M.I.C.: This Means War

7:00 AM

When I returned from my beach trip, I was ready to butt heads with the Marine Corps.

I had that whole, long weekend to let everything seep in. The way the man on the other end of the phone had lied to me, talked down to me. The way Clark was saying he had no idea what was going on. How I had to ask his parents for help to pay rent. How they had all lied, portraying this glorious picture and in reality I was being treated like garbage.

I was ready.

So, we got back. I got back into the swing of things with school and my job, and then started on the war path again. I called the same number I had previously called. I told them I needed to speak to Clark's drill instructor, or Clark himself. I explained the situation again. Telling them that I was a full time student, and I did not work enough to meet our financial needs. I told them if they would not give me access to his new bank account, I needed a monthly check for our rent and major bills.

And I remembered to ask for the man's name on the other end of the phone when he said he'd have someone call me back. I told him I'd give him twenty-four hours before calling back again.

In a little under an hour, I got a call from Clark's drill instructor.

He asked a number of questions.

"What do you do?" I told him.

"Are you pregnant?" I wanted to return with something not very nice, but I said no.

"Is this an emergency?" Really, dude? I explained to him the same thing I had explained to everyone else.

"There's not much I can do for you, ma'am. You're going to have to get help from others. His recruiter should have explained that to you."

This is when I first lost it. I told him I was Clark's wife, not some girlfriend out to steal his money. I told him that I had every legal right to Clark's money, and was even going to bend and be fine with receiving a check. I told him that if I didn't get the money, I would be kicked out of our house and then he'd have that on his hands as well. I told him that we were informed that I would be able to receive some of Clark's finances, since I obviously needed them and they were rightfully mine. Then I threw in the fact that they weren't even giving Clark free access to his bank account, and I was pretty sure that was illegal (which was pushing it, but I was furious).

He told me there was really nothing he could do. He asked me how old I was, and then told me "nicely" that I needed to grow up. I told him I wanted to speak to Clark. He said no.

"Are you married, Staff Sergeant?" I asked him.

"Yes, Ma'am."

"Well, wouldn't you want to help if your wife was going through this? Isn't it your job to provide for her? Wouldn't you want to comfort her, and find a solution?"

"I'll call you right back, ma'am."

Bingo.

I waited by the phone. I was trying to calm down. To give them, once again, the benefit of the doubt. My phone rang about thirty minutes later.

"Yes?"

"Emily?"

"Yes?"

"It's me." It took me a while to honestly figure out who "me" was. Once I did, I started crying.

"What's the problem?"

"They won't let me receive any of your money."

"I have finances here." He repeated. At this point I was figuring out that someone was standing there with him, and I was possibly on speaker phone.

"What are you, a robot?"

"No. I have things I have to pay for here."

"Well, you have things you need to pay for at home. Ya know, like our home. Our bills. Food for your wife."

"I know, Emi." First sign of real-Clark and not robot-Clark.

"So, tell your drill instructor and whoever else is standing there that you need to send money home because it doesn't grow on trees, as I'm sure they know, and our parents aren't a limitless bank, either."

"Not sure I can tell them that."

"I'm sure they heard me."

"I have to go. We were in the middle of [insert technical term for him training here]."

"I miss you."

"I know, baby. It will only be a little longer. I love you."

"I love you, too."

The line didn't disconnect. His drill instructor got back on the phone.

"I will call you back after I speak with my supervisor."

"No. I want to speak to your supervisor."

"I don't think...."

"I want to speak to your supervisor, [insert his last name here]. You've been no help, other than putting my husband on the phone, and we came to no solution."

"I'll see what I can do."

The line disconnected. I didn't get a phone call the next day, or the next.

Which, as you may guess, meant I was soon to call back. But not until I enlisted some more help.

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