Sorry, still having trouble with all that fun stuff. Maybe you can clue me in as to how I might see the humor in all of this? Seriously, I know you mean well, but I am so sick of it all. I just don't think I can stand to come back and face all these gray walls for another semester.
So, maybe I will see you in January, maybe not. I guess it will be a surprise for both of us.
Good luck and thanks for trying to cheer me up. You really did try.
Jan
She packed her things, which fit nicely into a small bag, and waited for her parents. They were meeting at General Patton, the statue facing the library. Supposedly, he faced the library because he never went there as a cadet. While Jan waited under his watchful eye, she realized that she also had rarely visited the library that whole semester. In fact, she never went to “Boodlers” (the cadet junk food mart) either. She never snuck out to Flirtation Walk. She never spun the “lucky spurs” on the Sedgwick Monument. She never counted the lights in Cullum Hall. She never saw the inside of the Old Cadet Chapel where Benedict Arnold's name is gouged from a plaque. She never looked at the “Foundation Eagle” or noticed the evolution of the full dress hat in the stone carvings above Grant Hall. She never looked for the mistakes on the French Monument and she never really appreciated the huge mural in Washington Hall. There were so many things Jan didn't see, didn't do and didn't know. Would she want to live her whole life thinking, “I never even finished plebe year?”
Before her parents pulled up to the curb, she knew she would come back after Christmas. Despite what she wrote to SKIP, she was not going to leave West Point without finishing plebe year.
Besides, after six months in a sea of men, I’ve only made two male friends. And one of them is anonymous. I have to come back, if only to find out who the hell he is.
Jan’s period showed up the day after she arrived home. Maybe it was “perfectly normal” to stop menstruating at West Point, but it only fueled her fear that she might be turning into a man. So, when it returned after six months, it felt like an early Christmas gift. Okay, I haven’t grown a Y chromosome yet.
She spent several days hanging out with Regan and some of those times included Tim. He had a new girlfriend at college; Jan pretended to be happy for him. While she wore a “leave me alone” face at West Point, she wore a “hey, it's all good” face at home. When her parents and siblings asked how things were going at Woo Poo U, she shrugged and said something like “Oh, it’s going” or “fine.” She wanted to say, “It sucks, I hate it and I wish I never applied.” But no one really understood, and they couldn’t help even if they did. So when Kristi’s letter arrived two days before Christmas, Jan felt elated.
Jan,
I’m going out of my mind. My mother and stepfather want me to wear my uniform every time we step out the door. My older brother sleeps all day, my younger brother watches TV all day, and my sister whines all day. Because I graduated high school in the states, I don’t even have any friends here in Bonn. I AM GOING CRAZY!
Then I remembered that you have the all American, white, suburban family life that I desperately need. So, can I come stay with you? I will call soon and make sure it’s okay. We can go back to Woo Poo U together. I hope you don’t mind because I HAVE to get out of here!!!
I promise I won’t eat much, and I can sleep on the floor.
YOUR BEST FRIEND,
Kissy
Jan’s family never had a problem with friends coming over or staying for extended periods of time. It was one of the great things about a big family. No one noticed a few extra bodies hanging around.
Kristi called on Christmas day and asked if she could arrive in three days. She planned to spend two thirds of Christmas leave at Jan's house. “Kissy, do you really want to spend the last two weeks of leave away from home?” Jan asked.
“Absolutely,” Kristi said emphatically. “If I have to go to one more function in my uniform, I am going to kill someone.”
Jan met Kristi at Logan Airport three days after Christmas. Snow started falling as they loaded her bags into the car. It continued to come down, heavier and heavier, as Jan drove the car back to New Hampshire with Kristi. What should have been a one hour drive turned into two and a half, allowing them plenty of time to catch up. After the usual banter about their families and what they got for Christmas, Jan asked, “Kissy, do you think you will stay at West Point?”
“Unless I fail out, yes. Why?”
“Don't you ever want to quit, go to college somewhere else and live a normal life?”
Kristi said, “Sometimes, but I have always wanted to go to West Point. Even as a little girl, I dreamed of going.”
“You're kidding, right?”
“Seriously. When my dad died, I vowed that I would go to West Point, as he did. I just always knew it was my destiny to go to the military academy.”
Jan looked at Kristi. “How did you figure that when West Point didn’t allow women until five years ago?”
“Oh, I just knew. I knew my dad would help make it happen,” Kristi said.
“Okay, wait. Did you just say that you believe that your dead dad helped make sure West Point opened it's doors to women and to you in particular?”
“Yes, something like that,” Kristi replied.
“Well, that's certainly…a…leap of faith.”
“I guess I never worried about it. I always knew he was watching out for me and that I would go to West Point.” They rode in silence for a few moments as Jan tried to process what it meant to know, to really know something. Without proof, without facts, without prior knowledge nor without inside information, how could anyone possibly be sure of anything? Kristi seemed to believe, with full confidence, in something that could not have been foreseen at the time. She had a dream, a vision for her life, and somehow, the death of her father gave birth to it.
Jan wondered what she would be like if her own father had died. She couldn’t imagine that event inspiring her outlook or destiny. The last thing she could imagine coming from it was a vision, a plan, or a dream for anything. Her father's death, any death in the family, could only be a bad, bad thing. Something so awful could not possibly produce an assurance, a confidence in something else. It just made zero sense. And honestly, if finding answers comes only after a death, then I prefer to just stay in the dark, thank you very much.
“What about you, Jan?” Kristi asked. “Will you stay at West Point?”
“Probably not.”
“Why? You seem to be doing really well.”
“Well, for one, I hate it. I hate the way we're treated, yelled at and made fun of all the time. Two, I hate math, science and history. I practically failed history. The only course I like is English which everyone else seems to hate—so that tells me there's a disconnect somewhere.”
“And three,” Jan said, as she hunched over the steering wheel, “I hate the outfits. They don't do anything for my figure.”
Kristi looked at her friend negotiating the car through the snowfall and started laughing.
“What’s so funny?” Then Jan began giggling, too, which slowly grew into one of those rare, gut busting, tear producing, uncontrollable laughing fits. She pulled the car onto the shoulder of the road with squinting eyes full of laughing tears.
The roadside ruckus finally subsided, and for the rest of the snowy drive, they talked about SKIP’s possible identity, Drew’s virtues, Dogety’s vices and Jan’s boyfriend/best friend event.
When Jan explained the Tim and Regan “incident,” Kristi’s reaction was nothing less than visceral. “How could they do that to you? And why would Regan even tell you? WHAT did that bitch hope to gain by telling you, JAN? Think about it! What was the point in telling you?” Jan hadn't thought about that. “If I did something like that, and I really cared about you, I would never tell you. I mean, what good would it do? The deed was done, it couldn't be undone. But it could have been left in the closet where it belongs!”
They decided to go to the biggest
New Year’s Eve party in town. Tim’s parents, with four notorious, party-animal sons, allowed alcohol and loud music every year at their home. The local teen band played from the large back porch overlooking a field. A huge bonfire had been lit in the center of the field. Smaller fires in fifty-five gallon drums stood at various intervals between the house and the bonfire along with a couple fire pits on the porch. It was party heaven—New Hampshire style. An unwritten rule of small towns applied: as long as nothing got out of hand, the police and fire department would keep a professional distance.
Maybe Kissy’s right about Regan. Jan stood next to Kristi by the bonfire drinking beer wondering if she would ever know anything for certain. But this was not a night for contemplation, she decided. You shouldn’t think too much on New Year's Eve. In that effort, she mindlessly chatted with a few high school acquaintances before Regan arrived at the bonfire, standing beside Jan. The old best friends hugged. “Regan, this is Kristi, my friend from West Point.”
“Oh, hey, nice to meet you!” Regan turned to Kristi.
“What's your name again?” Kristi asked.
“Regan. I'm Jan's best friend.”
“Not anymore,” Kristi said with a chuckle. Jan elbowed her.
“Actually, Jan and I go back a long way, don't we Jan?” Regan looked at Jan, seemingly for reassurance.
“Yes, we do. We’ve had a lot of fun over the years!” Jan admitted.
“Until recently,” Kristi said under her breath.
Jan changed the subject and hoped Kristi would not make any more cutting comments. Tonight was not the time to bring it all back up. Better let those sleeping dogs lie under the porch or however the saying goes.
Three port-a-potties lined the perimeter of the field, seeming to hold the line of woods from advancing. At least four people waited to use each one.
“Dang, I can't hold it much longer,” Kristi announced loudly.
“Well, get in line like the rest of us,” a waiting woman said.
“Kissy,” whispered Jan, “We don't need pot-a parties.”
“Oh, right,” said Kristi, “We have quads of iron!”
“Ab-so-shits-a-lutely.” Drinking brought out more swearing than normal. They walked past the port-a-potties and into the woods until they couldn’t see the line of people. They unbuckled, unzipped and pulled down their pants. Only when their asses were hanging out in sub-freezing temperatures did they discover the flaw in their plan.
“Shit! It's cold!” Kristi exclaimed.
“And we don't have any TP!” This realization set off another round of laughter. They finished peeing but couldn’t stand up. From a squat, with their asses in the wind, they continued to howl. Jan fell over sideways. Then Kristi followed. Both in fetal positions, laughing so hard they could barely breathe.
They should have stayed at Tim’s house all night, but they were young and stupid, so Jan drove home. Fortunately, they made it back without incident and went to bed sometime after three in the morning.
Jan heard the ringing Cadet Chapel bells. Damn bells. Somewhere in the transition from asleep to awake, she realized the West Point bells, though loud, could not possibly be heard in New Hampshire. But something kept ringing.
Her clock said it was two-thirty in the afternoon. Jan rolled over, hoping to go back to sleep, when her mother softly knocked on the bedroom door.
“Jan, it's for you,” she whispered.
“Who is it?” asked Jan.
“I don't know. Do you want me to ask them to call back?”
“No, it’s fine; I’ll take it.” Jan mumbled as she dragged herself to the receiver. The only phone in the house was mounted on the wall separating her bedroom from the kitchen, its long cord stretching into Jan’s room. While Kristi kept sleeping, Jan took the phone from her mom, closed the door and slid down to the floor. She took a deep breath, trying to stop the spinning in her head.
“Hello,” she said groggily.
“Jan?”
“Yeah.”
“Jan, it's Debra Plowden.”
“Oh...oh, hey, Debra.” She tried to sound awake, alert, alive.
“Are you okay? You sound a little sick.”
Jan cleared her throat, “No, no, I just...” THINK! “I just had a big New Year's Eve.”
“Oh, you're hung over then.”
Well, yes actually…. “Um, I probably had a little too much,” Jan admitted.
“Okay, well, I can call back later...” Debra offered.
“No, it’s fine, Debra, really. Why are you calling? Everything okay?” Jan and Debra were not exactly close.
“Well, I wanted to tell you personally that I am not returning to West Point.”
That woke Jan up. “What? Why not?”
“I think you know why, Jan.” Debra paused. “I haven’t been the same since Army/Navy. You’ve probably noticed.”
Jan felt a little guilty for not noticing. “I thought you were doing well.”
“Well, I’m not. And I can’t go back there and live in fear anymore.”
It occurred to Jan that while they all lived in some fear of getting in trouble or failing a course, Debra had been dealing with a much deeper level of fear. “Oh Debra, I’m so sorry this happened. But I still think if we talked to Captain Spanner…” Captain Spanner was H-3’s Tactical Officer (TAC). TACs were assigned to each company for supervising, disciplining and mentoring the cadets.
“No, Jan, I don’t want to involve the TAC or anyone else.”
What else can we do, then? Jan paused before speaking again. “Debra, do you remember anything else about that night? Anything that might help us know who did this?”
“I’ve tried to,” Debra sighed. “It was such a…a…I don’t know. I didn’t see his face, I didn’t hear him speak. I really couldn’t tell you anything about him.”
They both fell silent for a moment. Then Debra spoke again, softly, “You might think this is really weird but the only thing I remember is a giant bird. A huge condor or something, with its wings spread out, as if it was going to devour me. I’ve even had a couple of nightmares about Pterodactyls.”
Jan couldn’t think of anything to say to that. The thing that popped into her mind would not have been appropriate. You were raped by Big Bird?
Debra went on, “I know you must think I’m crazy. Maybe I am. But that’s all I remember. A giant bird with its wings spread as if it was in flight.”
Jan didn’t know anything about trauma but she thought the bird image might be less scary than the real thing. Maybe the brain makes up something to protect itself if the actual thing is worse. “You’re not crazy, Debra. Who knows how your mind processes something like that? And you were drugged or drunk or something. I guess we’ll never really know.”
“Yeah,” Debra said, “it could just be my way of coping with something I couldn’t control. I guess I’ll be wondering what really happened for the rest of my life.”
Jan hoped she might remember something before then. “Debra, if you do remember anything, I hope you’ll let us know. We need to get this guy before he strikes again.”
“If I remember something, I will tell you. But I’m done with everything and anything to do with West Point.”
Jan fell silent again. She had moments when she hated the place, too, but probably nothing like the way Debra did.
“Jan, I just wanted you to know that I won’t be coming back. Not ever.”
Jan wished Debra would be more willing to find out who did this to her. But there was no way she could or would drag her into something she clearly opposed. “Okay, Debra, I understand. I can’t blame you for wanting to leave. Hell, I want to leave most times and I didn’t…” Jan realized she was about to step in it.
“Exactly,” Debra let her off the hook.
“Well, is there anything I can do to help you? Is there anything you need me to do when I get back?”
“No, thanks. I’ve already notified the official channels of my decision. They will send my
personal stuff which isn’t much. I’m applying to our local college. I hope to move on to a normal, happy life.”
Jan suddenly felt very sad for Debra. “I know you will.”
“Thanks, Jan. Say hello to Kristi and Angel. I really hope you guys make it.”
“Thanks, Debra. We hope we can also, but it’s still a long road ahead. Send us your address so we can keep you posted.”
“I might do that in a few months. First I just need time to be away from all the reminders.”
“Okay. Well,” Jan wasn’t sure what else to say, “we’ll miss you.”
“Thanks. Good luck, Jan.”
“Good luck to you, too, Debra.”
23
Friday, May 7, 1982
1915 Hours
Dear SKIP,
I hear you might be able to testify on my behalf. Is this true? If so, I need to know ASAP, so I can request you as a witness. I HAVE to know your name, however. I don’t think they will just allow me to call “my anonymous pen pal, SKIP” to the witness chair. I don’t know how you might be able to help, but I’m hoping it’s true. Please respond tonight!!
Jan
She wrote SKIP in large letters on the note and taped it to her door before walking to the windowless room in Mahan Hall. At exactly 1930 hours, Conrad called the Honor Board to order again.
“Let’s get right back to business,” he said. “Does anyone have any more questions for Cadet Dogety?”
“Yes, I do,” Tourney said. “Sam, what happened after you tried to calm Markus down?”
“We yelled at each other for a bit, then Markus demanded that Miss Wishart report to his room at 0500 the next morning. When he left, I told her NOT to obey his order. But obviously, she did anyway,” Dogety said while looking at Jan.
“Did you think Miss Wishart had written the note in the routing envelope?”
“No, I have seen her handwriting and it didn’t look anything like hers. Also, I don’t believe Miss Wishart would lie to us. If she had done it, she would have admitted it.”
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