Gray Girl (4 page)

The plebe women rushed outside to dinner formation.
 
As soon as Jan fell in her squad line,
Dogety
marched up and stood directly in front of her.
 
Barely above a whisper, he asked, “What’s
happening at the Honor Board, Miss
Wishart
?”

“Sir, I cannot talk about it.”
 
She kept her eyes straight ahead, focusing on his chin.
 

“I know you can’t tell me specifics, but how’s it going in general?”
 
His voice quivered slightly.

“It’s an Honor Board, Sir.
 
It’s going.”
 
She refused to
give him one ounce of information, especially because he refused to make a
statement.
  
“But, Sir, I would
feel more hopeful if you would submit a statement.”

He paused.
 
Breathed in, then
out.
 
“I wish I could do that, Miss
Wishart
, but I can’t.”
 

Why?
Because you’re a
coward?
Or because you want me gone?

“Well, Sir, I will cross examine everyone who testifies.”
 
He would have to answer her questions in
person if not in writing.

“I know,
Wishart
.
 
I know,”
Dogety
said softly before walking away.
 

After dinner, Jan brushed her teeth while standing over the sink in her
room.
 
As she rinsed the toothpaste
from her mouth, a folded piece of paper flew under the door.
 
She turned off the water, grabbed a
towel, and dried her hands before stooping down to pick up the paper.
 
It said “Jan” on one side in familiar
handwriting.
 
She flung open the
door and looked up and down the hallway.
 
The courier was gone.
 

SKIP, an anonymous pen pal of sorts, and Jan had been corresponding all
year.
 
She didn’t know SKIP’s
identity, which drove her crazy sometimes.
 
She had narrowed him down to a male cadet in her battalion, one out of
about four hundred.
 
She was getting
close.
 

She unfolded the paper and read,

Jan,

Please,
please tell me what the honor charges are.
 
I HAVE TO KNOW…no details, just the basic charges—when
and
 
what
date.
 
All I’ve heard is that
Jackson accused you of lying.
 
Please give me a little more information—ASAP!
 
This cannot wait.
  
Write it now and tape it to your
door.
 
I’ll come get it later.
   

I’m
praying for you.
 
Please be careful
and keep me posted.

SKIP
  

Jan knew speaking about the details of the Honor Board was
forbidden.
 
But
what about writing?
 
Was that
also not allowed?
 
Probably.
 
But shit, what’s the worst they can do
to me??
  
Still, she would
not say or write too much.

SKIP,

Jackson
says I lied about what happened Sunday night and again Monday morning in his
room.
 
That’s all I can tell you.
 
I didn’t do anything wrong, but he seems
to have the better case.
 
Dogety
won’t back me up.
 
I am screwed.
 
You will probably need to find another
pen pal.

Jan

4

“Experience
has shown that a few new cadets will find the initial days of West Point a
difficult period of adjustment, and a very small number may lose sight of their
goals and decide to resign.”
 

From Candidate Letter by Commandant of Cadets, May 1981

Jan received orders to have a Full
Physical Exam at Fort
Devens
in February.
 
The paper said she would receive a “pelvic
exam,” which she interpreted to mean someone would check that her hips worked
properly.
 
Her mother tried to clue
her in, saying they would take a peek “down there” and maybe feel for anything
abnormal.

When she felt a cold metal thing
opening her vagina and pushing up inside her, she realized she had been
woefully misinformed.
 
Two
assistants, acting as official knee holders, kept her legs apart.
 
They told her to relax, but she
certainly could not relax, not while the man in the white coat was
down
there
.
 
Jan tightened every
muscle in her body, trying to relax.
 
And just when it felt like her ovaries were being ripped out, the only
other woman in the room snapped, “Quit moving! The more you fight it, the
longer it will take!”

The white coat man finally withdrew
the gut apparatus, but then inserted his fingers
down there
, with one
hand, and used the other to press more on her lower abdomen. Then, he stuck
another thing in her ass.

The awful ordeal finally ended, but
Jan seemed to be in some sort of trance as she dressed.
 
She could feel something seeping out of
her, like a period, when she stood up.
 
But it wasn’t a period.

She waddled slowly back out to the
waiting area and met her red-faced parents.
 
They seemed embarrassed by what they all
knew had taken place.
 
For the first
time in her life, she realized that there were many things they had not told
her.

Beast barracks served to further
Jan’s education in the harsh realities of life.
 
On the day after R-Day, well before
sunrise, Cadet
Dogety
slammed open their door open
and screamed, “GET UP, BEANHEADS!
 
You got five minutes to get dressed and report outside for PT
formation!”

Jan and her new roommate flew into
their Physical Training uniforms—black shorts, white t-shirts with a
black Academy crest over the left breast and brand new black Army boots over
tube socks.
 
The cadre wore the same
outfits; only their black shorts, black Academy crest and black Army boots had
all dulled to gray.

After rushing to pee and brushing
their teeth, the new cadets pinged outside to
The Apron.
 
“Pinging”
was the term for
speed-walking
that all new cadets
were required to do wherever they went.
 
Imagine Charlie Chaplin in fast, fast forward.
 

A gray, morning mist lingered among
the ranks as they stood at attention on this large concrete slab facing
The Plain
.
 
Jan wondered if everything was either
gray or turning gray at West Point.

Squad leaders reported to Platoon
Leaders, who reported to Company Commanders, who reported to Battalion Commanders
who reported to the Beast Commander:
 
“All present or accounted for.”
 
Apparently no one left in the
night.
 
The Stars and Stripes
rose to the top of a flagpole while someone played a bugle.
 
It
sounds kind of like a
rooster which
would make sense this
early in the morning.
 
She took
a deep breath, smelling the mixture of freshly mowed grass and the new leather
of her boots.
 

Jan stood in the center of Fourth Squad,
Second Platoon,
Sixth
Cadet Basic Training
Company.
 
She could see her
roommate, New Cadet Wright, ahead in Third Squad.
 
First and Second Squads also had one
female each.

“Second Platoon!
 
Right, face!”
 
Everyone turned crisply to the right in
one quick move.
 
“Forward, march!”
 

“Left, right, left!
 
Left, right, left.”
 
Cadet Jackson, Second Platoon Sergeant,
called cadence and kept everyone in step while marching onto The Plain.
 
Four-foot tall platforms had been evenly
dispersed on the huge, flat, grass field between the Hudson River and the
grand, gray, gothic, Washington Hall.
 
Sixth Company stopped in front of two platforms.
 
“Right, face!”
 
“Open ranks, March!”

The new cadets unceremoniously spread
out across The Plain, screaming and shouting as they separated about five feet
from each other in all directions.
 
Sixth Company centered on the two platforms and Jan stood smack in the
middle, front row.
   

Firsties
leaped onto the platforms and began instructing the new cadets in Army
exercises.
 
“The Side Straddle Hop!”
they shouted in unison before demonstrating what looked like Jumping Jacks.
 
“One-two-three,
ONE
!
 
One, two, three,
TWO
!
 
One, two, three,
THREE
!” the
firsties
shouted as their
arms went up, legs apart on counts one and three.
 
Their arms came down, legs together on
counts two and the last number.
 
 

“Sixth Company!
 
Side Straddle Hop, in cadence,
exercise!”
 
The new cadets began doing
jumping jacks in unison.
 
“One, two,
three,
ONE
!
 
One, two, three,
TWO
!”
  
Jan figured
they’d do about twenty-five or so and then move on to the next drill.
 
“One, two, three,
THIRTY
!”

Okay,
I think we got it now.

“One, two, three,
FORTY
!”

Ah,
shit, that’s enough already.

The
firsties
’
count changed tone, signaling the last Side Straddle Hop, “One, two, three,
FIFTY
!”
 

Thank
God!
 
That was just the first
exercise.
  

The
firsties
led Sixth Company in many more drills, using the same two for one count.
 
Just when the new cadets seemed
sufficiently worn down, a new set of
firsties
took
over the platform duties.
 
The
non-demonstrating cadre patrolled up and down the ranks making sure no one
slacked off.
 
This rotation ensured
the leaders never got tired, while every ounce of energy drained from the new
cadets.
 

Sit-ups, push-ups, leg lifts, body
twists, side straddle hops, followed by more of the same.
 
Almost an hour of non-stop, in-place
drills—intended to build the body—by wearing it down completely.

Jan was in fairly good physical
shape.
 
She was an athlete—having
played field hockey, basketball and softball throughout high school.
 
Yet, she never experienced anything like
West Point PT.
 
Just when her body could not do one
more leg lift, they formed back into squads by platoons by companies.
 
“Who’s
gonna
carry my
Guidon
?”
 
Cadet Jackson asked.

“
Guidon
?”
 
Jan wondered as her roommate’s hand shot
up.

“New Cadet Wright, post!”
 
Wright stepped out of Third Squad and
ran to the front of the platoon.
 
Jackson handed her the pole with Second Platoon’s flag.
 

Apparently
that’s a
Guidon
.
 
And apparently, “post,” means “get your
ass over here!”

In one long line, all ten companies
marched off The Plain and onto Thayer Road.
 
Once on the pavement, they heard, “Quick
time,
march
!”
 
Everyone started running in step.
 
The new cadets echoed Cadet Jackson’s singing cadence.
 
Like a drumbeat, it kept everyone in
step.

Mama
mama
can't you see, what the Army's done to me?

They
put me in a barber's chair, spun me ‘round,
had
no hair.

Mama
mama
can't you see, what the Army's done to me?

They
took away my favorite jeans, now I'm wearing Army greens.

Mama
mama
can't you see, what the Army's done to me?

I
used to date a beauty queen, now I love my M16.

Mama
mama
can't you see, what the Army's done to me?

I
used to drive a Cadillac, now I carry it on my back.

Jan did not sing.
 
She needed all her breath just to run.
She ran all the time playing field hockey and basketball in high school, but
distance running in formation was an entirely new experience for her.
 
Dammit.
 
I didn’t prepare enough for this.
 
She felt herself losing pace.
 
Please,
please hang on.
 
Just stay with the
herd.
 

The self-talk didn’t help.
 
She kept falling out of step with the
platoon and the guy behind her began slapping at her heels.
 
He finally ran around her, taking her
spot.
 

“
Wishart
,
move out of the formation if you cannot keep up!”
 
Jackson shouted.
 
She saw Cadet
Dogety
at the front of the squad shake his head in seeming disgust.

Oh
God, not this.
 
Not on the first
run!
 
But it was too late.
 
She veered off to the right, just beside
the formation.
 
The platoon passed
her.
 
Then the rest of the company
rushed by her.
 
She kept running on
the sidewalk, hoping to catch back up, but then Seventh Company began
passing.
  

Now she was the worst kind of new
cadet—a
 
“Straggler.”
 
Jan felt her cheeks redden with shame as
she hung her head and hoped no one would remember her face.
 
Standing out for the wrong reason at
West Point was the last thing anyone ever wanted.
 
While she plugged away on the sidewalk,
another passing platoon began singing a variance of the previous cadence.

Mama
mama
can't you
see,
 look
at that Straggler next to me?
 

Leave
her behind, we don't care, go on home, you don't belong here.

Mama
mama
can't you see, the Army
ain't
your cup of tea?

They
took away your favorite jeans, and you
ain’t
fit for Army greens.

Mama
mama
can't you see, what the Army's sent to me?

She
used to be a beauty queen, but she can't shoot an M16.

Mama
mama
can't you
see,
 look
at that Straggler next to me?
 

Go
on home to your Cadillac, stay with Jody and don’t come back.

The words of this cadence felt like a
gunshot to Jan’s spine.
 
She could
feel the bullet enter her back, move through her gut and rise up, burning in
her throat.
 
She swallowed the hot
lead that tried to slip past her tongue.

Jan dropped further behind the great
mass of white shirts and black shorts which at a distance seemed gray.
 
It hadn’t even been twenty-four hours
since she kissed her parents goodbye.
 
Maybe no one will notice if I
sneak down to the river, follow it upstream and
find a pay phone.
 
“Dad, I'm sorry,
I just can't do it.
 
I can’t stay
here anymore.
 
Please come get me!”
 

Her father had taken her three brothers to visit Annapolis and West
Point, hoping one of them would get the service academy bug.
 
He probably never expected their younger
sister would be the one who applied and got in.
 
Now she was questioning why she ever
thought this was a good idea.

Her contemplations about quitting
were cut short when two Department of Physical Education (DPE) officers started
running next to her, one on each side.
 
These former graduates,
really
old cadre
, “brought up the rear.”
 
They made sure all the Stragglers made
it back to The Plain.
 

The two Army officers thwarted Jan’s
plan to escape simply by jogging beside and coaching her:
 
“Keep your arms still, new cadet;”
 
“Take deep breaths, in your nose and out
your mouth;”
 
“Keep your eyes up,
new cadet;” “Don't cross your arms in front of your body;”
 
“Keep your upper body as still as
possible;”
 
“Feel the rhythm of the
run;”
 
“Pace yourself—keep cadence
in your head, new cadet.”