Free Major Conflict by Maj USA (ret.) Jeffrey McGowan Page A

insisted, that none of them were really my type. All I needed was to meet the right girl and everything would be okay.
    But the genie was slowly slipping back out of the bottle (the seal had been broken, after all) and unlike other nights—when I’d been able to convince myself that I just hadn’t met the right girl, and that Greg had been a phase, and that I was seeing in these scantily clad lap dancers the exact same thing that Alvarez and Dave and Ron and Jay were seeing—tonight the whole thing just kept collapsing in my mind. And I experienced a kind of vertigo. The mental fortress I’d built to protect me from the truth was under siege, and all that I felt was a kind of disconnection from everyone around me, and, more important, from myself. But then the redhead laughed loudly at something and leaned over to whisper something in the blond girl’s ear, bringing me back to the room and back to myself, and I heard the old voice saying, “Yes, you will get married. These women are just not your type. Someone, the right one, will come along one day and everything will fall into place.”
    And so I rationalized the conflict away. And the mental fortress was no longer under siege. By laying half-truth over half-truth again and again and sealing it all with the most dogged self-righteousness, I managed to blur the issue sufficiently so as to avoid letting the real me take shape. It was more important for me to fulfill my dream of being a soldier than to face this fundamental part of myself, since I instinctively knew that embracing my desire for men meant ending my career. Looking back now, I’m amazed at the amount of energy I spent avoiding my own authenticity in an effort to fulfill some ideal dream of being a soldier.
    When I learned that my first assignment would be in Germany, I was disappointed. I still dreamed of going to Fort Bragg and becoming a paratrooper with the Eighty-second Airborne, but that was just not going to happen, at least not on the first go-round. Instead, I would be part of the Third Armored Division, also known as Spearhead for having played the leading role in the advance on Germany in World War II. I was assigned to the Second Battalion, Third Field Artillery, which was part of the First Brigade. The brigade was located north of Frankfurt in a small town called Kirch-Göns. Nicknamed “The Rock,” the town had the reputation among those who’d served in Europe as being a kind of shit hole. Turns out my time in Kirch-Göns, and in Germany in general, was one of the greatest experiences of my life.
    Despite not getting the assignment I wanted, I was on top of the world when I returned home to Jackson Heights after finishing the basic course at Fort Sill. I had finished my first big test in the army and now was on my way to Germany, where I would begin my career in earnest. That FNG (fucking new guy) feeling was fading fast, and my confidence in my ability was growing by the day. A few days home and I received a set of orders in the mail informing me that I’d be a fire support officer, which meant I’d be assigned to either an armor or infantry unit to call for artillery during combat. This was a typical assignment for somebody coming out of the basic course. As I reviewed the orders, my grandmother, clad in one of the flowery housedresses she invariably wore, walked in, looking glum.
    â€œWhat’s up, Gramma?” I asked.
    â€œI can’t believe you’re going to Germany! I mean, can’t you change this? It’s so far away. I don’t want you to go. I thought you were going to Fort Bragg.”
    â€œWell, not exactly, I wanted to go to Fort Bragg, but they said no. Lieutenants don’t get a choice. We’re just assigned randomly. The next assignment I get to choose.”
    â€œWell, I don’t like it,” she said, folding her arms. “I mean, how will we talk? It’s so far away.”
    And then