Gray Girl

by Susan I. Spieth

I’m sorry to keep you in the dark about me, but if you think back about 2 weeks, we met in the mailroom. And this past weekend, we met under some less than desirable conditions. Soon you will figure it out.

  I hope you enjoy your Thanksgiving leave.

  SKIP

  SKIP,

  Okay, I assume you are a cadet. And since cadets cannot lie, cheat or steal, I will take your word that you are not dangerous.

  But I still have no idea who you are. I assume you are male and given you are in the “general vicinity” that narrows it down to about 1,000 guys.

  I don’t recall meeting anyone in the mailroom, and I have no idea when we met under less than desirable conditions.

  OH GOD, PLEASE TELL ME YOU’RE NOT DOGETY!

  IF you are, this correspondence is over!

  Jan

  19

  Friday, May 7, 1982

  1600 hours

  Sam Dogety entered the room and walked behind Jan’s chair to the witness table. His six-foot frame seemed smaller than usual as he raised his right hand and repeated the Honor Board oath. Jan felt her cheeks redden when he sat down and glanced at her. She took a deep breath trying to quell the queasiness in her stomach. Dogety could either make this whole thing go away or make sure she went away. It all came down to the this man who had made her life mostly miserable all year.

  “Sam, you declined to submit a written statement which is your prerogative. However, we need to hear what you witnessed last Sunday night. So please, whenever you’re ready,” Conrad said waving his hand. Dogety fidgeted in his chair. He picked up his gray saucer hat which he had laid down on the table in front of him. He started twirling it in his hands, staring intently down at the activity. When he didn’t speak or look up for a few more seconds, Conrad cleared his throat. “Um, Sam, are you ready to start?”

  “I…ah...I would…. rather answer questions, if that’s okay,” he said finally.

  Conrad seemed confused. “Well, normally you would tell us what happened, then we would ask questions if we have any.”

  “But if it’s not against the rules, I’d rather just answer your questions.” He stopped twirling the hat, but kept holding it between his knees.

  “All right, then,” Conrad continued, “What happened on the night of May second, with regard to Cadet Wishart, Cadet Jackson and yourself?”

  Dogety leaned forward in his chair, “I mean, specific questions. You have the basic statements from both Wishart and Jackson, so just ask me specific questions about the gray areas.”

  Dogety, what are you trying to do here?

  “The first major gray area,” Seymuor interjected, “seems to be what happened in the CQ room. Tell us what you witnessed there on Sunday night.”

  “Could you be more specific?” Dogety asked.

  Jesus, Dogety, just tell them what you know!

  “Well,” Seymour continued, “how did you question Cadet Wishart?”

  “We asked her what she did with the original correspondence between myself and Cadet Jackson,” Dogety said.

  “No, I mean, how did you question her? Did you scream at her? Was she in the Smack position?”

  “I raised my voice but not sure if you’d call it screaming. And yes, she was at attention against the wall.”

  Tourney jumped in, “Would you say Cadet Jackson screamed at her?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did he scream in her face?” Tourney asked.

  “Yes.”

  “And did you try to stop him or get him to calm down?” Gaskins asked this time.

  “I asked him to lower his voice. But he was pretty agitated.”

  “Did you,” Tourney again, “at any time, try to restrain Cadet Jackson?”

  “I did,” Dogety looked back down at his hat.

  “Why? Why did you try to restrain Cadet Jackson?” Leavitt asked.

  “I was a little worried Markus might…might make too much of the incident.” The room silenced.

  “What do you mean?” Leavitt asked in almost a whisper.

  “I mean I have seen Markus lose his temper before and I thought he might… well, I didn’t want him to do anything he might regret,” Dogety said without looking up.

  Again the room became quiet. “Did you think he might hurt Miss Wishart?”

  “I…I don’t, no, I didn’t think he’d hurt her,” he paused, “but I didn’t want to find out.”

  Conrad interrupted, “Sam, we all know it’s acceptable practice for upperclassmen to question plebes in the manner described by both Markus and Miss Wishart. We’ve all done it; it’s not anything unusual. So I am perplexed as to why you might think this was troubling.”

  “That’s true, Casey. But we had been drinking, as you know,” Dogety admitted.

  “Could that have also altered your perception of the events?” Conrad asked.

  “Maybe,” he said, “but I don’t think so.”

  Conrad had heard enough, “It’s seventeen hundred hours, so let’s stop here until after dinner. I expect everyone to be back in this room by nineteen-thirty. Remember everything said in this room stays in this room.” He stood up and closed his folder.

  Jan watched Dogety get up from his chair like an old man. He looked at Jan but quickly dropped his eyes when he saw her staring back. She felt a strange sensation, something like sadness. She never expected to feel sorry for Dogety, but as he walked out the door, with his shoulders drooping, she suddenly wanted to run over and hug him.

  20

  (Whistle)—BOOM! –AHHH

  U.S.M.A. Rah! Rah!

  U.S.M.A. Rah! Rah!

  Hoo—Rah! Hoo—Rah!

  AR—MAY! Rah!

  Team! Team! Team!

  Rocket Yell, Bugle Notes, 81, p.285

  Plebes continued to mark time by counting down the days until the next opportunity to leave West Point—Thanksgiving, the Army/Navy game, Christmas, Spring Break, and the ultimate opportunity to leave for good: graduation. Each milestone was so highly anticipated, because cadets lived for when they could leave, and no one ever wanted to come back. The common joke went,

  “Hey, what's that loud noise you hear when returning to West Point?”

  “Oh, that's the giant sucking sound!”

  Her parents drove the four plus hours to pick her up for Thanksgiving leave. When she slid in the backseat, she realized she had been holding her breath. As they drove away, she turned to watch West Point’s massive stone buildings fade from view. As a plebe, she didn’t have many opportunities to look around. From the safety of her parents’ car, she saw why cadets sometimes called West Point their “Rockbound Highland Home.” Yet, she thought it looked nothing like a home. “Fortress” was the word that came to mind. The square, cold, gray, gothic structures seemingly lined up “dress-right-dress.” Even the Cadet Chapel, considered the queen of all the buildings, appeared to Jan like a stone giant commanding the Army of buildings from her mountaintop.

  A few miles past the West Point gates, Jan peeled off her Dress Gray uniform. She put on “civvies:” jeans and a t-shirt, and for the first time in five months, she felt almost normal. Tears welled up in her eyes when she walked through the door to her childhood home.

  Mrs. Wishart prepared a big Thanksgiving dinner with the usual fare—turkey, mashed potatoes, stuffing, gravy, green bean casserole, squash casserole, cranberry sauce and rolls. Jan assumed the diet tables would be in her near future.

  The whole family sat at the dining room table in their usual spots. The three brothers sat on one side, the three sisters on the other. Mom and Dad, sat at each end of the table like bookends. Jan always sat closest to her father. She had been sitting in that spot for as long as she could remember. Why don’t I ever sit next to mom?

  The noise level in the Wishart dining room was proportional to the Mess Hall with plenty of talking, laughing, joking and story telling. If anyone fell silent, it meant they had the flu or something.

  “So Jan, tell us about West Point,” Samuel, the middle
brother asked.

  “What do you want to know?” Jan wasn’t about to say any more than was necessary.

  “What’s it like? What do you do everyday?”

  “Well, we get up early. Depending on our assigned duties that week, we deliver newspapers or laundry to the upperclassmen rooms. Then, we read the paper, memorize the menus, go over any other stuff we need to know while cleaning our room, making the beds and getting dressed for breakfast formation.”

  “What time is that?” her mother asked.

  “Breakfast formation is at six-twenty. We get up by five-thirty.”

  “So you have all that done before then?” brother Peter asked this time.

  “Yes, and when we practice the indoor obstacle course test, we get up at four-thirty.”

  “But you get to sleep in on the weekends right?” This question came from her older sister, Maryanne, who had already graduated from college.

  “No, we have one or two Saturday classes and then room inspections, and then we usually have to march for a parade. And if there’s a home football game, then we have to go to that, too.” Jan resented the football attendance requirement. No one is required to go to any other sport.

  “Do you like it?” Peter asked. The room suddenly became quiet.

  “No, not really,” Jan replied softly.

  “Just quit then,” Peter said.

  “I can’t…yet.”

  “You can, right now if you want,” he insisted again.

  “That’s enough, Pete,” Mr. Wishart intruded. “Anything worth something is going to take hard work.”

  Jan didn’t share all the details of her life at West Point. When she did talk about it, she made it seem humorous or silly, never mentioning the times she cried herself to sleep under her Gray Girl. It was one of those things, like The Depression, which could not be adequately described, only something you endured.

  Her friends couldn’t understand either. They lived in the normal world, going to normal colleges. They were having sex, smoking pot, drinking, and having sex. But her best friend, Regan, had always understood her. Ever since Jan called her a stuck up snob in the fifth grade, they had been best friends. They played the same sports, shared most of the same classes, and spent many nights partying in high school. So it came as a bit of a shock when Regan told Jan she had slept with Jan’s only boyfriend in high school, Tim.

  They met at their favorite hangout, Mel’s, a local hole in the wall place. God, it’s good to see her. After ordering beers and burgers, the two friends fell into their familiar conversation. Each one shared the highlights of their first semester at college. Both had a few funny stories. Jan didn't tell any of the bad ones.

  After an hour or so, Regan said, “I have to tell you something, Jan.” She said it so seriously Jan could only imagine she was either pregnant or had cancer.

  “Is everything okay?”

  “Yes...and no. I have a confession to make.”

  “You don't need to confess anything to me, Regan.”

  “Yes, I do.” Jan could not imagine what she had done.

  “Tim and I were together.”

  A long pause followed as Jan absorbed the meaning of “together.”

  “Oh.”

  “It was a one night thing. You know how it can be in college. A bunch of us got drunk, and he stayed over in my room.”

  “Oh.”

  “Tim didn't want to tell you, but I told him I could not keep secrets from you.”

  “Oh.” She started to sound like a seal.

  “I don't blame you if you hate me. I hate myself for doing it. It was just that once, and it won't ever happen again, I promise.”

  “Okay.”

  Just then, Tim showed up. Regan turned to look up at him and said, “Tim, we just finished talking about you.”

  “Oh really,” he said. “I hope it was good.”

  “Well, I told Jan what happened,” Regan admitted. Silence. “I told her we didn’t mean to hurt her and that we were both drunk.” Tim wouldn't look at Jan. Jan wouldn't look at Tim. Regan just looked away.

  It occurred to Jan that she had two options. I can fly off the handle bars, hit the glass ceiling, and never speak to either of them again. Or, I can let them off the hanger and hope we can all just be friends. She only knew she didn’t want her best friend to keep apologizing while her now ex-boyfriend acted deaf.

  “Guys,” she said, “look, it's college. Things happen. I wish it hadn’t happened, but I understand. It's been a crazy semester for me as well. Things got out of control a couple of times for me, too. I get it.” Jan wasn’t lying. Everything she said was technically true. They could interpret it however they wanted.

  Tim pulled out a chair and sat down. He turned to Jan and said, “I'm sorry.”

  “No worries, Tim. Besides, I thought we had broken up when we left for college.” Okay, not exactly true, but given the situation, I can assume this should have happened.

  Tim looked like a dagger pierced his stomach. “Oh,” he said.

  It was a double betrayal. Not only because her best friend had sex with her boyfriend, but the added insult was that she hadn’t even had sex with her boyfriend. Hell, we didn’t even get to third base! As she lay in bed that night, she felt a heaviness in her chest, as if someone had dropped a large stone on her lungs.

  She thought about what Dogety would say to her. “Suck it up, Wishart! What are you whining about now? Did you think they were just going to play checkers while you were away? No one is going to wait on you. So get your head out of your ass and move on.”

  Having been under Dogety's tutelage for so long did have its advantages. Dogety, sometimes I really do like you. Jan couldn’t believe that thought just crossed her mind. When she awoke the next morning, she decided to take Dogety’s advice. It’s no big deal. No worries, move on, it's over, no problemo. And even though she didn’t feel that way, she would, by God, act that way.

  Upon her return to West Point, she swore she heard that giant sucking sound. But she could also hear the echo of sucking, and fucking, back home. It was as though she could never go back, and yet, she dreaded going forward.

  The most anticipated non-leave event, other than graduation, was the Army/Navy game. One week after returning from Thanksgiving leave the Academy bused all four thousand cadets to Veterans Memorial Stadium in Philadelphia. The cadets marched onto the field for the pre-game ceremony. All went as practiced many times before. Then it was game time. If Army beat Navy, plebes would be allowed to come off the walls upon their return to West Point. They would still be required to ping, but without squaring corners, they could literally cut their travel time across Post in half. Therefore, the Army/Navy game meant more to plebes than the Super Bowl, The World Series and the Stanley Cup Playoffs combined.

  Prior to 1981, there had been seven tied games in its almost one hundred year history, the last one in 1965. This time, the old rivals tied again, 3-3. And although it was better than losing, a tie was still not a win.

  Jan had been getting used to disappointment. Close but no cigarette. Oh well, what’s another six months of wall hugging?

  Once back at the hotel, Jan changed into her new jeans, bought at the Cadet Store just for this occasion, paired them with her favorite Jethro Tull t-shirt and her old LL Bean rubber shoes. She hoped to meet a few nice young men. Okay, even just one will do.

  Drew came to their room looking like a GQ model. Jan marveled at his attire. Most cadets wore Levi’s or Wranglers with t-shirts, cowboy boots and/or cowboy hats. But Drew wore an expensive brand of black jeans, with an untucked, button-down, white shirt, the sleeves rolled up to mid forearm. He wore dark, cordovan loafers without socks. His hair, short like all cadets, had been slightly gelled, giving him the look of a professional model. No other cadets dressed like him. His taste is impeccable, Jan thought, in clothing and friends.

  They went down to the hotel bar where many of the cadet lodgers partied. Jan saw Jackson standing next to Dogety. “
What’s he doing here?”

  “Those two do everything together,” Kristi said. “I bet they even sleep together.”

  “Let’s not go there,” Drew said.

  “Right, don’t want that picture in my head,” Jan replied. They found a small round table near the bar and ordered drinks. Jan asked for a Long Island Iced Tea, the most alcohol bang for your buck she figured. Kristi ordered a beer on tap and Drew asked for a coke.

  “Do you drink, Drew?” Kristi asked.

  “No, not really.”

  “Good God, how can you not?” Jan asked.

  “I don’t know, I just never got started. I prefer to keep my wits about me at all times,” he said.

  “Well that’s good, cuz I prefer to lose mine as often as possible,” Kristi said. And Jan agreed.

  The bar was brimming with cadets, from plebes to firsties. Their little table soon became adjoined to three more tables. Angel and Debra joined the group and even Dogety and Jackson took a spot with the enlarging group of drinking cadets. Trane and his girlfriend showed up, too. Jan and Kristi never had to buy another drink; new ones just appeared in front of them. Their chairs remained open whenever they left to go to the bathroom, but if a guy left his seat, someone else sat down in his place. Drew lost his seat when he went to order another coke.

  After about an hour, Jan noticed Bill Trane and his girlfriend facing each other and leaning against one wall. They seemed to be arguing. Cadet Williams looked like she had been crying and Trane seemed to be pleading with her. At one point, he began holding her wrists, but she shook them loose from his grip. Then she shouted something at him and stormed off. Jan watched as he rotated from a side lean to facing outward toward the table of partying cadets. Jan waited for him to look up and when he did, she nodded at him, almost to say, “If she doesn’t work out, I’m available.” But Trane just turned and walked out of the bar.

  Jan looked back down at her drink in front of her, embarrassed for nodding at Cadet Trane. What am I thinking? After reprimanding herself for letting her guard down and being an idiot, she regrouped, put on a smile and looked back up at the table of cadets.