by J.R. Bowles
* * *
As Jackie stood in line for chow, she noticed a seaman kept staring at her. Didn't he know any better? She thought.
She guessed she would have to dress him down, but good. He should know better.
She hated to be such a hard-ass, but if she didn't, it could cause a lot of trouble. It was no wonder they called her a bitch behind her back, but there could be no fraternization in the Coast Guard; if you did, you were history.
She got her chow and looked around the mess deck until she found the seaman. He had seated himself alone at a back table. There was only one other person on the mess deck at the time, because the watch-standers always ate before the rest of the crew so they could return to their watch.
“Seaman Clement,” Jackie spoke, after reading his name tag, “I need to speak with you.”
“Have a seat, if you don't mind seating with a non-rate. I didn't mean to stare at you, but you seemed familiar,” Billy said, disarming Jackie's anger. “Like I know you. I mean, I've seen you on the ship, but….”
Jackie looked at the man. Yes, he's right, he seemed familiar to her too, but why?
“I'm sorry,” Jackie was totally disarmed. “I, I, may I sit down?” She was stammering: she never stammered, and she certainly didn't apologize to nonrates, but here she was doing it anyway.
They talked about the usual things Coasties talk about when they first meet: Where they were from, how long they had been in the Guard, the usual small talk. Then they returned to their watches.
