Gray Girl (29 page)

“That's right.
 
Can you handle that, Wishart?”

“Yes, Sir.”
 
Then Dogety walked away.
 
Jan turned to Kristi, “What the hell
does he want now?”
  

Kristi replied, “I don't know, but
I'll go with you.”
 

“No,” Jan said, “It'll only make it
worse.
 
He didn't tell you to
report, only me.”
 

“Jan, don't let him dick with
you.
 
If he tries to do any shit, go
right to the CO and report his ass.”

“Right.
 
It'll be his word against mine, and who
do you think his classmate will believe—him or me?”

“Well, first come back here, tell us
what happened, and then we will all go to the CO's room,
”
 
Kristi
offered.
 

“How does that help anything,
Kissy?”
 

“Then it will be the word of three of
us against his.”
 
Jan loved Kristi
for trying even if her logic was not always on bar.

Jan knocked on Dogety's door at
exactly 1930 hours.
 
She wore her PT
uniform with sweat pants and sweatshirt, since he hadn’t specified one.
 
“Open the door, Wishart, but don't come
in.”
 
Jan pushed the door open and
remained in the hallway.
 
“Glad to
see you're on time, Wishart.”
 

Dogety sat on his bed, shining his
shoes.
 
Jackson sat at Dogety’s desk
with his head in a magazine.
 

“What are your general orders?”
 
Dogety asked.

“Sir, I will guard everything within
the limits of my post and quit my post only when properly relieved.
 
I will obey my special orders and
perform all of my duties in a military manner.”
 
Jackson lifted the magazine so it sat
upright on the desk.
 
Playboy.

“I will report all violations of my
special orders, emergencies, and anything not covered in my instructions to the
Commander of the relief.”
 
Jackson
turned the magazine so that the binding was now horizontal.

“Very good.
 
Now repeat the phonetic alphabet.”

“Sir, alpha, beta, charlie, delta,
echo....
”
 
Jan
got about halfway through the alphabet before speaking up.
 
“Sir, I am not going to keep doing this
if he’s going to keep doing that.”
 
She nodded her head at Jackson who still leered at the magazine.
 

“What?”
 
Dogety seemed momentarily confused.
 
Then he turned to Jackson.
 
“Dammit, man!”
 
Dogety jumped up and grabbed the
magazine out of Jackson’s hands.
  
He seemed genuinely embarrassed.
 
“Dismissed, Wishart!”
 

Jan turned and pinged back to her
room.
 
He's just screwing with
me.
 
Because he can't SCREW me!
 
She smiled all the way back to her
room.
 

Dear
Jan,

Yes,
God is THAT involved with us.
 
I
believe God knows and loves each one of us.
 
And He always wants to have a deeper
relationship with us.
 
But we run
away, ignore or otherwise keep a distance from God.
 
We are often unhappy because we don’t
understand His peace and purpose for our lives.
 

As
you can tell, I am a believer.
 
I
hope someday, you will become one, too.
 
I have been praying for you…. and Kristi, of course.

SKIP

SKIP,

Okay,
I have no idea what planet you come from.
 
But, let me say that I DO believe in God…but not as you do.
 
I believe God exists and maybe even
cares a little about us.
 
But he/she
has wars, hunger and disease to worry about.
 
And it looks like things aren’t going
very well in any of those areas.
 
So, either God doesn’t care or God cannot change it.
 
It seems to me that if God cared and
could change things, there would be a lot less suffering in the world.

I
believe, as you probably do, that both faith and happiness are choices we
make.
 
So I am going to CHOOSE to be
happy and see what happens.

I’ll
let you know.

Jan

31

Saturday,
May 8, 1982

0030 Hours

Jan reactively shined the flashlight in the small room.
 
The woman’s hands were tied to old pipes
hanging from the wall.
 
She sat on a
desk, legs splayed open, shirt torn from her chest, and her breasts
exposed.
 
A man stood in front of
her, between her legs, thrusting his hips back and forth, back and forth.
 
Gray trousers were crumpled on black
cadet shoes; a Dress Gray coat was lying on the floor next to his feet.

Jan’s first reaction was to apologize profusely.
 
But the look on the woman’s face, a look
Jan would never forget, quickly changed her mind.
 

Kristi, on the other hand, seemed to understand right away.
 
“WHAT THE FUCK
ARE
YOU DOING?”

The male cadet, whose back had been to them, suddenly pulled away from
the table and turned around.
 
A
giant eagle tattoo spread across his chest, its wingtips spanning from shoulder
to shoulder.

32

Q:
     
“How many days
until graduation?”

A:
      
“SIR!
 
There are thirty-five and a butt days until
graduation and graduation leave for the Class of 1982, Sir!”
        

March gave way to April and the sun
began to hang a little longer in the gray skies over West Point.
 
The plebes could smell “Recognition”
even if they couldn't quite see it yet.
 
But the firsties had one more milestone to celebrate—ring
weekend.
 
The huge, class rings were
given out during a special dinner on the first Friday in April.
 
Then a dance on Saturday night gave them
an opportunity to show off their bulbous jewelry.
 
The other three classes laid low.
 
It was the firsties’ last special event,
other than graduation, and everyone else seemed to know
their
place.
 

After the festivities on Friday
night, firsties across the Corps returned to the barracks and stuck their hands
out to plebes who dropped to one knee and feigned unbridled excitement over the
rings.
  
The hallways erupted
with the shouting of plebes:
 
“OH MY
GOD, SIR!
 
WHAT A BEAUTIFUL
RING!
 
WHAT A CRASS, MASS OF GLASS
AND BRASS!
 
IT MUST HAVE COST A
FORTUNE! MAY I TOUCH IT, PLEASE, SIR?”
 

Jan avoided the hall altogether that
night.
 
But the next day, after
classes and SAMI, as Jan pinged to the latrine, she saw Jackson walking toward
her.
 
Why doesn’t he stay in First Regiment?
 

He stuck his ring hand out, fingers
extended, like he was the Pope.
 
Dammit
.
 
Jan dropped to one knee and recited the
mantra, not quite as loudly nor as enthusiastically as it should have
been.
 

“Oh my God, Sir, what a beautiful
ring.
 
What a crass, mass of glass
and brass....
”
 
And
just before she said the last line, Jackson took a step closer so that his ring
hand was just in front of his crotch.
 
“May I touch it, please, Sir?”
 

“Yes, you may,” Jackson said.
 
She was supposed to touch his ring like
it was the Hope Diamond, but she stood up instead.
 

“Don't you want to touch it,
Wishart?”
 

“No, Sir, I do not.”
 
Then she added quietly as she pinged
away from him, “It’s too small for my taste.”

They had to climb the ten-meter
platform as part of the final hurdle in Drowning 101.
 
Drew had ascended first.
 
Jan was supposed to be next, but she
stepped aside and motioned for Rick Davidson to go before her. The last thing
she wanted was
him
staring at her Speedo ass all the
way to the top.
 

 
“Ladies first,” Rick said.
 

“No, no, age before beauty,” she
insisted.
 

“Get on with it you two!”
 
The DPE instructor yelled.
 
Rick jumped on the ladder, climbing like
a monkey.
 
Then Jan began the
ascent, slowly and cautiously.
  
About halfway up the ladder, her fingers locked on a rung at eye
level.
 
Her left foot froze one rung
above the right, both legs quivering.
  
Her eyes glazed over with
terrifying dizziness as she tried to focus on the pool stretched out in front
of her.

“What's wrong, Wishart?”
 
The DPE instructor shouted.

I
can’t move.
 
I can’t….

“Wishart, are you okay?”

“Sir, I...I ….I...”

“Jan, Jan,” Rick called from the top
of the platform.
 
“Look at me.”
 
Jan lifted her face and saw Rick about a
mile above her.
 
“Listen to me,
Jan.
 
Just keep looking at me and
keep climbing.
 
Don't look down and
don't look out.”
  

But she still couldn't move.
 
“Jan, you don't want to do this all
again.
 
So, just keep your eyes on
me and keep climbing.
 
I promise you
will not fall.”

She decided to trust Rick
Davidson.
 
She locked her eyes on
his and began to climb again, slowly.
 
Drew also appeared at the top of the platform, encouraging her.
 
“You’ve got it Jan, almost here, keep
climbing.”

Taking twice the normal amount of
time, she finally reached the top rung.
 
Rick grabbed her right arm, while Drew grabbed her left.
 
Together, they pulled her up the last
few rails, until she stood at last on the platform.

“Good job, Jan.
 
You did it!”
 
Drew said.

“Thanks for your help, guys.”
 
She blinked the salty water back inside
as her eyes began to fill.
 
She
might have hugged both of them but she wouldn’t consider doing it in the
Speedo.

“That was the easy part,” Rick
said.
 
“Now we have to jump off.”

Easy
for you, maybe!
 

“Mr. Hambin, are you ready?”
 
The DPE instructor bellowed from ten
meters below.

“Yes, Sir.”
 
Drew walked to the edge of the
deck.
 
Then he stepped off.
 
With his body erect, knees slightly
bent, eyes to the horizon, arms crossed in front of his chest and opposite hands
on his shoulders, he held this position until his body cut through the
water.
 
Once submerged, he fell to
the bottom and pushed off with his legs, beginning the Bob and Travel
sequence.
 

“Miss Wishart, you’re next,” came the
command from below.
 

Rick looked at Jan.
 
“I was joking before.
 
This is actually easier than climbing
up.
 
Only one step.”

Great. Thanks.
  
She inched to the edge of the
platform.
 
Her legs shook
involuntarily.
  
Only the fear
of peeing superseded the fear of falling in that moment.
 
She could not and would not look
down.
 
Rick stood a few feet behind
her, his arms folded across his chest.
 

The DPE instructor talked her through
the steps.
  
“Keep your head
up, knees bent, cross your arms in front of your chest, and don't unlock until
you hit the water.”
 

“You got this, Jan.
 
It's
gonna
be
fine.
 
No problem,
”
 
Rick
said from behind.

“Cadet Wishart, are you ready?”

“Ah, um
....Yes
,
Sir.”

“Step off!”
 

But she didn’t move.

Rick whispered, “Step off, Jan.”
 

And then, just like that, she stepped
forward onto air.
 
On the long way
down, she thought about a quote she once heard.
 
It was something
like,
Courage is not the absence of fear but
the willingness to walk into that fear.
 
In this case, she
jumped into it.
 

They would have to jump twice more,
once in fatigues and boots, and finally in the full uniform—ruck sack and
rifle included.
 
But she knew she
could do it again, now that she managed that first one.
 
And Jan wouldn’t even mind climbing the
ladder in front of Rick because, then, she would have pants on.
 

Dear
Jan,

Okay,
you are definitely a tough case.
 
But I love a challenge.
 
I
hope you will not mind if I respond to your thoughts about God.

To
your point that God doesn’t care about us:
 
Millions of people down through the ages have given witness to a loving
God, myself included.
 
So if God
doesn’t care about us, all those people are either delusional or just
mistaken.
 
I happen to think they
can’t all be wrong.

Secondly,
God chooses not to “fix” everything in this world. God has chosen to redeem the
world by working within the limits of our broken and flawed world.
 
Besides, if everything were perfect
here, we would have no desire for our eternal home.
 
God has made a place without evil, sin,
sickness, suffering and death.
 
It’s
called Heaven.
 

ALL
problems will not be solved on earth.
 
And we have to work out some things on our own—including
faith—which often only comes through trials.
 
So, I guess even suffering can serve
God’s purposes.
 

I’m
glad you are choosing to be happy…does that mean I will see you smiling
soon?
 

SKIP

Reverend
SKIP,

Methinks
you missed your calling.
 
Shouldn’t
you be in Bible College or something? I did find your explanations rather
interesting and I promise to give them some further thought.
 
But I hope you are not expecting a
convert.
  

All
this past week, I repeated, “I choose to be happy,” over and over again.
 
I also tried to think happy thoughts,
memories from my childhood with my friends and family.
 
It was a nice trip down memory
lane.
 
But I cannot say that I feel
any happier.

I
think there must be a “happy”
gene which
you seem to
have.
 
I must have missed that line
on R-day.
 
Actually, I was mostly
happy before coming to West Point.
 
So, it might have something to do with that whole thing.
 

Well,
it seems we are at an impasse.

By
the way, it occurs to me that we always talk about me in these letters.
 
It would be nice to talk about you
sometimes.
 
Oh, right, we can’t
because I don't know who you are.

Jan

Company H-3 marched to the Army
Athletic Field House, fronting the Hudson River for the final fitness hurdle of
the year.
 
Two minutes of push-ups,
two minutes of sit-ups and a timed two-mile run, Jan thought The Army Physical
Readiness Test (APRT) should have been called the “2-2-2” test.

Female cadets were keenly aware of
the prevailing notion that because they did not have to meet the same physical
requirements as men, their arrival only brought down the standards of West
Point.
 
Therefore, the pressure for
women was not just to pass but also to surpass previous scores.
 
What no one mentioned was that most
women met and exceeded previous scores for men.
 
And because most men felt the need to do
better than most women, all the standards went up.
 
It was the law of competition or perhaps,
simple gender dynamics.

Jan hoped to beat her BEAST APRT of
25 push-ups, 60 sit-ups and 17:30 run time.
 
This time, she wanted 30 push-ups, 70
sit-ups, and a 16-minute run.
 

“FIRST GROUP, ASSUME THE FRONT
LEANING REST POSITION.”
 
Jan placed
her hands on the mat, with straight arms directly under her shoulders.
 
She stretched her legs out to the other
end of the mat, held up only by her toes.
 
“GET SET, BEGIN.”
 
Jan
started her push-ups.
 
The clock
didn't matter, her strength would give out before time.
 
She concentrated on making sure each
push-up was executed correctly, otherwise it would not be counted.
 
Slowly and deliberately, Jan made her
upper arms come parallel to the ground with each push-up.
 
Kristi knelt beside her head and kept
count.
 
Jan heard her say “21,” and
she knew she had planned it right.
 
With time and energy left, she kept going.
 
Kristi said, “30.”
 

Yes, I did it.
 

“45 SECONDS REMAINING.”
 
Jan knocked out another 10 more before
time ran out.
 

Wow, 40 push-ups!
 
I almost doubled my Beast number!!

They switched roles and Kristi did
very well also, making 32 push-ups.
  
Then everyone switched back again for sit-ups.
 
Jan interlaced her fingers behind her
head while Kristi held her feet.
 
The feet holders had to be sure those preforming sit-ups did not lift
their buttocks off the ground.
 
A
good sit-up required the head coming all the way up to the knees or it didn't
count.
 
“GET SET, BEGIN!”