Chapter 2

Something else happened during those last two months of school that cast a shadow over our marriage, and this was something Ron most definitely knew about. But first I have to tell you that Ron had become a Quaker in college. A key tenet of Quaker belief is resolution of conflict through peaceful means. Most Quakers are pacifists, who oppose all war.

The United States had a military draft back then. When Ron turned 18 his draft board classified him 1-A but gave him a college deferment. Once he became a Quaker, Ron knew he needed to do something about his draft classification, but he kept putting it off, since he had the deferment. That spring he told his draft board that he now firmly believed all war to be sinful, and that for him to serve in the army would be to violate the will of God. He tried to get the draft board to reclassify him as 1-O, a Conscientious Objector. That would not get him out of serving his country, but it would mean that he could perform alternative service outside the military.

If you think about it a minute you'll see what Ron was up against. Naturally, the men who would want to serve on a draft board would be red-blooded American patriots. Indeed, the ones on his draft board were, and they were revolted by the very notion of a pacifist. They figured Ron for a Commie, or at least a socialist, who was trying to sneak out of his responsibilities as an American. But they finally compromised with him, and reclassified him as 1-AO, rather than 1-O. That would mean he could be drafted and would have to serve in the army if he were, but he would serve as a noncombatant.

In the end Ron let the classification stand for the time being, made plans for postgraduate study, and re-filed his deferment forms.

Just before the new semester started, a letter arrived from Selective Service. It was a draft notice; his deferment request had been rejected. Ron went ahead and started his classes, while trying to fight the notice. Surely they couldn't draft him while he was in school; it wasn't right. But the draft board wouldn't budge. In their eyes he was a draft dodger, trying to get out by going to college for the rest of his life if he couldn't get out as a sissy pacifist.

In mid October I stood with tears in my eyes as Ron climbed onto an ugly green army bus, the color of swamp scum. My knight, my savior, had been taken away from me. All I could do was desperately hang on to my sanity. I kept myself busy packing, getting rid of things, saying good-bye to our first little home.

Where could I go? My parents were now in a retirement community, and had no room for me. My sister was nearly a thousand miles away in Montana. Ron's mother called me when she learned what had happened, and I cried into the phone, ignoring the long-distance expense. She invited me to come stay with them.

It was a 350 mile trip by Greyhound, taking all day, and I was a basket case by the time I arrived, but they welcomed me with open arms.

That night I curled up in what had been my sister-in-law's bed, before she had left for college, and cried. I think I cried all night. In the morning I was exhausted, and still crying. My mother-in-law knocked on my door.

"Time to get up for breakfast, honey."

"I don't want any. I'm not hungry."

"You should eat something, dearest, it will make you feel better."

"No it won't. Nothing will make me feel better."

"I know, dear, things look pretty bleak right now, but they will get better. Please get up and join us for breakfast."

"NO! Just leave me alone. Please!"

"OK, honey, but if you get hungry, please come down. I'll save something for you."

Several hours later I was still curled up in bed when she knocked again. I was still crying, too.

"Jan, dearest, get up and go get cleaned up. The bathroom is free, and it will soon be time for lunch."

"I don't want any lunch."

"Honey, you have to eat. You can't just lie there forever."

"Yes, I can. I'm not hungry."

"Dearest, can I come in? We need to talk."

"I don't want to see anybody. I don't want anybody to see me."

"Oh, pooh! I'm not going to be upset by how you look. I'm coming in."

"Nooo!" I wailed, but she came in anyway.

She talked and talked, but couldn't talk me into getting up or joining them for lunch. She did finally get me to agree to eat some soup if she brought it up to the room. And she assured me she would just tell the rest of the family that I was sick.

The rest of the family was Ron's dad and his youngest brother, Pete. He had another brother and a sister, but they were away at college. Pete was in high school, which was remarkable in itself, because he was severely retarded. Ron's mom spent hours every day tutoring Pete, and his teachers were understanding. Some of the other kids weren't, but Pete was very gentle, and never seemed to get angry at anyone.

I stayed in that room for days, eating very little and seeing no one but Ron's mom. I think it must have been the fourth day that she rushed in without even knocking.

"Look, Jan, you have a letter! It just came."

She handed it to me and patted my arm. "I'm sure things will be much better, now. You'll see. But right now I'll leave you alone so you can read your letter."

She was wrong. The letter didn't make things better. If anything it made them worse. I could hear Ron talking through the words on the paper, but I couldn't see him. I couldn't touch him; I couldn't have him. I couldn't even write him, because he said they were just keeping him at Fort Ord for a few days, and then they would be sending him somewhere else, he didn't know where.

The letters started coming nearly every day, but there wasn't much he could say, just that he loved me and he missed me. Every one of them started me crying all over again. Then came the worst one of all. He wrote that he had gotten his orders, and they were sending him to someplace called Fort Sam Houston, in Texas.

Texas! He might as well be a million miles away. I had never been outside California. I couldn't imagine going as far as Texas. Ron's letter said they were sending him there on an airplane, which meant he was already there by the time I was reading about it. In my mind I saw him being hurtled away from me, out into space, smaller and smaller until he was only a speck. And then the speck disappeared.

He did give me an address, and I wrote two dozen letters to him that day; angry letters, tearful letters, frightened letters, hopeless letters. I tore them all up into tiny pieces. I finally forced myself to write a letter that lied — I said I was doing OK, and I loved him. After that, I tried to write him every day. I made up stories of the things I was doing with his family.

In truth, I still spent all day, every day, in his sister's room. I cried, I stared, I huddled in a ball with my mind blank. If I started to feel a bit ambitious, I would pull out his old letters and reread them. Then I would start crying again. His mom still brought food to me. I didn't need much, because I wasn't doing anything. Mostly I just drank water and cried it back out.

Finally, one day I heard a different, more hesitant, tap on the door. It didn't sound like Ron's mom.

"Jan, can I come in?"

My heart lurched. It was poor Pete. I didn't want to see him, but I didn't want to make him unhappy, either.

"Yes, Pete, you can come in."

"Mom said you were sick, and I didn't want to get sick, so I didn't come."

"It's OK, you can't get sick from what I have."

"I know. I asked Mom, and she told me."

I could tell from his voice that he was standing near the bed, and I turned to look at him. He just stood there looking at me for a long time. Finally he spoke.

"You look like you're crying. Are you sad?"

"Yes, I'm very sad."

"Why are you sad?"

"Because Ron is gone," I wailed.

He nodded, and looked sad himself. "I remember. I was sad when he moved away. But that was a long time ago."

He stared at me a bit longer, then added, "I remember when you got married. You were very pretty. You weren't sad then."

"No," I sobbed, "I was very happy."

Somehow my tears just then felt different. Pete had helped me remember one of the happiest days of my life.

"I'm sorry I'm crying," I told him, "but I'm not as sad as I was. Sometimes people cry when they're happy, too."

"I know, Mom tells me that sometimes."

"Thank you for coming to see me," I managed to say. "I'm really glad you came. I want you to come again."

"Can I come every day 'til you get better?"

"Yes, Pete, I'd like that very much."

He did come every day, and I always looked forward to his visits. He was so sweet, and so simple, and yet he always managed to say things that made me feel better. We became friends, and he started asking questions. It was a real special feeling that I could help him understand things.

His mother was sweet, too, but not simple. She was always trying to talk me into getting up and spending time with the family. She was too sweet, really, and it was getting on my nerves. She did bring me food, and I did eat a little. I still wasn't sleeping much. Most nights I just lay awake and stared at the ceiling. At least I wasn't crying as much as I had at first. But I didn't care whether I lived or died. Except when Pete was there.

One day Pete said, "You're Ron's girlfriend, aren't you, for ever and ever?"

I started to explain that, no, I was his wife, not his girlfriend, but before I said anything it hit me. He was right. I was Ron's girlfriend, and I always would be. It was such a special feeling! I sat up, reached around Pete, and hugged him.

"Yes," I said, "I am, for ever and ever."

I felt him shiver, then he reached around my neck and pulled my head against his chest. "I wish I had a girlfriend," he gasped.

Still clinging to him I sighed into his chest, "I wish I could be with my boyfriend right now."

"At least you can be with me."

"Oh, Pete," I shuddered, "it feels so good to hold you like this."

"I like it, Jan. No one has ever held me like this except my mommie."

"Pete, I want to do something, but it has to be just our secret. Can you promise not to tell anyone, not your mom, not your dad, not anyone?"

"I've never had a secret like that. But I want to have one with you."

"OK, let go, then. I'm going to stand up. Now, hold me around my waist."

Pete was several inches shorter than I, and as he pulled me to him my mouth was even with his eyes. I kissed him on the bridge of his nose.

"OH!" he stammered, "You, you, kissed me! No, no, nobody has ever kissed me but my mommie."

His arms were holding my waist fiercely, and he was shuddering uncontrollably.

"Would you like me to kiss you again?"

"YESS!"

"Turn your face up, and let me kiss your cheek."

I bent down and nibbled on his cheek with my lips.

"Would you like to kiss my cheek?"

"YES! YES! YES!"

I turned my cheek to him, he slid his hands up my back, and crushed my chest against him as he nibbled my cheek. That wasn't all I felt. He slammed his belly against mine, and I felt something hard hit my groin. Oops, we've got a problem.

I pushed him gently away. "I think that's enough for now."

I could see that his face was flushed. "Yes, I gotta go right now!"

He scooted out of the room kind of hunched over, and I was quite certain of what he would be doing in a few seconds. He might be retarded, but his body was still like that of any other seventeen year old boy.

When he came to see me the next day I asked, "Did you tell anyone what we did yesterday?"

"Oh, no! That's our special secret!" He bit his lip, then added, "I want to do it again."

"I don't know, I'm not sure that's a good idea."

"Please! I want it so much! Please! You gotta!"

"Well, OK, just a little bit."

He pulled me to my feet and wrapped his arms around my waist. He tilted his head up and kissed my chin as his arms once again came up behind my back.

"I want to kiss you," he begged.

I tilted my cheek down to him.

"I want to do it like they do in the movies. I've never, ever been kissed on my mouth."

"We shouldn't do that," I said. Unfortunately, I turned to look him in the eye as I said that, and he pounced.

Our lips met, and his hands came up to the back of my neck to press my face against his. I heard a moan deep in his throat and it made my lips tingle. I didn't want to stop, but I knew I had to. I tried to push him away, but he was too strong. His lips were all over mine, and I couldn't help myself. I opened my mouth and tried to swallow his lips. Then I felt the pounding start. It was his cock pounding against my pussy. My pelvis was pounding right back. Then I felt, rather than heard, him scream into my mouth, and he grabbed my shoulders so hard I thought my tits were going to go right through his chest. He jerked against my clit again ... and then again ... and then he froze.