“I drive an ice cream truck.”
“You’re full of shit,” I told him. “Obviously you’re military.”
“No, no,” he protested. He told me a bunch of other things. SEALs almost never admit to strangers what they really do, and Chris had some of the best BS stories ever. One of the better ones was dolphin waxer: he claimed that dolphins in captivity need to be waxed so their skin didn’t disintegrate. It’s a pretty convincing story—if you’re a young, naive, and tipsy girl.
Fortunately, he didn’t try that particular one on me—I hope because he could tell I wouldn’t fall for it. He’s also convinced girls that he mans an ATM machine, sitting inside and doling out money when people put their cards in. I wasn’t anywhere near that naive, or drunk, for him to try that story.
One look at him and I could have told he was military. He was ripped and had short hair, and had an accent that said “not from here.”
Finally, he admitted he was in the service.
“So what do you do in the military?” I asked.
He said a bunch of other things and finally I got the truth: “I just graduated from BUD/S.”
I was like, okay, so you’re a SEAL.
“Yeah.”
“I know all about you guys,” I told him. You see, my sister had just divorced her husband. My brother-in-law had wanted to be a SEAL—he’d gone through some of the training—and so I knew (or thought I did) what SEALs were all about.
So I told Chris.
“You’re arrogant, self-centered, and glory-seeking,” I said. “You lie and think you can do whatever you want.”
Yes, I was at my charming best.
What was intriguing was how he responded. He didn’t smirk or get clever or even act offended. He seemed truly… puzzled.
“Why would you say that?” he asked, very innocently and genuine.
I told him about my brother-in-law.
“I would lay down my life for my country,” he answered. “How is that self-centered? That’s the opposite.”
He was so idealistic and romantic about things like patriotism and serving the country that I couldn’t help but believe him.
We talked for a while more, then my friend came over and I turned my attention to her. Chris said something like he was going to go home.
“Why?” I asked.
“Well, you were saying about how you never would date a SEAL or go out with one.”
“Oh no, I said I would never marry one. I didn’t say I wouldn’t go out with one.”
His face lit up.
“In that case,” he said, with that sly little smile he has, “I guess I’ll get your phone number.”
He hung around. I hung around. We were still there at last call. As I got up with the crowd to go, I was pushed against him. He was all hard and muscle-y and smelled good, so I gave him a little kiss on his neck. We went out and he walked us to the parking lot… and I started puking my brains out from all the Scotch on the rocks I’d been drinking.
The other guys on the Team started ribbing me about it. They were betting about whether she’d ever call me on her own. You see, we talked a few times, when she would actually answer the phone—maybe thinking it was someone else. After a while, it was obvious even to me that she never initiated.
Then, something changed. I remember the first time she called me. We were on the East Coast, training.
When we were done talking, I ran inside and started jumping on my teammates’ beds. I took the call as a sign she was really interested. I was happy to share that fact with all the naysayers.
Chris was always very aware of my feelings. He is extremely observant in general and it is the same with his awareness of my emotions. He doesn’t have to say much. A simple question or easy way of bringing something to light reveals that he is 100 percent aware of my feelings. He doesn’t necessarily enjoy talking about feelings, but he has a sense of when it is appropriate or necessary to bring things out that I may have been intent on keeping in.
I noticed it early on in our relationship. We would be talking on the phone and he was very caring.
We are, in many ways, opposites. Still, we seemed to click. One day on the phone he was asking what I thought made us compatible. I decided to tell him some of the things that drew me to him.
“I think you’re a really good guy,” I told him, “really nice. And sensitive.”
“Sensitive?!?” He was shocked, and sounded offended. “What do you mean?”
“You don’t know what sensitive means?”
“You mean like I go around crying at movies and stuff?”
I laughed. I explained that I meant that he seemed to pick up on how I was feeling, sometimes before I did. And he let me express that emotion, and, importantly, gave me space.
I don’t think that’s the image most people have of SEALs, but it was and is accurate, at least of this one.
