Oh, gawd. She lifted her head and tried to write something, anything, on the board. To her left, Rick Davidson scribbled intensely on his chalkboard section. She wished this prior service, combat veteran, whom everyone seemed to fawn over, would demonstrate a weakness in at least one thing.
She concentrated. Swimming pool is twelve feet by ten feet at the bottom. Drawing a rectangle, she wrote “12” on the long side, and “10” on the short side. She drew another one on top and wrote “20” and “10” on the long and short sides. Then, she drew lines between the two rectangles and wrote “8” next to one of the connecting lines. Water density is what…?
She put squiggly lines in between the two rectangles to simulate water while she tried to remember the density.
“Sixty-two point four pounds per cubic feet,” Rick Davidson said.
“Thanks,” she said, thinking he was a bit presumptuous. She wrote the water density on top of the waves. Then she sighed. I have no freaking idea.
“Would you like some help?” Rick asked.
Not really. But since I am pretty much lost, I guess any help is better than none. “Um, yes, please. If you don’t mind,” Jan said.
“I’m pretty sure I can figure it out.”
I’m sure you can. You know everything, don’t you? “Great, that’s just…great.”
“It’s not that hard really.”
Nothing’s hard for you, I know…
“Just think about it like this: we are trying to determine the work to empty the pool, right?” Rick moved over to her chalkboard section.
“Uh, okay,” she said. He can be “Mr. Know It All” because I am clearly not.
“So we say work equals,” he wrote “W=” on the board. “The water density or 62.4 pounds has to be lifted from zero to eight feet which is the depth of the pool.” He continued writing the equation.
Jan tried to follow him. “Then we multiply the results of that by the volume of water or length times width times height.” He moved closer to her and pointed at her trapezoid drawing with simulated water. “See, you have it all drawn out already.” Then he wrote the equation again on her board. “Work equals 62.4 integral of zero to eight times ten times Y plus twelve times eight minus Y times DY.” He turned to her, only a few inches away.
She looked from the board to him, “Are you speaking English?”
“Did I lose you?”
“Way back at W equals.”
“Okay, sorry, Jan.”
Maybe he’s not such a bad-ass after all. “Oh, it’s not your fault. I’m just not the sharpest knife in this calculus drawer.”
“Well, I could…”
“Take seats!” Captain Ortiz commanded. Jan sat back down while watching Rick Davidson return to his seat. “Looks like most of you worked through the problem correctly. Cadet Davidson, please explain how you came up with your equation.”
Rick walked back to the chalkboard with Jan’s pool drawing. “Cadet Wishart has given us a visual depiction of the problem.” The class chuckled.
Jan glared at him. Jerk!
After he finished explaining, they went through a couple more practice problems at their desks while Captain Ortiz walked around checking their work. She managed to make it look like she had a handle on the situation. But she thought calculus felt more like drowning than “Drowning.”
Drew sat on Jan’s bed with his back leaning against the wall and his long legs dangling over the side. They wore the winter PT uniform: gray sweatshirt with ARMY in black letters across the chest over gray sweatpants.
“Drew?” Jan asked when Angel and Kristi left the room.
“Yes, dear.”
“Do you think I’m pretty?”
“Honey, your very pretty.”
“Hmmm.”
“Hmmm, what?”
“Well, I don’t think most guys consider me attractive.”
“Of course they do.”
“Well, then why do they all act like jerks?” Jan’s voice rose.
“Well, first, they don’t ALL act like jerks. Some do, sure, but some women are jerks, too. So, we’re even on that score.”
“Drew, come on. I’m awash in a sea of men, and you’re the only one I can talk to. What does that say?”
“It says I’m an awesome guy.” He looked at his nails.
“That’s true; you are. But it also says guys avoid me for some reason…”
“Well, it could have a teensy, weensy bit to do with you.” Drew held his thumb and forefinger close together in front of his face.
“What do you mean?” Jan didn’t like where this was going.
“Well, you are a little intimidating. Guys are afraid of girls, you know?”
“No, I don’t know. Enlighten me.”
“Women scare men; they always have.” Drew seemed to know all about the subject.
“You have got to be kidding me. It’s men who are the scary ones! They have all the power, too. Since when have women been in charge of things?”
“Well, okay, you’re right of course. Men have always dominated the world. But women have power over men, sexually and otherwise.”
“What? How so?”
“Well, men want women. They want to have sex of course, but they also want a woman to love, respect and need them. The great fear of men is that women will reject them. And since women can read emotions better than men, they can detect our fears and weaknesses, and that scares us even more. So women have the real power because men live in fear of losing their attention and affection. Do you see?”
“No, but go on,” Jan said, fascinated.
“Also, men compete for women. A man might kill his own brother over a woman. Sometimes, men will act like they don’t want a certain woman, either because they don’t think they can get her or they are trying to get her to want him first. He will act like he doesn’t need or want her, hoping she will want him.”
“That’s stupid.”
“I never said men were the smartest creatures around. But in your case, guys are intimidated because you look pissed off all the time.”
“I AM pissed off all the time.”
“Maybe if you smiled, or seemed less angry, guys would seem more friendly to you,” he said.
“Well, what am I suppose to do? Walk around like this?” Jan made a fake grin. “I’d rather be real. When I smile, it’s real.”
“All I’m saying is that may be why guys seem to avoid you. If they really are avoiding you. It could just be in your imagination.”
“No, they definitely avoid me.” She paused before asking, “You don’t think it’s the uniform then?”
“Jan, guys can see beyond the uniform.”
“Well, if they can see beyond the uniform, why can’t they see beyond my pissed-off face?”
“Now you’re asking too much. We aren’t that deep.”
He confirmed what she had long suspected. Guys are shallow.
“Okay, but what about you, Drew? Why aren’t you attracted to me? Are you playing hard to get with me?” She decided to just come out with it.
“No, Darling. I love you, and you are very attractive. I just prefer a different type.”
“Oh, thank goodness. I prefer a different type, too. But I do adore you; I want you to know.”
“We make a good pair, don’t we?” Drew asked.
“Yes, we do my friend. Yes, we do,” she confirmed.
27
Friday, May 7, 1982
2230 Hours
“Sir, have you heard anything yet from a possible new witness?” Jan stood at Cadet Trane’s door, hoping he had SKIP’s statement already in hand. She had been to his room three times that night, but he had been out until now.
“I’ve just returned from talking to him, in fact. He is finishing up his statement now,” Trane said. “He doesn’t want me to tell you who he is. Apparently he wants to surprise you at the board tomorrow. Won’t that be exciting?” He winked at Jan.
“Sir, I’m willing to let him h
andle this however he wants given that he might just save my ass.”
“Yeah, you really gotta give him credit, coming forth at the last minute.” Trane walked over to his sink and began washing his hands. He looked in his mirror while talking to her, “I’d like to know how you knew he could be a witness when you don’t even know who he is?”
“Well, Sir, it’s a bit…irregular.” She didn’t want to explain.
He began drying his hands on a towel. “Wishart, you are irregular. And I mean that in the best possible way.”
“Thank you, Sir.”
Jan hurried to the latrine for a shower and made it back to her room just as Taps played at 2300 hours. All overhead lights had to go out, but cadets could study in their room or in a common area. Jan had always made it her personal goal to go to bed at Taps, and except for the last week, she had been successful. She hadn’t been able to fall asleep or stay asleep in the last five days, and she knew sleep would elude her again. Angel and Kristi were awake, too, both trying to prepare for exam week.
“Hey, guys, I’m going to take a little jaunt around the neighborhood,” Jan said. “I figure I can’t get in any worse trouble.” If these were her last few nights at West Point, she might as well go exploring. She felt a hankering to spin the “lucky spurs” on Sedgwick, stroll down Flirtation Walk, and maybe even navigate the bowels of Washington Hall. “I may never get another chance to see the sights around Post if I don’t go now.”
“I’m game,” Kristi said.
“No, Kissy, you don’t need to get in trouble on my account.” Jan had caused enough problems for her friend.
“Where we going?” Kristi said without hesitating.
“First stop, Flirtation Walk.” Jan knew Kristi would not stay behind. “Angel, don’t wait up for us.”
“Have fun. I will pray your safe return.” No one realized how important Angel’s prayer would be.
28
Q: What is the largest piece of granite turned in the Western Hemisphere?
A: The shaft of Battle Monument, Sir.
Heritage, Bugle Notes, 81, p.244
“Beanheads, halt!”
They had gotten lost backstage after attending the post-show party hosted by the Cadet Activities Club. Jan and Drew had had several beers each before trying to find their way out of Eisenhower Hall. They ended up emerging through a side door where a firstie and his date just happened to be located.
Oh, for cryin-out-loud, just leave us alone.
But the firstie would not leave them alone. “You two reek of beer. What are two beanheads doing at Ike Hall?”
“Sir,” Drew began, “we were ushing the show.”
“You were USHING, were you?”
“Sir, we were USH-ER-ING,” Jan corrected.
The firstie looked at Drew. “Where's your hat, Beanhead?” Drew instinctively lifted a hand to his head.
“Sir, may I make a statement?” Jan hoped to change the subject, somehow.
“No, you may not. What are your names and companies?”
“Cadet Hambin, Sir, Company G-3, Sir.”
“Cadet Wishart, Company H-3, Sir.”
“You’re both drunk! You’re off limits! You’re missing your goddamn hat! What the hell were you two doing in there? Screwing around?”
They both answered simultaneously.
“Yes, Sir!” “No, Sir!”
The plebes looked at each other, wondering who had answered correctly. Drew’s mouth twitched at the corners, and Jan could tell he was about to lose it. And if he went over the fence, she would follow. She quickly turned back to the firstie.
“Sir, we are a little drunk, and he’s missing his hat, but no Sir, we were not screwing around. Sir.”
“Oh, really?” The firstie took a step closer.
“Yes, Sir, I think I would remember that,” Drew stated.
Silence.
“I think I would, too, Sir,” Jan loved this aspect of drinking. She became bolder and unafraid of repercussions.
The firstie continued to stare at them in silence. This isn’t rocket science, buddy… When he still didn’t say anything, Jan began to wonder what he was thinking. Is he picturing us screwing? Is he wondering if he could get away with it in Ike Hall, too?
Drew began to snicker. Uh-oh. Jan couldn't contain it either. They were both too tipsy to care about the consequences. Drew made a snorkeling noise. Then Jan snickered through her nose, desperately trying to maintain some decorum. We’re screwed.
The plebes started laughing in earnest. The firstie’s date began laughing, also. He turned to her and said, “Not you, too.” Then with a wave of his hand, he said, “Get outta here, you two. And don't let me catch you screwing around here anymore.”
Jan and Drew scurried away, continuing to snorkel-snicker until they reached the safety of Trophy Point. On the steps of Battle Monument, facing the Hudson River, they fell out in full-on laughter.
The moonlight floating on the river looked like a white ribbon strung from the banks of the Hudson to some magical destination. Their laughter echoing off the cannons and granite seemed to follow the ribbon road and then return again like voices from heaven.
They sat down on the sacred steps where 2,230 names of the Civil War dead are inscribed and “Fame” perpetually blows her trumpet atop the massive granite shaft. Jan wished they could stay there till dawn, soaking up the beauty and peace of the moonlit night. She didn't care if they missed TAPS, the signal when all cadets had to be back in their rooms. I'll risk the demerits for this.
They both stared at the Hudson River in silence, not as plebes, not even as cadets—but as young college kids, enjoying a moment alone on a beautifully clear evening with the quiet souls of the past.
Dear Jan,
I will admit to being in your battalion. But I will neither confirm, nor deny any other assumptions you have. To do so would be to jeopardize our organization. You know I can’t do that.
I am a little afraid of you finding out who I am. In some ways, being anonymous makes it easier to talk to you (Okay, write to you). On the other hand, I can’t wait for you to know.
It saddens me to hear that you are unhappy. I know it’s hard, especially plebe year. I wish I could say or do something to help you feel better. But all I can do is try to cheer you up with these little notes.
SKIP
SKIP,
Even though I don’t know who you are, you have been a real friend—one of only two guys here I actually like. So don’t be afraid when I discover your identity. Notice I wrote “when” not “if.”
Jan
Jan attended a religious retreat in early March. Getting away from West Point, even if it meant praying and going to church, was always better than staying. So she went with a couple of Team Handball teammates and pretended to be slightly interested in Christianity. The retreat, as it turned out, was a wonderful, peaceful, relaxing, even joyful experience. Jan began to believe that her life might change for the better as a result. But upon her return, as the bus drew closer to West Point, she could feel the lightness from the weekend dimming, dimming and dimming until it turned back to gray.
Jan found Angel studying at her desk when she entered the room late Sunday afternoon. Angel had been issued an academic warning in Calculus which prevented her form going to the retreat. Jan put her bag on the bed and began unpacking. “How was it?” Angel asked.
“Great! We ate at round tables—without any pecking order,” Jan replied. “I hope you get to go sometime; it was a lot of fun—I mean as much fun as you can have without drinking!”
“I hope so, too,” Angel said.
“Where's Kissy?” Jan asked.
“She had to go home. Her brother died.”
“WHAT?” Jan stood in the middle of the room, stunned. “What happened?”
“Her brother was killed in a car accident.”
“Oh, GOD! How did she find out? Who told her?” Jan could not even imagine hearing that kind of news—especially duri
ng plebe year.
“The TAC came to the room yesterday and told her to come to his office to call her mother. Her mother told her on the phone. She came back to the room then packed and left.” Angel seemed to be rattling off a list of supplies.
“Oh, God! Poor Kissy!” Jan sat down on her bed. Losing a brother, losing anyone in her family, was incomprehensible to Jan. She stared at the floor contemplating Kristi's new tragedy—a brother now gone along with her father. Jan's shoulders began to shake; she felt her face crinkle, and then the sobbing came. She put her hands to her face and bent over until her head came down to her lap. She cried for Kristi, for the dead brother, and for Kristi's mom, sisters and stepfather. She cried for the loss of childhood, the loss of innocence, and the loss of all that was once easy.
She cried until she felt a pencil hit her head. Jan lifted her head and said, “What did you do that for?”
“Dammit, Jan! Why can't I cry like that?”
“What do you mean?”
“Nothing, forget it. It’s just that I feel sorry for Kristi, too.”
Kristi returned the following Sunday. Jan gave her a hug and asked if there was anything she could do. “No, there's nothing anyone can do.” After dinner that night, Kristi's Squad Leader came to the room.
“Cadet McCarron, I am sorry to hear what happened,” he said.
“Thank you, Sir,” she replied.
“It's going to be hard, but you can do it. Just focus on your studies and plebe duties and try not to let this setback keep you from your goals.”
Setback? Is that what losing a brother is??? A setback? God! What's wrong with some people?
Gray Girl Page 19