Gray Girl (8 page)

8

Q: What is Murphy's Law?

A:
(1) Nature always sides with the hidden flaw.
 

    
(2) Things, if left to
themselves
, go from bad to worse.

          
Heritage, Bugle Notes, 81, p. 246

Jan probably should have reported
what “Jackass” had done on the remedial run, but any complaints would have to
go up the chain of command which meant she would have to tell
Dogety
, then
Dogety
would tell
Jackson and that’s where it would stop.
 
Or worse, “Jackass” might accuse her of lying because there weren’t any
witnesses.
 
It was her word against
his and he had all the power and influence in the situation.
 
Besides, she was fairly sure she could
handle him next time.
 
Next time,
she would just keep running until she reached the barracks.
 
So, it seemed reporting the incident
would only make things worse.

Things got worse anyway.
 
Jan and Wright prepared their room for
the first SAMI—Saturday AM Inspection.
 
They tightened their beds and opened
their closets displaying their uniforms on hangers exactly two inches
apart.
 
Their highly polished shoes
and boots were lined up from tallest to shortest, left to right.
 
Below the closet, two large drawers held
their foldable garments, displayed according to the regulations manual.
 
Underwear folded in thirds, left side
over right, then crotch tucked underneath, lay folded side down.
 
Bras looked like small hills among the
panties, with one bra cup tucked into the other, clasp end stuffed into the
hollow of the cups and displayed with cup opening down.
 
They also swept, dusted and emptied the
trashcan.
 

Two loud knocks announced the
inspectors’ arrival.
 
“ENTER,
SIR!”
 
Cadets
Dogety
and Jackson sauntered into the room.
 
Dogety
inspected the sink cabinet and laundry
bins while Jackson made a cursory look around the room dragging his finger
along Jan’s desk and shelves.
 
He
dropped down into a squat to peer under her bed for dust bunnies.

So far, so good.
 

Then Jackson proceeded over to the
drawers beneath the closet.
 
Looking
down at Jan’s underwear drawer, he picked up a bra holding it up by the strap
with his forefinger and thumb.
 
“What
the hell is this,
Wishart
?”

“Sir, it is a bra.”

“I know that,
Wishart
!
 
What the hell is it doing on display?”

“Sir...”

“You think I
wanna
see this crap?”
 
He threw the bra
back in the drawer and slammed it shut with his foot.
 
“I don't
wanna
see any goddamn bras or panties or tampons or sanitary pads.
 
I don't
wanna
see any female shit.
 
You understand?”

“Sir, the regulations….”

“IS THAT ONE OF YOUR FIVE RESPONSES,
WISHART?”
 
Jackson screamed.

“No, Sir.”

“I don't give a shit what the REGs
say.
 
I DON'T WANT TO SEE THAT
STUFF.
 
YOU GOT ME,
Wishart
?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“That goes for you, too,
Wright!”
 
Jackson added.
  
“AM I CLEAR, BEANHEADS?”

“Yes, Sir,” both roommates
responded.
 

Jan began hiding underwear in her
laundry bag and footlocker.
 
Her
tampons and pads, which she hadn’t needed to date due to “Amen-oh-yay-ah,” went
in a woman’s locker from Third Platoon.
 
Every sign of femininity disappeared from her room and locker.
 
She never asked Wright what she did with
her female items; she wasn’t sure Wright ever had that stuff.

About halfway through Beast, Sixth
Company began having weekly “weigh-ins.”
  
Cadet Jackson sat behind a desk at
the end of the hallway where a scale with adjustable weights had been
placed.
 
Cadet
Dogety
assembled Fourth Squad along the wall facing the scale and called them, one by
one, to step on the scale.

“Pope, step up,”
Dogety
yelled.
 
New Cadet Pope stepped on
the scale and
Dogety
adjusted the measurement.
 
“172 pounds!”

“Pope—172 pounds!”
 
Jackson repeated for clarification,
apparently, and recorded it on a piece of paper.

“Not bad, Pope,”
Dogety
said. “Now get off my scale.
 
Jones,
step up.”
 
Dogety
fiddled with the weights again.
 
“149 pounds.”
 

“Jones—149 pounds!” Jackson
said.

“You could stand to eat a little
more, Jones.”
  

“Yes, Sir.”
 
Jones replied.

“Now, get back against the wall.
 
Wishart
, step
up!”
 

Oh
damn.
 
Please, please, please…don’t
let it be too high.

Dogety
adjusted the weights. “160 pounds!”
 
Dogety’s
voice sounded venomous.
 

“
Wishart
—160
pounds.”
 
Jackson repeated as he
looked at
Dogety
, shaking his head slightly.

Does
he really have to do that?

“My God,
Wishart
,
what the hell have you been eating?”
 
Jackson asked loudly enough for the whole hallway to hear.
 
Jan couldn’t think of a good
answer.
 
“Well, answer me!”

“Not much, Sir!”

“Is that one of your five responses?”

“No, Sir!”

“Then, I’ll ask again.
 
What the hell are you eating,
Wishart
?”

“No excuse, Sir!”

“Damned right there’s no excuse!
 
You're turning into the Pillsbury
Doughboy!
  
No wonder you
cannot run worth a damn.
 
I better start
seeing this number go down.
 
Do you
understand me,
Wishart
?”

“Yes, Sir!”

“Now get the hell off my scale.”

“Yes, Sir!”
 
Jan turned, red faced and close to
crying
,
to take her spot back against the wall with
all nine of her squad mates.
  

“
Teady
,
step up!”
Dogety
shouted.

And this is how Jan began to despise
her beautiful, healthy, strong body.
 

Jan’s
table Commanders
most often were
either
Dogety
or Jackson,
making it practically impossible for her to eat a decent meal.
 
Yet, she didn’t lose weight during
Beast.
 
In fact, she gained
weight.
 
She never understood how someone
could eat so little, move so much, and put on weight.
 
Still, she felt hungry most of the time
in Beast.

That’s why she went to church.
 

New Cadets had one
free
hour after dinner on Wednesday
nights to attend Chapel.
 
Jan wasn't
sure what Chapel meant, being that she was raised in a good, lapsed-Catholic
family.
 
But if Chapel could get her
away from the cadre for an hour, she would be more than happy to learn all
about it.
 
The real incentive,
however, were the cookies.
 
Cookies
were given out at Chapel.

Exiting the huge Mess Hall doors
opening onto The Apron, Jan pinged to Trophy Point beyond the far end of the
Plain, on the bank of the Hudson River.
 
As she moved away from the massive, gray, gothic structures toward the
open beauty of the river and the surrounding hills, she felt an ever-so-slight
lightening.
 
Facing the blue water
and sky had a calming effect.

She scarfed a few Oreos and sat in
one of the folding chairs.
 
Another
new cadet sat next to her with about five cookies in each hand.
 
She was glad to see someone else had
come for the goods.
 
Jan wished she
had thought to grab a few extra.
 
The guy must have read her mind as he leaned his left hand in front of
Jan, offering cookies.
 
She
hesitated, knowing the
Dogety
/Jackson duo would not
approve.
 
Wait!
 
This is insane.
 
I’m not going to let those jerks decide
if I can eat cookies!
 
Jan
reached over and took two of the offered cookies, smiling at the young man’s
kindness.

“I hope we can grab a few more before
leaving,” he said in a quiet voice.

“Me, too!”
 
Jan admitted.

Someone started playing guitar,
others started singing—and that’s when it began to get awkward.
 
But Jan figured this was a small price
to pay for more cookies.
 
The guy
next to her sang beautifully.
 
His
voice soothed and comforted her, almost painfully so.
 
Jan knew she might cry if she wasn’t
careful.
 
For that reason, she
stared straight ahead as if she were standing at attention.

The singing stopped and the man
called “Chaplain,” another unknown word to a lapsed-Catholic girl, began to
speak.
 
Jan could not remember
anything he said that evening, except one sentence:
 
“I lift mine eyes to the hills from
whence cometh my help.”

Her brain locked onto this sentence,
and as Beast progressed, she said it over and over again.
 
When doing leg lifts on The Plain, when
running in formation, when marching in full combat gear, and when staring at
her barely-eaten plate full of food in the Mess Hall, it became her mantra of
sorts.
 
Along with Jim Croce's song,
“New York's Not My Home,” this verse somehow comforted and sustained her.

“I will lift mine eyes to the hills
from whence cometh my help,” followed her like a prayer.

After Chapel, just as she and Wright
began polishing their boots and quizzing each other on poop, they heard two
loud knocks on the door.
  
It’s probably
Dogety
or Jackson wanting to know how many cookies I ate!

The two roommates popped to attention
and yelled in unison, “ENTER, SIR!”
  
The door flung open and Wright’s Squad Leader stood at the door.
 
He held out a whole, uncut, Martha
Washington Sheet Cake.

“Just happened to have an extra one
of these.
 
Thought you two might
want it.”
 
Jan and Wright stared in
disbelief at this unexpected offer.
 
Jan also wondered what the catch might be.
 
Was he teasing them?
 
Yet, the
firstie
simply stepped into their room, put the cake down on the sink counter, then
turned and walked out.
 

First the guy at chapel offered her
cookies, now this.
 
Well, maybe not everyone thinks I’m fat.

9

Friday,
May 7, 1982

0330
hours

The
blueberry pie is sailing through the air in slow motion.
 
It looks like a Frisbee, but she knows
what it really is.
 
The sweet scent
floats toward her, closer and closer.
 
She shuts her eyes and breathes in the perfume of warm blueberries.
 
Her mouth waters in anticipation of that
first bite.

The
pie smashes into her face.
 
Ah shit,
how’d that happen?
 
The blueberry goop
drips from her nose and chin; somehow though, it looks like camouflage.
 
She stands up.
 
The entire Mess Hall is silent.
 
Everyone is watching the girl with the
blueberry face.
 
She hopes they will
assume that she’s covered in combat paint, yet she cannot tell what they
see.
 
She turns to run away from the
table, but her body feels like it’s underwater.
 
Her feet seem to have grown roots into
the floor.
 
The muscles in her legs
ache with every arduous step.
 
She keeps
running, slowly and painfully, until she reaches the massive, oak doors.
 
With the speed of peanut butter, she
descends the granite steps.

She
hears Cadet Jackson laughing from his table inside the Mess Hall.
 
Then Cadet
Dogety
starts laughing even though he is at the opposite end of the Mess Hall.
 
Another cadet begins to laugh from the
third wing, then another joins in, and then another.
 
Soon the entire Corps of Cadets is
laughing.
 
Even the waiters are
laughing.
 
She knows they are
laughing at her.
 

She
keeps running toward her room and finally arrives just as the two-minute bell
is being called.
 
She must report to
formation.
 
But her Dress Gray is
ruined.
 
Blueberry goop has stained
all of her uniforms.
 
There is
nothing she can wear.
 
The minute
caller leaves his post.
 
She has to
go to formation.
 
Now.

She
pings back outside and stands in the squad line.
 
Everyone is staring at her.
 
The Commander shouts, “Forward,
March!”
 
She begins marching in
formation with her Company onto The Plain.
 
All the other companies are already there and formed into a large
circle.
 
Company H-3 marches into
the center of the huge circle.
 
The Commander
shouts, “
Wishart
, stand fast!”
 
The rest of H-3 marches away toward the
outer ring of cadets.
 
Alone, in the
center of the circle, Jan stands at attention, completely naked.