BOB

Continuing on with last night's argument against the profligacy of PTSD, I would like to offer my husband as an interesting case to study. Some people say that my hubby came home fucked in the head. Out of his damn mind. Suffering from an acute case of PTSD. The people who say this are mostly privates from his days as a drill sergeant and for a very good reason. They don't know the story behind the infamous "BOB." They only know that Drill SGT T had a chair in his office that no one was allowed to sit in or touch, he would yell random threats of violence at thin air, and Starbucks cups would appear with the name of the mysterious, and apparently invisible, Bob. The privates were terrified of SFC T.

Now T met BOB, who was a real person, during the invasion of Iraq in 2003. BOB was an enemy combatant who was shot through the chest and landed on his back. When the medics responded to examine him, they needed to see if the bullet was a through and through so they lifted him up to see. Unfortunately, doing this broke the seal his body had created when he fell, and BOB's lung collapsed with the sound of a balloon deflating. Needless to say, BOB is dead and was given the name BOB for "bullet out the back."

Apparently, BOB made an impression on the guys who witnessed his death and they adopted him. BOB had a seat at chow and was a great prankster, because he was at the heart of every practical joke or fuck up the platoon experienced for the duration of the deployment and after they got home. The boys all talked to BOB and would start a fight if anyone tried to take his seat. BOB was the shit.

Well, BOB followed T to drill. By this time, I had already asked my husband if he knew that BOB was not real and was answered that he did know, but it was fun to mind-fuck people. OK. So BOB had his chair in the office and privates did push-up until they wanted to die for touching BOB's chair. BOB sat with T at chow. And when T pulled CQ, I would take Starbucks to him and make sure I brought one for BOB. Screwing with privates is fun! However, I don't think that the privates were expecting their drill sergeant's wife to be as crazy as he was.

I was walking up the stairs. Privates all over. I tripped and without batting an eyelash, turned and screamed,

"Goddammit, BOB. Get out of the way!"

That was the quietest class my husband had in two years. . .