No question. No comment.
Then he stepped right into her face and screamed, “YOU HEAR ME, WISHART?”
“Yes, Sir!” she yelled back.
Dogety stormed out of their room. Jan, Angel and Drew let out a collective sigh of relief. “He always finds a way to siphon the fun out of everything,” Jan said.
“Yeah,” Drew added, “I was just thinking how much I didn’t miss him.”
Dear Jan,
Sorry, code name doesn’t quite fit you. Hope you don’t mind if I go back to Jan. I like your name. It’s strong and neither common, nor weird. And Wishart? What nationality is that?
You do not disappoint. But I, for one, would like to see you have some fun. And I really would love to see you smile. I know it’s hard to do here, but I am living proof that it can happen.
I understand your cautious approach to us, but we are very patient. Just continue to send your questions and concerns to Box 483 (or leave taped to your door), and I will do my best to address your concerns. I still want you to join our organization, but you are proving to be a tougher case than I thought. I won't push you on that issue anymore. Let's just try to get you smiling first.
Congratulations on making the team-handball team. And what happened at the parade last weekend? Your platoon probably got a lot of attention for that.
Hope to hear from you soon,
SKIP
SKIP,
I can’t decide whether I like your letters or not. I am a little unnerved that you know so much about my life while I don’t even know your name. I might consider you a stalker.
On the other hand, I look forward to your notes. So, while it may be crazy to keep encouraging you, I am going to play along for a while.
Yes, team-handball is proving to be a big help to me. Mainly it gets me out of intra-murder. But I feel bad about leaving Kissy on the H-3 soccer team. I suppose you know her, too?
A couple of guys fell over while standing at attention in the parade. Rumor has it they were hung over. I don’t think anyone got in trouble over it, though. If it had been us lowly Beanheads, we’d all be walking the area by now.
Why don’t you just tell me your name? I promise to keep it between us.
Jan
A deuce and a half pulled up carrying fifteen fashionably dressed young women seated in opposing benches in the back. Two male plebes opened the tailgate, set a low bench next to it and helped the gaggle of females step down from the Army truck. The women giggled together in groups before walking into Cullum Hall.
“What IS that?” Jan asked.
“Fuck Truck,” Kristi replied.
“What?”
“Fuck Truck. Also known as Cattle Call.”
Jan didn’t know about West Point’s long tradition of importing young women from nearby Mount St. Martha's College to cadet dances. These ladies wore tight pants, low cut tops, form fitting dresses, high heels, off-the-shoulder jerseys, jewelry and makeup.
In dreary contrast, the Dress Gray uniforms completely covered female cadets—their arms, chest and back—with a clasp closure two inches up their necks. The coat hung down over their buttocks, hiding all signs of femininity. Female cadets could not wear jewelry, nor grow their hair below their collars. Modest makeup was allowed, as long as the eye shadow, blush and lipstick were not noticeable. Jan felt sure they came across like radishes in a basket full of ripe strawberries. “I don’t want to go in,” she confessed.
“Why not?” Drew asked.
“Look at us, Drew. We look like boys in these things. There are real women in there, with real clothes on, who are a whole lot more appealing,” Jan said.
“So what?”
“So, our hopes of getting asked to dance just got run over by the Fuck Trucks,” Kristi said it best again.
“I’ll dance with you,” Drew offered.
“Of course you will, but it would be nice to dance with someone else, too.” She knew he was doing the big brother thing, but she wanted to meet a non-relative for once.
“Well, we may as well go in and see what we’re missing,” Kristi said.
“That’s the spirit!” Drew really didn’t get it.
They walked upstairs to the big ballroom and stood together observing their male classmates co-mingling with the female civilians. Several H-3 guys: Jones, McGuire, Winnans and Davidson, stood near the snack tables. Jan looked at Davidson, noticing his casual, relaxed body language. He caught her glance and lifted his beer in a toasting jest. She looked away quickly.
Jan and Kristi sighed simultaneously. They felt like distant relatives who had been invited, but not really wanted, at the celebration.
Drew’s voice bumped them from their trance. “Let’s dance!” His bright eyes beamed as “Twist and Shout” began to play. Jan knew this would be the only offer she would get. She turned to Kristi who was already shouting the words to the song. Then all three plebes pinged to the dance floor. For a few shining moments, they danced and sang like real college co-eds.
Well, shake it up, baby, now, (shake it up, baby)
Twist and shout. (Twist and shout)
C’mon, c’mon, c’mon, baby, now, (come on baby)
Come on and work it on out. (Work it on out)
Well, work it on out, honey. (Work it on out)
You know you look so good. (Look so good)
You know you got me goin, now, (got me goin)
Just like I knew you would. (Like I knew you would, oooh!)
Well, shake it up, baby, now, (shake it up, baby)
Twist and shout. (Twist and shout)
Jan swore off going to any more plebe dances. Her oath lasted until the following weekend when Army played VMI in a home football game. Kristi thought they should try the Cullum Hall dance again.
“Jan, the rats will be there tonight,” Kristi said. Rats were VMI’s equivalent to plebes.
“Oh goodie! The Mount St. Mattress girls will have even more men from which to choose.”
“But there’s only enough fuck-truckers to go around for our plebes.”
“That’s their problem.” Jan didn’t see the point.
“Jan, while our cadet brethren are cattle calling, the rats will be left without any dance partners,” Kristi argued.
“And your point is….”
“My point is VMI doesn’t have female cadets. These guys might actually be interested in us. They might be happy to just talk to women—even ones in Dress Gray.”
“Are you saying you want to go to the dance?”
“Yes. Let’s go and flirt with the VMI rats. Maybe some of our guys will sit up and take notice.”
“I doubt it. I’ll go only if Drew goes with us. That way we can at least walk in with a guy.”
“Oh Drew will definitely go.”
They arrived at Cullum Hall to find the same scene: civilian women socializing with male plebes. This time, however, the VMI rats also looked out of place in their similar but not quite identical uniforms. They dared not infringe on the civilian women, who were monopolized by the plebe men anyway. So the rats migrated closer and closer to the female cadets, realizing the plebe women were not spoken for.
“So, how are things going at VMI?” Drew asked one of them when they came within striking range. And that’s all it took before Jan, Kristi and Drew began casually conversing with the larger group. Six rats formed a small semi-circle around Jan.
“Would you like to dance?” one finally asked Jan.
“Sure, but I’m out of practice.”
“Don’t worry about that,” he said as they headed to the dance floor. When the fast song ended, he pulled her close and they kept dancing to a slow song. She felt womanly and wanted for the first time in over four months. The VMI rat didn’t seem to care that she wore a gray straightjacket. She wondered how hard it would be to transfer to VMI.
When the slow song ended, he offered to buy her a beer. Oh, wow, it’s a real date if he buys me a drink, right? Jan never actually went on a date with
her high school boyfriend. He had asked her to go out with him, but they never did go out. They hung out all the time at her house, at his house, at friends’ houses, at school and in cars. That’s what going out meant—hanging out. But she always wanted to go on a real date.
They got their drinks and went downstairs to the outside balcony. “Where are you from?” she asked him.
“Virginia,” he said.
“No surprise there,” she said nervously. “So, do you like VMI?”
“It sucks.”
“No surprise there either.”
“I really miss being around girls,” he said.
“Me, too,” she blurted out before thinking. He laughed out loud.
“Bill,” he said, when she asked his name.
Same name as Cadet Trane. They talked for two hours on the balcony overlooking the Hudson River, occasionally going back for more beer which Jan offered to buy, but he wouldn’t allow. It was cold outside, but she didn’t care.
When the pre-Taps alarm sounded at 2330 hours warning all cadets they had thirty minutes to get to their rooms, Jan considered asking Bill to spend the night in her room. But three reasons convinced her against it. One: it was against the rules, big time; two: Angel would not like it; and three: he might expect sex which was still not on her to-do list. Instead, the gentleman rat walked Jan to the walkway leading to her barracks.
“Thanks for dancing and talking,” he said.
“It was my pleasure,” she replied.
“Wish we could do it again sometime.”
“Yeah, me, too.”
“Well, goodnight then.”
“Goodnight.” Bill went with his fellow rats to wherever they went and she entered her barracks alone.
She rounded the corner out of the stairwell and heard a familiar bark, “Wishart!”
“Yes, Sir!” She stopped halfway down the hallway to her room and turned around.
“Were you just fraternizing with that rat from VMI?” Dogety asked loudly.
“Sir?”
“You know what I mean.” Dogety walked closer to her.
“Sir, I do NOT know what you mean.” It seemed Dogety had been drinking. But so had she. Then again, he could just be his usual asshole self.
“You were cavorting with that RAT, weren’t you?”
“Sir, we were at the dance at Cullum together. As far as I know, that’s not against the rules.”
“Don’t get smart with me, Wishart. I saw you two making out near Grant Hall.”
“Sir, I certainly did NOT make out with anyone.”
“Wishart, we have an Honor Code here you know.”
“Sir, I wish I had made out with him, but I’m sorry, you must have seen someone else.” The beers made her bolder than usual.
“Well, who the hell was that I just saw making out with a rat?”
“I have no idea, Sir. Why didn’t you just go up and ask them who they were?” She knew she was pushing it.
He stepped right up to her, so his face was only a few inches from hers. “Wishart, I saw them from my window.” She smelled the alcohol on his breath.
Peeping Tom? She remained silent and stared back at Dogety, not wanting to say what she was thinking.
“Hey, Sam, call for you,” Jan’s Squad Leader, Cadet Meyer, interrupted. “Miss Wishart, shouldn’t you be getting to your room now?”
“Yes, Sir.” She turned and sped away along the wall while Dogety walked in the opposite direction to the third floor pay phone.
Those damn bells.
From its perch above West Point, the Cadet Chapel is considered a stunning exclamation point to an already breathtaking campus. But to Jan, the Cadet Chapel had one huge flaw: its bells. Annoyingly, they woke her up every Sunday at 0800. God, I hate those bells. They rang out on the only day plebes could sleep in which caused Jan to wonder if they were part of the fourth-class system. Because sleeping was the ultimate escape from West Point, even better than getting drunk and second only to leave, the bells had to be a form of institutional hazing.
If she managed to go back to sleep after the bells, which was always her preference, she ended up missing Sunday brunch. The Mess Hall opened from ten o'clock to noon for brunch which was another problem with Sundays. Isn't brunch supposed to be breakfast and lunch? What part of lunch ENDS at noon?
Plebes were not allowed to go to the snack bar in Grant Hall, nor to Tony's, the underground pizza shop right in the middle of Central Area, nor to the Ike Hall cafeteria. And Boodlers, the cadet junk food store, was closed on Sundays. So missing brunch meant no meal until dinner. Jan would have to forage for food.
She pinged along the wall to Kristi and Debra’s room. “Hey guys, sorry to ask again, but you got any food I can borrow?” Jan asked as she opened their door. Usually one of them had something in their footlocker. Jan kept meaning to store provisions in her footlocker for Sundays...she just never thought about it until Sunday.
“No, you can’t borrow, but you may have something,” Kristi said.
“I promise to stock up soon and then you can borrow from me all you want.” Jan said halfheartedly, knowing she might never actually do that.
“No you won’t Jan, but it’s okay,” Kristi stated the obvious once again.
“Okay, you’re right. May I have something to eat anyway?”
“Only if you tell us what happened last night after we started dancing,” Kristi demanded.
“Oh, not much. We got a few beers, sat out on the balcony and talked. He was really nice. He walked me to the barracks just before taps.” She turned to Debra, still lying in her bed, “Hey, what did you do last night?”
Debra responded, “I don’t dance.”
“Well, what did you do then?” Jan asked.
“We had a swim team practice and dinner,” Debra said.
“Jan, you didn’t ask me what happened last night,” Kristi interrupted, with a slight smile on her face.
“Well, do tell, my dear.”
“Well, Dan, the Rat, and I danced a bit and also had a few beers. Then we went down to Flirtation Walk.” Flirtation Walk, off-limits to plebes, was a trail where cadets and their dates could be alone. Jan thought most went to “Flirty” to make out, and probably some had had sex on the mysterious path. It held a certain mystical or mythical appeal to Jan, given that plebes were forbidden on it. Kristi, however, never let rules get in her way.
“Are you kidding? And you didn’t get caught?” Jan asked.
“Nope. It was cold, but we kept pretty warm.” Kristi giggled.
“Kissy, you amaze me,” Jan said.
“We couldn’t keep our hands off each other, even after we got back. We kept necking right up until taps. Then we both started running to our rooms, without even saying goodbye.” Kristi described it like she was recalling a playful childhood memory.
“Wait, Kissy, were you making out by Grant Hall?” Jan wondered if maybe….
“He had my back right up against the wall,” Kristi confirmed.
“Oh man, Dogety saw you!” Jan said. “He thought I was making out with the rat.”
“No shit! What did he say?”
“He said,” Jan lowered her voice to mimic Dogety’s, “‘Wishart, I saw you making out with that rat by Grant Hall’ or something like that.”
“Damn! What did you say?” Kristi’s eyes widened.
“I said it wasn’t me. He didn’t believe me at first, so I told him I wished I had made out with someone, but unfortunately I hadn’t. You should have seen his face. He looked like he was going to burst a blood vessel.”
“Do you think he knew it was me?” Kristi asked.
“Hell no. He obviously didn’t get a good look. I’m only about a foot taller than you, Kissy.”
“It’s a good thing he’s blind as well as stupid!” Kristi laughed.
Debra sighed, “Are you two done talking about your sexual escapades? I’d like to go back to sleep.”
“Hey, I just came for the food.” Ja
n grabbed a package of cheese crackers from Kristi before heading back to her room.
The other problem with Sundays was what to do with the rest of the day. Nothing else absolutely had to be done, so the afternoon always led to brooding, ruminating and contemplating.
I wish I had the guts to do what Kissy did last night. I might have ventured further with Bill at a normal college. At a real university, I could wear whatever I wanted. I could eat whatever I wanted. No one would care how much I weigh or how fast I run. I could have a boy in my bed and sleep in every day if I wanted.
So why am I still here?
This debate raged on every Sunday afternoon. The only way to escape the argument in her brain was to curl up on her bed with her “Gray Girl.” Issued to all new cadets on R-day, this warm, gray, comfy comforter became every cadet’s best friend. Plebe Gray Girls were crispy and bright gray, if there is such a thing as bright gray. Firstie Gray Girls were the best—dull gray, soft and worn like the Velveteen Rabbit. These comforters were called Gray Girls long before the advent of women at West Point. Jan didn't mind the name; she certainly didn't want to share her bed with a Gray Boy every night.
“Angel, hope it’s okay if I put on my Sunday afternoon uniform,” Jan said as she rolled on her bed pulling the comforter over her body.
“What uniform is that?” Angel asked.
“Gray Girl over Gray Girl,” she said before drifting off to sleep.
Dear Jan,
Please don’t be too unnerved by my letters. I am not stalking you, and I am not dangerous in any way. I just happen to be in the general vicinity and notice things about you.
For instance, I have yet to see you smile. I know it’s a tough thing to do here, but that’s part of how we can be subversive. Smiling is good for us and it totally messes with the enemy. Killjoys don’t know what to do with smiling. Try smiling and see what happens. Besides, I bet you have a really great smile. I bet you have an even better laugh (but one step at a time).
I’m sure “Kissy” understands you had to choose team handball over “intra-murder.” (Great term.)
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