But marrying Jon was a no-brainer for me. I was in love and knew I wanted to be with him. I wanted to support him in what he was about to endure.
The reasons Jon gave to convince me to marry him:
1. “I’ll never get on your nerves, ‘cuz I’ll always be gone.”
2. “You can have all the closet space, ‘cuz I wear the same thing every day.”
3. “You can have as many babies as you want, ‘cuz it’s free.”
Jon went to Idaho to spend Christmas with his family and made arrangements to fly me to his hometown on Christmas Day. I know my parents were disappointed. We had always spent Christmas together. But they didn’t complain because they thought the world of Jon. They had grown fond of him during those weekends in Virginia.
Not only had I not flown by myself in a really long time, but I was also nervous about meeting Jon’s family. I knew this visit was significant.
On the flight I was seated next to a guy who was more freaked about his holiday trip than I was. Before the plane took off, he confided that he was afraid of flying. He said the doctor had given him some pills, but he was concerned they hadn’t taken effect. That’s when he popped open a lunch box that looked like a miniature pharmacy and swallowed half of another pill.
We continued chatting about our destinations. I, of course, kept going on and on about Jon.
By the time the plane hit some turbulence, this guy’s nervous energy had gotten to me. Now I was in full panic mode.
He cracked open the lunch box again. This time he offered me half a pill. Being young and naïve, I accepted it. What was I thinking taking pills from a stranger seated next to me on an airplane? Can you say Roofie?
No matter. I was no longer worried about the flight. When the flight attendant offered each of us a free drink because it was Christmas, I thought, “How nice of the airline!” We each indulged in a Bloody Mary and continued bonding over our free drinks and the free spirit we had ingested.
When I woke up an hour later, my new best friend and I were cuddled up drooling all over each other. As the plane was landing, I also realized I was completely wasted.
It had been three weeks since I had seen Jon and there he was, standing in the baggage area holding a bouquet of flowers! And there I was, stumbling along with my arm around my new best friend, who was carrying my luggage.
Can you imagine what Jon must have been thinking? Thank God my barbiturate peddling friend had the presence of mind to shake Jon’s hand and tell him how he had saved the day on the flight by providing calming narcotics while I provided the wonderful, calming conversation throughout the flight.
Even though Jon proposed that weekend, he didn’t have a ring to give me, nor had he asked my father for his blessing. The next weekend he went to see my dad armed with a jumbo bag of pistachio nuts and a case of Miller Lite. It was probably the toughest mission my Marine had faced up to that point.
My poor quiet Jon. He sat through two hours of basketball before he got the courage to ask for my hand in marriage. How many of my dad’s farts did he have to endure over those hours? He should have brought his gas mask for this mission!
When he showed my parents the ring, my daddy cried. They were so pleased to have Jon as their “newest” son. With their blessing we decided to elope the following weekend.
THE DILLON COUNTY WEDDING CHAPEL
Six months after our first meeting, Jon and I said, “I do” in a cheesy place called South of the Border, which is known for its cheap cigarettes and fireworks. It was the only place we could find in three states that would process the paperwork while Jon was in the field.
Part of the urgency stemmed from Jon’s need to make sure that I would be PCSing (permanent change of station: moving) with him to Camp Pendelton. Bottom line: time was of the essence. I needed to become his “dependent” and get that amazing military ID card that opens all the doors.
I was thrilled. I’d always wanted to elope. My parents were very supportive since they had eloped themselves. Because mother’s parents were stationed in the Philippines, they knew they couldn’t wait three years for their return to the states. My mother had grown up as an Air Force brat, so she understood the military doesn’t give you time to plan a big wedding.
Some people were freaked about our plans, however. After all, I had only known this guy for six months and now we were moving across country where I would have no family, no friends, and no job. Worst of all, he would constantly leave me. People were less than supportive, and they let me know about it.
Regardless, I continued making plans. I found a wedding dress for $20 and waited to hear from Jon, who was in the field.
Finally, it was time. My girlfriend and Jon’s college buddy, who would be our witnesses, joined us for the drive to the wedding chapel.
On the front door was a sign announcing, “Shoes and shirts required.” Apparently some of the couples getting married were not complying with these simple rules.
The couple in front of us informed the clerk that their divorces had been finalized the day before and they wanted to wear matching sweatsuits as they walked down the aisle.
She completed her lovely ensemble with a rented veil from the quaint boutique adjacent to the chapel. In fact, they had a number of items for rent to enhance your wedding day. Imagine: red cummerbunds, an all-white tuxedo, and a complete selection of plastic flower bouquets. Thank God my roommate had thought to buy me an elegant bouquet of white roses with a single red one in the center.
Our Justice of the Peace called us in to discuss the arrangements. He looked like a cross between Gomez Adams and Rhett Butler. I couldn’t stop looking at his pencil-thin black mustache. I swear he drew it on.
He was about 5’ 4” and greasy-looking. And then there was this four-carat diamond ring on his pinky finger!
Worst of all, this guy talked a hundred miles an hour. For a second I thought I was at a used car auction. Seriously, I think he was on crack.
He had an array of options for a perfect wedding. He said we could—for just $50.00 more—have our marriage license printed on paper with a unicorn leaping over an airbrushed rainbow.
For an additional $100.00, we could be married in the second chapel, which featured an airbrushed landscape of a Greek temple. He offered a host of other options, but that was all I could catch because he was talking so fast.
We finally settled on the marriage license on plain paper, which I now regret. How cool would it be to have an air brushed marriage license?
And we agreed to say our vows in the plain chapel. When we explained we were in the military and didn’t have much money, he threw in two T-shirts that said, “I got married at the Dillon County Wedding Chapel.” He even offered to have his wife and brother take pictures of the ceremony.
By the time the ceremony started, I could no longer contain myself. I couldn’t even make eye contact with Gomez or I would start laughing. His spiel was so over-the-top. He began yelling to a room of six people, “Dearly Beloved!” in the thickest Southern accent he could muster.
When he began to roar a prayer beginning with “Jesus Christ, Lamb of God!” I was laughing so hard that tears were rolling down my face. I may have even peed a little in my pants.
Finally I heard, “I now pronounce you man and wife. You may kiss your bride.” I turned to Jon and French-kissed him! I was thrilled to be married!
Although the ceremony was a bit cheesy, I was confident Jon and I had made the right decision. I chose to marry Jon because I would not move across country without making a commitment. I refused to shack up. Jon said that said something about my character.
After being in the military community for a while, I discovered that many couples eloped. Military life has its own culture and different practices from those found in civilian life. We have a higher calling. What is most important is being there for our men.
I knew I didn’t want Jon to go through this duty station or other deployments alone.
Our wedding day was one of the most beautiful days of my life. I’m glad that Jon and I did it alone because so many of the challenges we had ahead of us would also have to be done alone.
THE HONEYMOON
Nancy and Carol, two wonderful women I had worked for in South Carolina, gave Jon and me an overnight stay at a B & B in Camden.
They knew we couldn’t afford it. The sales job I had just quit had paid more than Jon’s salary. Now we were going to have to live on $400 a week.
These ladies decided to give us a special wedding night. What they did was beyond thoughtful. By the time we checked into the room, we were feeling romantic and filled with marital bliss. But what happened next just was not fair.
THE ICEMAN COMETH
We were trying to consummate our marriage when someone knocked on the door. We tried to ignore it, but the knocking wouldn’t stop. I could hear the person at the door saying, “Ice. I have your ice.”
We continued to ignore the knocks as our clothes came off.
The knocks became more persistent. Now the voice was saying, “Hello, I have your ice.” Then I saw the knob on the door begin to turn and I realized the ice man was coming in. The door was unlocked!
“He’s coming in!” I screamed.
My chivalrous husband, my knight in shining armor, my Marine, who four hours earlier had pledged to protect me and honor me all the days of my life, jumped out of bed and ran into the bathroom.
There I was, sitting up bare-chested in bed, when a 13-year-old boy walked into the room carrying a bucket of ice. I screamed again. He made eye contact with my milk white breasts and screamed. From somewhere in the bathroom, Jon screamed. The boy, who we dubbed “Sheldon,” dropped the ice and ran. He had gotten an eyeful of my D-cup boobs, while Jon stood in the bathroom trying to cover himself up with a washcloth.
All our happiness washed out the embarrassment of the “mid-coitus walk in.” That is, until we sat down for breakfast the next morning and realized “Sheldon” was our waiter. Humiliation washed over me as I saw the young boy’s eyes light up before slowly settling on my breasts.
He walked right up to us and asked, “Were you two in room 101? Was that your honeymoon last night?” We avoided making eye contact. “Yes,” we mumbled.
He didn’t stop there. He kept apologizing, making the excuse that he thought we simply had to have the ice. We ate as fast as we could, but we could see him hiding behind plants gazing at us, eyes glazed over and frozen in a flashback of breasts and ice cubes flying through the air.
After our brief honeymoon, my new husband drove back to Virginia and I returned to South Carolina. We started writing detailed love letters and making phone calls.
While I missed him so much that it hurt, I took comfort in knowing we were starting a wonderful life together. Jon and I spent the first three months of marriage living in different states. It was surreal, but over the next few months I began to settle into married life.
GRANDMA: THE GREATEST GENERATION
The next time I was able to see Jon was during a weekend stay at my Grandma’s house in Virginia. She invited us over because she wanted to give me some advice on being a military wife.
This woman had been married to the U.S. Air Force for more than thirty years. She and my grandfather went through World War II and Korea, seven children, and assignments all over the world. I knew she could teach me a thing or two about being a good military wife as well as how to embrace the lifestyle.
Grandma is what we call “Old South,” which means she still holds a grudge against the British. In fact, she got really mad at my cousin, Dean Charles, calling him a traitor because he went to college “in one of them Union states.”
Grandma is extremely charming and outspoken. In fact, I learned manipulation techniques from her. I think a lot of what she says is done in an effort to get a reaction out of others.
A few years back, she had more than four feet of her colon removed. That’s hard to imagine since she’s not too much taller than five feet. Her grandchildren like to tell her that since her surgery she does everything half ass. To get back at us, she hides all her secret family recipes in her medical files next to the color photos of her colonoscopies.
Anyway, during our visit, we noticed she was mixing up words. She started referring to Muslims as Mormons. After 9/11, she told Jon and me how it was important for America to stop the radical Mormons because they had perpetrated the attacks on the Twin Towers.
There was no way we could convince her of the difference. We’d just smile and nod. “That’s right, Grandma, all the Mormons got together on September 11th and ran their bicycles into the Twin Towers!”
Then she started using “Dildo” instead of “Dickey,” the word for the mock turtleneck worn under a sweater. We weren’t quite sure where she heard that “new” word, but we assumed it came from one of the “stories” (soap operas) she watched every day.
It seemed harmless enough until she misplaced her “Dildo” and started calling her neighbors to ask if she could borrow one of theirs!
Needless to say, Jon was concerned about what advice this woman would give me.
Here’s what she offered:
1. It is imperative you have a baby before he deploys. He won’t want to give you one. So take care of that yourself.
2. Never have “relations” with your husband right before he leaves. He will need something to look forward to, so take care of that yourself as well.
3. Always remember, when he comes back from deployment you will be in stiff competition with Asian hookers. So I got prepared. I bought a kimono and a bag of Ping-Pong balls.
Grandma was also eager to go with me when I picked up my military ID card. Mostly, I think it was because she wanted to get out of the house. She had stopped driving after the “Dollar General Shopping Bonanza Incident.”
One day she called my Aunt Martha to report, “I went through the Dollar General today.”
“That’s great mom, what did you buy?” Aunt Martha asked.
“No, dear, I WENT THROUGH the Dollar General today,” Grandma explained.