Phil must have been 2 months old when Derek and Susan moved in next door. Nothing new there really; new neighbors are a staple in a military community, even though we didn’t really live in a military community and were at least 20 minutes from the base in Ingleside.
The thing about Derek and Susan (mostly Derek, actually) was that he had hotshot written all over him. The way he walked, the movement of his chest muscles when he spoke, the perpetual smirk he had on his face, the way his wife seemed to soak up his countenance when he spoke or pulled out his wallet… it was unreal how cocky he was.
It didn’t take us long to figure out why. Beyond the brand new Chevy Avalanche and slightly used Land Rover that sat in the covered parking spaces next to our puny Ford Focus hatchback (and newly purchased — but still used — Ford Focus 4-door), I learned that Derek was Spec Ops. EOD, to be precise. He was Stan’s dream incarnate. Right bloody next door.
I don’t remember who brought up EOD first. Maybe it was me, maybe it was Derek or Stan, but it wasn’t long before it was out in the open and part of our regular conversation as neighbors. The envy on Stan’s face was painful to watch. The answering sneer on Susan’s was infuriating. The bossy yelling of their 4 year-old daughter Tina was the stuff nanny shows are made of.
(Once, I invited Tina into my house to get a toy for Krystal for the shared back yard; we were all playing out in the back. Tina spied a photo of me just before I met Stan in 2001. I was at least 60 lbs lighter then. “Wow!” Tina said. “You look really different. I mean you look good here, but now you’re–” I was surprised that Tina has enough insight to censor her remarks, but her face said it all. I could hear that last word ringing in my ears… FAT … and I answered her with a smile, “Yes, I was thinner then. That was a long time ago.”
Privately, I wanted to ring the little brat’s neck. But then, she was only four.; there’s no way she could have passed a judgment like that on her own. It was her mother that I really wanted to slap. Of course, her mother had a bronzed, toned figure befitting a bikini model, so I would have only looked all the more foolish if I let my hand fly. Like some bereft chick on Jerry Springer.)
A strange but instant change came over Stan as he talked to Derek. It was as though he was brought back to life just by talking about EOD. When Derek didn’t bat an eye at the news of Stan’s recent cancer treatments, the wheels started turning. I could see Stan’s face become flushed with excitement, hear his speech quicken (he even tripped over some of his words, so excited he was at the idea of being able to be an EOD tech after all he’d been through), that it was impossible not to become infected with his renewed sense of hope and purpose. While others looking at our situation from the outside repeatedly asked Stan why he didn’t accept a medical retirement when he was first diagnosed with lymphoma, he and I on the inside seemed to share a mutual love for the military. Me for the lifestyle, Stan for the glory.
And here was Stan’s glory, flexing it’s pecs at us while it unashamedly boasted of a $900/month car payment. Lord, what we would do with an extra $900 a month. I mean, it wasn’t as though we were poor exactly, but the incentives alone that came with a Spec Ops position were at least as much as an additional job.
“And they have this bonus that they give the techs every year,” Susan was telling me one day as Krystal and Tina played on the playground. “It’s called a kicker. $35,000 cash deposited into our account twice a year.”
God. A $70,000 bonus every year? What on earth would we do with that much money?
“I really want a Corvette,” Derek said one day with a wistful expression, “but I can’t afford it.” We were all out back again, Tina bossing Krystal around on the playground. Krystal seemed to roll with it, but then, she always had a sort of serenity about her. Derek’s mouth took on a rueful grin. “I am getting a new gaming laptop, though. $4,000. Top of the line.”
I saw Stan’s face pale. All this talk of money was clearly having an effect on him. I’ll admit that it was extremely irritating to me; flaunting money was one of those things I’d been raised to consider as among the gravest social taboos, but clearly, I was the only one who seemed to think so. Derek and Susan easily made twice as much as we did, but they complained of an empty bank account at every opportunity. And their daughter continuously yelled at their dog, poor creature. I had initially thought that she might have some learning disability, maybe something that gave her unusually high aggression for a 4 year-old, but then I heard Derek yell at the dog and shook my head.
So if Tina’s not calling the fat neighbor fat, she’s screaming at her dog.
But hey. Derek was EOD. Spec Ops, man. Exempt from the rules, doncha know. Even I bought into the image.
Upon meeting our new neighbors, Stan was simultaneously filled with new life at the prospect of a dream revived (it was as though he’d aged backwards about 5 years) and visibly distraught at the apparent money management problem our new neighbors had. I remember him coming home from a friendly visit next door, slumping down on our couch and saying, “You know… I really thought we were doing good there for a while. Those people have so… much… money… and they still think they’re poor.” He looked like he wanted to die right there on the spot.
I swallowed, remembering that Stan viewed money differently than I did. For Christmas, his family sent checks, not presents. Money was a love language for him; it was directly tied to his self-image. I ruefully admitted that my husband probably wanted to be an EOD tech just as much for the money as for the camaraderie and the glory.
“Yes, but Derek said you could still try out for EOD if you pass the Dive School entry test,” I answered encouragingly. “And besides, look at how poorly they manage their money. They don’t even know they’re rich. We’ve done just as much as they have for ourselves — and with a new baby — with half as much as they have.”
Stan nodded absently, staring at the floor. After a moment, he looked up and turned to me.
“I’m going to do it. I’m going to train hard and I’m going to pass that damned EOD test. Derek’s going to help me structure my workouts so they help me get the right kind of muscles trained.” Laughing softly, he said, “I’m going to have to start swimming and it’s cold as hell out there in the mornings. But Violet, I could make it. I mean, I’m going to make it.”
I looked back at him, my chest swelling with pride. Stan had just started training for EOD when he got sick a year ago. This felt like redemption, like a second chance, like the quintessential underdog story.
Yes, I thought to myself. If nothing else, it sure makes one hell of a story.
