Gray Girl

by Susan I. Spieth

  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 sto
od 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!”

  Jan could bang out sit-ups all day. Time usually gave out first. So she started pumping, up and down, up and down. She heard Kristi say, “50.”

  “ONE MORE MINUTE.”

  Dang! I am smokin'!

  She heard, “75,” then “80,”...then “85”….

  “TIME'S UP! CEASE WORK, CADETS!”

  90 friggin sit-ups! Take that Dogety!

  The first portion of the APRT finished in less than fifteen minutes. Company H-3 then proceeded outside for the two-mile run. Every thirty seconds, a group of ten cadets began running until they came to the “turn around point.” There, they circled around an orange cone and ran back to the starting line.

  In the last group of plebes, Jan, Kristi and Angel lined up for the start of the two-mile run. The three women took off together, but soon Jan pulled ahead of Angel and Kristi. Most of the guys started in earlier groups and began returning on their left. “Good job, Jan, you're doing great,” Drew shouted as he ran past. Cadet Trane and a couple other upperclassmen cheered her on as well.

  “Good running form, Wishart.” Dogety said as he passed. That was a compliment, she figured, coming from him.

  Just as she was closing in on the “turn around” cone, a male cow shouted, “Move those thunder thighs!”

  And then, it just didn't matter anymore. It didn't matter that she knocked out 40 push-ups and 90 sit-ups. It didn't matter that a handful of guys cheered her on. It didn't matter that she finished the two miles in 15:45. The only thing Jan absorbed, the only thing Jan thought about for weeks, was her thighs.

  33

  Saturday, May 8, 19
82

  0040 Hours

  Jan’s breath caught. She was seeing but not believing.

  He bent down, fumbling with his pants, trying to pull them up to cover his now limp penis. As he struggled with the trousers, he shouted, “You really fucked up this time, Wishart.”

  Several paint cans were lined up just inside the door. Kristi grabbed one and threw it into the room knocking him backward onto another desk.

  Jan flew out the door, followed by Kristi. They ran across the hallway. Jan flung open the door, and they raced up the steps two at a time, coming to B-3. The rapist shouted from somewhere below, “I’m gonna kill you both! You fucking cunts!”

  The roommates reached B-2, B-1, and finally G where Jan flung open another door leading to one of the Mess Hall kitchens. They had no idea where they were in relation to their barracks, but they kept running. Halfway through the kitchen, Kristi spotted a large butcher knife hanging on the wall. She grabbed it and kept running behind Jan. They passed through two double swinging doors into the massive Mess Hall. Only exit lights could be seen in the dark cavernous space. Jan bumped into a table. “Shit!”

  “Jan, let’s hide under a table. There are about five hundred in here; he’ll never find us.”

  But Jan didn’t like the idea of being trapped. What if he did find the one they were under? Then what? “Kristi, you hide under that table,” she pointed to one nearby. “I’ll keep moving and draw him to another part of the Mess Hall. When you hear him leave this area, take off and go find the Cadet in Charge of the Guard.”

  Kristi didn’t like the idea of splitting. She figured two are better than one. Especially if it came down to hand to hand combat. “Jan, let’s stay together.”

  “Okay, well then, let’s head to one of the exits and figure out where to go once we are outside.”

  “You sure we shouldn’t just wait him out in here? He can outrun us.”