Welcome Home Soldier

"If I had not been in uniform, I would have held your hand when we walked down the street" she texted late that night after our dinner and her 6 hour round trip drive to my hotel.  "Truly?" I mused.  I would have loved to walk the streets of Washington DC in my black patent high heels and swishy dress with her in her army uniform, boots and beret holding her hand.  I would love to put a face on the hypocrisy that is "Don't' ask. Don't tell." If it was my job, not hers, on the line, I would have pushed her against a massive federal building and kissed her when everyone was watching, just because.

She completed two tours in Afghanistan, lost a fellow soldier during the second tour and works double digit hours during a regular day on the base, but she can't love a woman and talk about it.

I giggled when we sat down at dinner and noticed the silver ring on her left finger. Jokingly I said, "Nice ring – you getting married?" "Nah," she responds with that southern lilt that always makes me lean in. "It's my fake wedding ring to my roommate John.  Just easier that way, you know?"  No, actually, I don't know. 

Later she texts "If you did not live so far away I would have really hit on you by now."   Oh, yeah?  Seems the uniform looms larger than the 3,000 miles. Welcome home, soldier.