What It Means To Be a Spare

What it means to be a spare.

The recent past has defined the word Spare for us in a way we, in America, and in fact, most of the world, never expected. Of course we all know it means "extra"; like having a spare tooth brush, or tire; but having a spare human being? That was new to us.

The spare human being thing hit me like a bolt of lightning when I discovered that my wife was having an affair and I was her spare.

My discovery came when my Executive Officer came into my office, closed the door and asked me if I knew who "Jody" was.

I was stationed at an Army base in Georgia and my job was Commander of the soldiers who were permanently assigned to the base. The base was a training facility so had a constant rotation of soldiers who were there for either eight or twelve weeks depending on their course of instruction. All training bases had cadre who were there for an average of three years. Those permanently assigned soldiers consisted of the medics, the Military Police, instructors, mechanics, and other support staff and were housed separately from the trainees. Those were my soldiers.

To assist me, I had an Executive Officer (XO) and a First Sergeant, who was usually referred to as "Top" by the soldiers because he was the "Top" Sergeant in the unit. Even I called him "Top" in all my casual or informal dealings with him. On official or formal occasions, I called him "First Sergeant".

My "Top" was quintessential military. He lived and breathed the Army and was very protective of his soldiers. On more than one occasion, he made it clear that I was the boss in name only. The soldiers in the unit were, as I've already mentioned, medics, mechanics, instructors, etc. Those were their daily jobs, but they were also soldiers, first and foremost, and it was the First Sergeants' job to not let them forget that. "Top" was the person who made sure their military needs were met. Things like their professional training, PT (Physical Training) was scheduled and conducted, career development planned, and on and on. He was also responsible for housing those soldiers who chose to live and eat in the barracks. In the German Army, the equivalent position was sometimes referred to as the "Father" of the unit. My Top was not only father, but Dutch Uncle when needed. It was not unusual to see him out of his office and around the base visiting "his" soldiers in their daily work environments.

My XO, on the other hand, was a professional student. Although he was an Officer, he spent a lot of time working on those military correspondence courses that he thought would serve him well when it came time for promotion. He also took lots of classes at the on-base education center. He was determined to be a General someday. He never shirked his duties because with a First Sergeant like ours, he didn't have a lot to do. His name was Dennis White and he was a First Lieutenant (1LT). In casual situations, I called him by his first name. I was a Major, two grades above him so he always addressed me as either Major or Sir. He was married to Elyse, who was the daughter of a Colonel. It was he who encouraged Dennis to get as much education as he could. Dennis was pretty straightlaced and not given to idle chit-chat or rumor. In fact, I was surprised that he knew who Jody was.

So, when he asked me about him, I was more than a little shocked. Jody was the name given to men who seduced the wives or girlfriends of soldiers; normally those soldiers who were serving away from home, but not always. The name was prominently mentioned in some of the cadences soldiers sung while marching.

"Of course I know who he is. Why do you ask?" I answered.

"Three weeks ago, Elyse was playing Bridge at The Club (The Officers Club). Another wife at the table next to hers, was talking about her neighbor's son. She said she and her husband were at a pool party at the neighbor's and the son was bragging to a group of men about sleeping with the wife of a soldier. Apparently he was not a fan of the military and had no idea one of the men he was talking to was in the Army. The very thought that he could sleep with the wife of a soldier regardless of the soldiers' rank: not only sleep with her, but have an ongoing affair, seemed to please him greatly. He, apparently didn't know a Private from a General, but the fact that she was married to some 'dumb assed grunt' made him happy so he bragged about it to anyone who would listen. His parents heard him and told him to stop. The last thing he mentioned was that he and she had been having the affair for several months and the 'dumb assed husband had no idea'"

"He sounds like a jerk," I said.

"Yes, he does. Finally, his father took him inside away from the guests. The father returned alone and apologized to his guests, who, with the exception of the military couple there, were civilians; the wife was the one Elyse overheard."

It is not unusual in towns and cities that host military bases for members of the military to live among the civilian populace as there is generally not enough housing on the base to accommodate the service members and their families. This happens for all branches of the military. As CO (Commanding Officer) of the permanently assigned soldiers, I had a house on the base.

"How old was this guy?" I asked.

"He goes to college, so 19, 20, or so."

It wasn't common for military spouses to have affairs, but it wasn't unheard of, either, so I told him. "It happens and I feel sorry for the poor bastard husband. Do you know if she is the wife of an officer or enlisted person? Christ, I hope it isn't one of our soldiers. I can't even imagine what that must be like."

"I don't know, but you usually think of it happening to enlisted wives, but Jody manages to get around."

"There are many more enlisted than officers, so we hear about it more, but proportionally, it's probably the same. Cheaters cheat regardless of what rank they or their spouse has. I just feel sorry for the one cheated on. Did Elyse get any idea about who the wife is?"

"No name, but she got a couple of clues." He hesitated. "The affair apparently started because the braggart had taken a friend to the emergency room at the hospital after he overdosed."

"They both sound like winners," I said facetiously. "A big blowhard who may or may not have been telling the truth, and his drug addict friend make a visit to the hospital. Jeannie sees guys like that almost every night." Jeannie was my wife and worked the 3 to 11 shift in the emergency room of one of the two hospitals in town.

"Yeah, well, maybe she saw those two that night." He paused again. "The son described the emergency room nurse as a slightly chunky redhead with green eyes."

"That sounds like Jeannie," I said. "Creeps like that come in so often enough that she has stopped mentioning them."

He continued. "Anyway, the guy laughed when he told about a tattoo she had of her father on her left shoulder and he described screwing her doggie style and laughing as he looked at the tattoo and thinking that her father was watching her get fucked. It was at that point in his story that his own father had heard enough and apparently was embarrassed so got him away from the group of men he was talking to and took him inside the house. "

I sat there frozen. Jeannie had a tattoo like that. Her father died at the relatively young age of 45. Her favorite picture of him was as a five-year-old. In tribute to him, she had the same image tattooed on her left shoulder, but only a handful of people knew about it, and even fewer had actually seen it. She was just a few pounds overweight and described herself as "chunky" and was very conscious of it, so rarely wore a bathing suit or clothing that would reveal either her body or the tattoo. The tattoo was deeply personal to her, so in order for the man to have seen it, she would have had to have shown it to him. Logically, that would mean she had to have been in some stage of undress. At least that's what my common sense told me.

I sat looking at him, neither of us knowing what to say. I'm sure it was obvious from my reaction that something unusual had happened. Until then, he was just describing the coincidence of a nurse who fit the same description as the wife of his Commanding Officer and friend.

"Major? Sir? What's wrong?" He asked.

I heard the phone ring in the outer office. It was called the orderly room and was where the Company Clerk sat. The clerk served as typist, file clerk, receptionist, and general jack of all trades for the XO, First Sergeant and me. A couple of seconds later, our clerk stuck his head in my office. "Excuse me, sir, but the General wants to see you right away."

Regardless of what else was happening, when the General summoned you, that took precedence. "I'll be back as soon as I can." I told Dennis as I got my hat and headed for the General's office. On the way, my mind was cluttered with thoughts. What did he want to see me about? How did that college kid know about Jeannie's tattoo? Did I miss a due date for some important report and the General wanted to chew on my ass about it? Was it even Jeannie the kid was talking about? How could it not be her? How many chunky redheaded nurses with green eyes work in the hospital emergency room? And how many of them have tattoos of their father on their left shoulder?

I was not much of a believer in coincidences.

On and on my thoughts went, even during the meeting with the General. I have little recollection of what we talked about, because my thoughts were consumed with my wife and her tattoo.

I took my time walking back to my office. When I got back, Dennis met me. "What did he want?"

"Ah, nothing important."

"Do we need to do anything?"

"Nah. I'm taking the rest of the day off. Tell Top when he comes back."

"Yes, sir."

Jeannie was leaving as I pulled in the driveway. She waved as she drove down the street. I took out my phone and called her. "I thought you were off tonight."

"I was, but I volunteered to cover for Linda. She wanted to take the evening off," she said.

"What about dinner?"

"You can fix something. See you later. Bye."

That was not the first time in the last several months she had volunteered to work for someone else. In fact, if I went back over the calendar and checked, it would have been the seventh or even the eighth time. I started doing the math. Three months equals 90 days. She worked her regular schedule five days a week so that was 60 of the 90. She hadn't taken any days off, even when I asked her to, but had worked, to my recollection, those extra seven or eight days. Giving her the benefit of doubt, let's call it seven. So, she probably worked a total of 67 of 90 days.

Add to that 67, at least six times that I remember her being out evenings for various and assorted reasons that didn't include me, and suddenly thoughts that my marriage might be on rocky ground started going through my mind. Thoughts that I didn't want to have, but all led to the same conclusion.

I could "write off" the redheaded, green eyed emergency room nurse because chances are Jeannie wasn't the only one of those. Maybe she was at her hospital, but, again, I was willing to give her the benefit of doubt. Her work schedule could also be "written off" as necessary elements of daily life. I could also understand those evenings when she went out with colleagues or girlfriends and not include me; but the tattoo thing was too specific. It amounted to too much smoke to ignore. There had to be fire there someplace.

So, what happens now I wondered. Ignore it? Not hardly. The possibility, or, rather apparent probability, of her cheating could not be ignored; full stop. Confrontation? Possibly. I could just tell her outright what I knew and suspected and let her respond. But what would happen after that? Would she have a logical explanation? Admit to an affair? Laugh it all off as being coincidental? I had no idea, but I harkened back to something I learned while growing up.

As a child, I'd heard my father occasionally refer to something called "Occam's Razor" when he was confronted with a problem, but I never fully understood what he meant by it. Years later in a philosophy class in college, I heard it again. I came to understand that it is the problem-solving principle that "recommends searching for explanations constructed with the smallest possible set of elements". It is sometimes paraphrased as "the simplest explanation is usually the best one".

"The simplest explanation is usually the best one". Shit!

With that in mind, I spent the evening having different plans of action coming into and going out of my brain. By midnight, I was exhausted and clueless.

I was staring into space when she came home at 2 in the morning.

"What are you doing up?" She asked.

"Lots of things going through my mind."

"Anything I can help you with?" Then she quickly added. "The Army isn't transferring us, is it?"

"Would that be too bad if it did?"

"Yes, it would. We're settled here and I don't want to leave."

"IF they decided to move us, we wouldn't have any choice."

"Have you ever considered taking a short tour?"

"Would that be okay with you?" A short tour is also considered a hardship tour and is one where the service member goes without family. The tour lasts about a year and includes places like Korea and Afghanistan. All normally not places one would not go voluntarily.

"Probably. If it meant I could stay here."

"You realize that I would most assuredly not be sent back here when I got back, so what would be the advantage?"

"Can I get you something to drink?" She asked, and in asking ignored my question and changed the subject. I let it go. "No. I'm ready for bed." I stood. "Are you coming?"

"No. I'm not sleepy."

I shrugged and headed for the bedroom. As far as I knew, the Army had no intention of transferring me, but she brought it up and I was going to bed with the thought of it happening apparently planted in her mind. That might be handy.

Two days went by and I rarely saw Jeannie. I did, however, go around in a deep funk causing everybody I knew to ask if I was sick. On the third day, Top came into my office, closed the door, and as was his custom when the office visit wasn't official, sat in one of the chairs there.

"Okay. What's on your mind?" I asked.

"It isn't what's on my mind, It's what's on yours. What's going on?"

"Nothing. Why do you ask?"

"Bullshit, Major." My full name and rank were Major Anthony (Tony) Edward Clarkson. "I've been in the Army almost 19 years and I've pretty much seen it all. You've either been RIF'ed (Reduction In Force, which basically meant they were kicking you out. The most common reasons officers in the military were RIF'ed, or discharged, were lack of education or being passed over for promotion. At one point in my career, as a Lieutenant, I worked for a Captain. He was commissioned as an Armor Officer, but had been passed over for promotion two times so they decided he could either leave the Army or revert to the enlisted rank of Sergeant. He loved tanks so chose to revert), you're being transferred and your wife doesn't want to move, she is presenting you with another type of problem, or you have some other type of personal situation. Which is it?" Pretty observant, I thought, but my personal life was none of his business. "And don't tell me it's none of my business. The way you act around my soldiers makes it my business. If you don't want to tell me, fine, but either get your shit together or take a leave until you can. I don't want your shitty attitude affecting the way you interact with them."

"Is that all, First Sergeant?" I called him that when I wanted him to know I was the boss and not him.

He stood. "Yes, sir, but remember, I know a lot of stuff. Stuff that might be able to help you once you decide you need it. You're a good officer, but more than that, you're a good man. Don't let something you can't control fuck up your life. Take charge. You can't change what has happened, but you can damn sure make sure it doesn't happen again. And besides... you may even get a little revenge in the process." With that he saluted and left.

I almost grinned when he left. That was his "Dutch Uncle" side coming out.

I spent the next two days thinking about what he said. "Take charge." And "you can't change what has happened, but you can damn sure make sure it doesn't happen again". "And besides... you may even get a little revenge in the process."

The next day, I called both Top and Dennis, into my office and told the Company Clerk not to disturb us.

"Okay, here's the deal," I started. "What I'm going to say, stays between the three of us. If any of it gets out, I know it will have come from one of you and if it does, I'll burn both of your asses. Top, the XO told me about a conversation his wife overheard. It involved an Army wife cheating on her husband. Dennis, your description of the wife could have been one of many wives until you mentioned the tattoo. Do you remember the tattoo?"

"Yes, sir."

"Top, the wife had a tattoo of her father as a young man on her left shoulder." I paused and took a deep breath. "Okay, this is the hard part. I think that wife is my wife because she has the same tattoo and I can't believe there is more than one redheaded, green eyed, emergency room nurse with a tattoo like that in this city."

"Well, fuck!" Exclaimed Top.

"Oh, no, Major. I'm so sorry." Sympathized Dennis.

"Now my problem is, how do I either prove or disprove it's her, and if it is, what do I do about it? You're both pretty smart, so between us we should be able to come up with something without the whole post knowing about it. What I don't want is to walk around and have everyone look at me knowing my wife cheated." There was a knock on my door. "I told you we were not to be disturbed."

"Yes, sir, you did, but it's Col (Colonel) Bradford. The general wants to talk to you."

"Okay. Thank you." I picked up the receiver. "Major Clarkson, sir."

"Tony, this is Colonel Bradford. Hold for the general."

There was a few second pause while the general got on the phone. Generals don't normally call Majors and wait for them to get on the phone. They have someone on their staff call, get the junior person on the phone and have them wait.

"Major Clarkson, I'd like to come down and walk through your building and have lunch with you, your XO and First Sergeant in the dining facility. Do you have anything planned that would preclude that?"

"No, sir. It would be our pleasure." In other units I'd been in, the boss would have a member of his staff schedule visits like that, but this General liked doing some of them himself. He seemed to enjoy getting out and visiting the soldiers. He and Top were "old school" soldiers in that regard.

"Good, See you in an hour or so."

"Yes, sir."

"What was that all about?" Asked Dennis. He had heard my side of the conversation, but not the General's so I filled both of them in.

"I'd better walk through and let everyone who's here know that he's coming so they can tidy up the barracks," said Top. Our offices were in the same building as the enlisted barracks and dining facility; formerly known as the mess hall. We operated differently from other organizations. Most of the soldiers worked and trained as a unit and had the same duty hours. They all had day jobs and the barracks were mostly empty during the day. We were different. Since we were permanently assigned to support the training mission of the post, we operated 24/7. That meant that at any given time of day, shift workers would be in their rooms sleeping or enjoying their off time. There were signs on the doors of those soldiers who were shift workers and sleeping, so they weren't bothered. As a result, those rooms had that "lived in" look and were not always ready for inspection. The rooms were expected to be inspection ready whenever they left to go on shift, however.