Fire & Ice

the bar

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People say that home isn't a place, but a person. Even a group of people.

For me, it's never been that way.

Fightertown, USA, has been my home more than any place I've ever lived.

My family has been in the navy for years, and I wasn't one to break tradition, no matter how untraditional it is for a woman to fly a plane.

You would think since it's 1986, we'd be a little modern than we used to be, but unfortunately, most men are backwards.

Still, I got this far. I made it to Top Gun. First female to do so, and I certainly won't be the last.

I pull up to the naval base, and I'm waiting in line until I can get cleared to enter. The man at the post takes one look and me and asks, "Spouse card?"

"I don't have one," I say with an edge, handing over my active navy service card.

The man, Officer Jenkins as his name tag says, sighs, "Is this even real?"

I give him an fiery glare. "You can double check. They always do. But they're always wrong. You can join the club if you'd like."

This guy is no different. He gives me a dirty look, while he reaches for his phone, and calls his superiors. "I have uh, a Miss—"

What a loser. No wonder why he's stuck on guard duty.

I interrupt, "Lieutenant."

Officer Jenkins repeats, "Lieutenant Sophia Watson is at the gate. Do her credentials check out... they do? Really?"

"Yes, really." I mock him.

"Yes sir. I'll let her in." He hangs up the phone, and gives me back my navy ID. "Welcome to Top Gun, Lieutenant Sophia Watson." Officer Jenkins almost sneers back at me, but ultimately, he let's me pass through.

I don't even give him a thank you, let alone another glance. I speed out of there, and drive further and further onto base.

I'll have to hurry and drop off my stuff before anyone and everyone heads to the Bar. It's tradition.

And ain't I the most traditional thing Top Gun's ever seen?

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I go to open the door for myself, when a brunette man, in another a white navy uniform opens the door for me.

"After you," he says politely, but in the way he knows he's the knight in shining armor and assumes you're the damsel in distress.

"Thanks," I say sarcastically, and leave him wondering if I really meant it or not.

It's funny to see every man decked out in his navy uniform, and the girls are more casual, all wearing clothing to survive the summer heat. I'm no different wearing a tight red tank top, with baggy jeans and some white air forces. So sue me, I'm basic.

Most of the other girls are wearing something similar, or they're wearing Hawaiian shirts over a white shirt or tube top. Bright makeup, making their eyes pop, and their cheeks redder. They all have wild, big hair.

I wonder if I made the right move in just simply curling it for tonight. Whatever. I didn't have time to regret my decisions. But blending into these situations have always worked out for me more often than not.