew I had been chosen.

It was one of my most proud moments, even sticking his tongue on a part of my hand, yet not licking as if playing hard to get.
I told him it was ridiculous to have gone through all of that, just for an empty door, but I was allowed to touch him, and to my horror, when I turned, a man was in the yard staring at me like I had a head of fire coming straight at him.

“How the hell did you do that?”
I was confused.
He showed me his taser, explaining the dog’s fearful appearance and the means they would have to take to protect the children, themselves.

In that moment, I was proud, for I had seen them both, my Soldier and my Lone Wolf, and they had chosen me.
I had known my place and in my own Spirit of the pack, I had been motioned forward, something I knew had not been done before or maybe not again.
But, it was the wolf that took away the hurt of the Soldier, the sadness I carried was no longer a weight to carry.
The soldier could tell me but I couldn’t really hear him, my seeing him was justice enough for me, but now I see the lesson.
He had to be this way with me, tasters, violence, judgements and enemies were not waiting for me, just out for a friendly walk.
I had not wanted to see it, the lesson I wanted to believe untrue, for that would mean he and I could never live amongst the fences, with the chatty neighbors, friendly cook outs and big pots of free food.
We couldn’t even live as lone wolves, for it is not in our order, nor our nature.
I had been confused in his hostility, believing I had shown and proved to be part of his pack, knew his language, and wanted him to take me. He had to snap and hurt me, to show me he didn’t have a place with me, not even in the deepest understanding one might have, he had his reasons.
I had not believed, because in seeing him and loving him, just like the wolf, I assumed I saw what they all saw.
I was wrong.
Tazers and Watchings and Warnings and Fences were not for me, but him, and I saw now that he had to be violent to survive, just as he had said, that they saw nothing.
He would never be anything else.
He came with that guard because he was born to be something man can’t grasp or teach, something to fear and hurt, and just because I was welcomed didn’t mean I was one of him.

But it didn’t mean I couldn’t love him from afar, wish I had been feared and hurt so I could be with him and only him, a request only a lone wolf would make, and so I see now.
We may have been torn from the same cloth but his freedom could only be dictated by him, because of this, and for him, which meant his rules would be mine, for by loving him I would seldom roam the yards, free, and he knew this.
Being with him cost something, and he and only he decided what that path would hold.

But, I shall come to his fence and sit, cause even in the lonely hearts of lions and wolves who roam without a pack, there is always room for the unexpected.

And yet, some creatures weren’t born to fall in love.

And yet, I will always wait for him.