Sir.
It’s quite a simple word really. Three letters, one syllable. It’s a word that can cause so much pain, and so much misery. Every time I hear her say it, I feel as though I’ve been stabbed in the gut; even after five years. It’s certainly my least favourite word.
It’s such a small, unassuming word. “Yes sir, no sir, three bags full sir.” One that rolls easily off your tongue, especially when you’ve been in the military as long as I have. I always thought of it as a way of showing respect for your senior officer. Now I realise that it’s a way of distancing yourself.
Especially when it’s her saying it.
I’m always sir to her. I know why too. At first it was because we didn’t really know each other that well; I was the grumpy old colonel and she was the enthusiastic young captain. But then we became friends, and surely friends don’t hail each other by military titles. Charlie Kawalsky and I never did, nor did any of the other guys under my command.
But it’s different with her. It always has been, and it always will be. Because she’s female, we’ve got to keep our distance. Sir is how she does it, because as soon as my name passes her lips then the walls so carefully erected come crashing down around us, and the room where we tried to leave it is opened up.
And that’s somewhere we can’t afford to go at the moment. Not while we’re still serving together, trying to save the world. Maybe one day, we’ll go “That’s enough” but I don’t see that day coming anytime soon. We’ll just remain with the sirs, and I will relieve the few precious memories of her saying my name, and wait until she is able to say it and allow the barriers to fall. When she utters that word, you can see her withdraw into her own little world she has created for herself, and hide from her... our feelings.
She’s calling me... no, not me. She’s calling ‘sir’.
Sir. Three letters, one syllable. And a divide a mile wide.
Sir.
I hate it.