by Mendy Sobol
Me and Coop went back to the beach just once. It was the night before the start of graduation weekend, and I wanted to spend a few more hours working on the 700. But earlier that day, at his last academy mail call, Coop had gotten graduation cards from his parents. Sliding a check neatly from each envelope, he dropped the cards unread into a dumpster.
“C’mon, Melora,” he said waving the checks, “let’s have one more dinner at the Bonair. My treat!”
Instead of taking the bus, we walked the whole way, arriving after dark. By the time we finished dinner—a surf-and-turf feast of Gulf prawns and steak—it was after 10:00. For graduation week, liberty was extended until midnight, so we took off our shoes, walking the beach one last time.
The sky, clear and cloudless, filled with stars, looked infinite. The air was warm and still. Shoulders touching, we stood together at the edge of the breakers looking out at the Gulf.
“Coop,” I said, “I’m going in.”
“What?”
“In the ocean. I’m going swimming.”
“But you don’t have a suit.”
“I don’t care. I’m skinny dipping.”
“Okay.”
“And don’t look!”
“Like I’d want to!”
A week ago some surgeon had reset the bone in Coop’s finger. I knew he couldn’t go in with his hand all bandaged, knew he wouldn’t anyway. So pulling out my hearing aid, I handed it to him, stripped off my tee shirt, and stepped out of my cutoffs. I didn’t stop to see if he was looking as I ran into the suddenly muffled surf and dove head-first into a breaker, swimming and swimming straight out from shore until I couldn’t see Coop or the breakers or the beach, only the faintly shimmering lights of St. Francis Key’s hotels. I kicked over onto my back, closing my eyes, floating in the vastness of cool, dark, salt water. After a time, I opened my eyes and looked up at the billion billion stars shining down on me, looked east as the full yellow moon rose over the Gulf lighting my way to shore. Closing my eyes again, I whispered two words—“Thank you.”
Then, I sensed… something. A shift, a disturbance in the ocean’s swells. I flipped upright, treading water, turning a tight circle, scanning the Gulf like a periscope operator in one of those old war movies. I’d come up facing west with the thing I’d felt somewhere behind me, so I swirled in a half-circle to my left until I was facing the rising moon. Its light made a path through the water above and below the surface, like a lighthouse beacon, its searchlight focused on me. Yeah, it was moonlight, and I know this sounds like bullshit, but I swear I could feel heat on my face. I could see something too, once my eyes adjusted, something big, its smooth gray form slicing through the moonlit water, coming fast.
I dove.
It dove with me.
I don’t know why I dove, or what I was thinking, but I wasn’t scared. I’ve thought about it a lot, and wondered whether I didn’t have time for fear, or if some part of my brain knew my eyes hadn’t spotted a dorsal fin. Mostly, I think I was in denial because this was my ocean, the one place where I felt safe. But as I swam for the bottom the fish reached me, first swimming parallel, then swirling around me like a giant cape. That’s when I saw its underside, which wasn’t gray, but white, white and textured like the slick fur on one of my mother’s fake fox stoles. Instead of fins, it had gracefully flapping wings. Instead of dead eyes and gaping jaws filled with pointy teeth, it had a smiling half-moon mouth, surprised little eyes, a pair of inward curving horns. And at its other end, a slender, slinky tail.
It was a devil ray. A beautiful, harmless devil ray.
My hand touched sand. I turned, kicking off the bottom with my feet. The ray turned with me, effortlessly reversing direction. Together we swam upward, like dancers, the ray’s wings curling and uncurling around me. I lead, swimming up, down, sideways. It followed. I touched its side with a hand. It touched my hip with its tail.
We danced until I couldn’t dance any more, until my lungs were burning, until my head broke the surface. I opened my mouth, sucking in air and coughing up seawater. I guess that’s when the ray figured out I was an alien, a tourist, a visitor from another world, because it broke off the dance and headed out the moonlit trail, its tail waving behind.
I stared after it, treading water until it disappeared.
“That was fucking incredible!” I said. And for the second time that night I looked up and whispered, “Thank you.”
I took as long as I could swimming to shore, though I knew Coop would worry. Riding one last wave, feeling sand boiling up in the surf around me, I regained my feet, running the final yards to my waiting friend. He’d talked some beachcombing tourist out of his hotel towel without letting him know it was for a naked swimmer, and held it out for me when I got close.
“Thanks, Coop,” I said.
I didn’t tell him about the devil ray.
Chapter Seventeen: Melora
John Paul Jones Academy was a really shitty school. But it knew how to do one thing really well—put on a show for tuition-paying parents. Graduation weekend was the biggest show of all, and the Final Parade was the biggest show of graduation weekend.
Picture five companies of cadets in black-brimmed white caps with shiny gold anchors, dress blue coats and starched white pants, Springfield rifles at shoulder arms, officers’ silver sabers gleaming. After nine months of daily close-order drill, even the middle-school ranks were straight, two platoons to a company, three squads to a platoon. And other than a handful of kids passing out in the Florida sun, the whole thing was fucking awesome.
The parade ended with the battalion passing in review, platoon leaders commanding “Eyes right!” In the ranks, cadets snapped their heads right, looking over their rifle barrels at parents snapping pictures from the bleachers. Officers’ chins turned right too, curved saber blades rising and falling with every stride, eyes hidden beneath shiny cap bills worn low. And as he marched by, Coop lifted his chin, so slightly, and winked at me over the tip of his saber.
Everything was spit-and-polish perfection as the cadets marched back to quarters and parents mingled with academy officials. Coop had told me to leave the bleachers, keep my ears open, and follow the corps, even if it meant missing post-parade cookies and punch. I wasn’t disappointed. Rising above the dust cloud made by six hundred spit-shined cordovans marching across Bermuda grass-covered sand, Coop’s voice, loud and strong, lead the battalion—
Two more days of shining brass
Then John Paul Jones can kiss my ass!
Sound off!
One, two.
Hit it again!
Three, four.
Sound off!
One-two-three-four-one-two— THREE FOUR!
When the battalion was dismissed, I found Coop, giving him a hug.
“That was great, Coop! All of it!
“Thanks, Mel. Hey, Mel....”
“What?”
“This is kind of short notice, and we’ve always made fun of proms and stuff, but would you like to go to the graduation dance with me tonight?”
He was looking down at his shoes. Then I surprised both of us.
“Yeah. Sure. It’ll be fun.”
“Great! That’s great! Can you be here at eight?”
I nodded.
“And Mel,” Coop said, looking at my cutoffs and tee shirt, then back down to his shoes, “have you got something to wear?”
Taking the familiar walk down Cyprus, stopping at Belasso’s, I bathed, shook my savings from the rusty tomato sauce can I kept under the couch, and caught the Palm Boulevard bus downtown to the Paris Faire Department Store. Passing through Paris Faire’s automatic door, feeling disoriented by the first cold, perfumey blast of conditioned air, I looked like someone who’d wandered in off the sidewalk to cool off.
“May I help you, dear?” A silver-haired lady whose nametag read “Blanche” intercepted me as I stepped inside the store.
“Uh, I’m invited to this dance over at John Paul Jones, and I need so
me new clothes.”
Tapping an index finger thoughtfully against her lower lip, Blanche said, “What’s your budget, dear?”
“Budget?”
“How much would you like to spend?”
“I’ve got about thirty-five dollars and some change.”
Blanche’s eyes flickered, but all she said was, “My name’s Blanche. And you are…?”
“Uh, Melora.”
“Come with me, Miss Melora. I think we can find something nice that fits you… and your budget.”
Together we picked out a simple white sundress. It was beautiful, my dark skin giving form to the dress’s whiteness. But it was also strapless and pretty low-cut.
“Uh, Blanche, I’m not real sure about going with bare shoulders and, uh, so much showing in front.”
“Trust me dear, you look lovely.”
I looked at the price tag hanging from the dress’s neckline by a pale blue thread. $160.
“Uh oh. Guess I can’t afford this one.”
“Don’t worry about it honey. Today’s your lucky day. It’s on sale!”
“How much?”
“As I recall, it’s $25. Now come with me and we’ll get you some makeup.”
Blanche took my hand and led me to the cosmetics counter, where she filled a small bag with samples. Dark, sparkly lipstick and powder, eye shadow with a hint of red.
“Let’s go to the beauty salon, dear,” she said. “I want you to meet my friend Terry.”
The parlor was filled with women sitting under dryers, reading Cosmo and Vogue. Terry wore a powder-blue smock, jet-black hair circled into a two-foot beehive, and incredible inch-long nails.
“Terry honey, this is my friend Melora. She’s going to the prom tonight, and guess what? She’s the lucky winner of our free makeover contest. Can you work on her right away?”
Terry looked at me, looked at Blanche, looked confused. Then a light went on deep inside that beehive, and lifting her chin, parting her lips with a click of her tongue, Terry said, “Why sure, honey. Let me finish this comb-out, and I’ll be right with you.”
First, Terry cut my dark hair in layers, bringing it up to my shoulders, washing and rinsing it, making it thick and silky. Then she told me to close my eyes, and after scrubbing my face and patting it dry, began applying makeup like an artist gently dabbing watercolors.
“Need something else,” she muttered, digging around in her gigantic canvas pocketbook, coming up with eyeliner and a little tube of sparkles.
“Close your eyes again and don’t open till I say. Okay, okay, that’s it. Blanche, what do you think?”
“Why, Terry, I declare. You are a regular Moe-nay!”
“Thanks, Blanche, but you brought me a masterpiece to begin with. All I did was a little touch-up work on Miss Mona Lisa here. Melora honey, open your eyes and look in the mirror.”
“Wow.”
“Is that all you can say?”
“Yes. I mean no! I mean thank you, thank you both!”
“Oh it’s nothin’, honey. Just be sure you don’t so much as sneeze before you get to that prom.” Then she looked down at my flip-flops. “Blanche, I hope you weren’t planning on sending Cinderella to the ball barefoot?”
“Of course not, Terry. Dear, what size shoes do you wear?”
“Six, I think.”
“Isn’t that a coincidence? We had a pair of six’s returned yesterday. Can’t sell them now. Why don’t you take them, Melora?”
I nodded.
Saying goodbye to Terry, we walked back to the women’s department, picking up a pair of strapped, high-heeled sandals on the way. Blanche was smiling, both hands clutched in front of her as I slipped them on.
“Melora honey, you look so beautiful you should be wearing glass slippers tonight. Now get on home and change into your dress so you won’t be late. And if you can, send us a picture of you and your handsome beau at the prom.”
“I will. I promise I will.”
I was the only girl who walked to the dance. And though I thought my dress was the most beautiful one in the world, I didn’t realize until I got there that I was the only girl not wearing a gown, the only girl with no jewelry.
Goldfarb stood in the academy’s parking lot helping his date out of her silver Camaro. When he spotted me walking up the asphalt drive, he dropped her hand, dropped his chin.
“Holy shit, Mel, it’s you!”
Feeling uncomfortable, unprepared, I thought about turning around, heading home to Belasso’s. A crowd gathered near the academy’s big iron and glass front door, mostly Coop’s friends, staring at me. Goldfarb’s date was staring too, looking unhappy.
“Wait till Coop sees you! He’s gonna freak!”
And there’s Coop, stepping out the door, deep purple orchid in one hand, slender purple ribbon in the other, looking around, spotting me, walking toward me, his friends following, forming a circle around us.
“Geez, Mel, you look amazing.”
“You don’t look too bad yourself.”
“Here... this is... I mean, I got this for you.”
Taking my right hand gently with his bandaged left, Coop slid the orchid bracelet on my wrist.
“And this, too. It’s part of the Ring Dance Ceremony.”
Coop took off his gold class ring, slipping it on the ribbon, tying the ribbon loosely around my neck.
“Ring Dance Ceremony?”
“Yeah. I’ll fill you in later. Hey, do you guys mind?”
Coop lead me inside through the circle of staring, jostling cadets, past the quarterdeck and into the academy’s candlelit lounge.
“I think we’re supposed to go through the receiving line,” Coop said. “Is that okay with you?”
“Sure, Coop.”
We went down the line, Coop introducing me as we stopped before each of the academy’s teachers and their spouses.
“Captain Brown, Mrs. Brown, may I present Miss Melora Kennedy.”
“Lieutenant Richter, Mrs. Richter, may I present Miss Melora Kennedy.”
Mrs. Oyeda, wearing a simple print dress and pearl necklace, was next.
“It’s nice to see you again, Melora, and looking so lovely.”
“Likewise, Mrs. Oyeda.”
Next to Mrs. Oyeda stood her husband, a salty retired chief petty officer with a round red face and rounder belly. Taking my hand in both of his, he showed none of his wife’s quiet classiness, but more than made up for it with the twinkling of his sky-blue eyes.
“C’mon, Cooperman, ain’t you gonna introduce me to your date?”
“Sure, Chief. Melora Kennedy, meet Chief Oyeda.”
“Nice to meet you, Chief.”
“Now, Miss Melora, you call me ‘Red’—y’know, like a little red rooster!”
“Okay... Red.”
“And you, Cooperman,” turning on Coop, still tightly grasping my hand, “you dog! Where you been hidin’ this pretty little lady?”
“Anywhere I could to keep you from stealing her away from me, Chief.”
The chief’s rumbling belly laugh made everyone in the receiving line, including Mrs. Oyeda, look away uncomfortably. I thought he was great.
“Better move along, young lady, before I get tempted to leave my happy home!” he said, letting go of my hand, shaking Coop’s with a conspiratorial wink, earning himself an elbow to the ribs from his wife.
I could feel myself blushing as Coop made the next introduction.
“Commander Rusk, Mrs. Rusk, may I present Miss Melora Kennedy. Sir, I believe you and Miss Kennedy have met.”
“Yes we have, Mr. Cooperman. Pleasure to see you again, Miss Kennedy. This is my wife Maggie. Maggie, I’d like to introduce you to Lieutenant David Cooperman and Miss Melora Kennedy.”
Rusk’s wife was short, dark like me, but Asian. She looked like the women I’d seen on travel posters of Thailand. Dipping her knees slightly, almost curtsying, she spoke in halting, accented English, the way people speak in Japanese monster movies.
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“It is a pleasure to meet with you, Miss Kennedy. My husband has told me you are a genius!”
Stunned, not knowing what to say, I mumbled, “Thank you,” attempting my own clumsy curtsy, and before I knew it, was moving on to the next couple in the receiving line.
By the time we finished the last introductions, we were both sweating. “Boy, Mel,” Coop said, “am I glad that’s over. C’mon, let’s get some punch and hit the dance floor.”
Coop didn’t seem to notice what Maggie Rusk had said, but it was all I could think about as we made our way outside to the west parade ground where a tuxedoed band was thumping out She’s a brick... house! On the plywood dance floor, Coop’s friends and a few guys I’d never seen before kept cutting in. A couple of dads even danced with me! Coop didn’t mind, and after each song we got back together, Coop bringing me cookies and punch, dancing with me again or introducing me to friends’ parents.
With the ringing of a silver ship’s bell, the Battalion Commander announced the beginning of the Ring Dance Ceremony.
“So, Coop, what’s this ring thing all about anyway?”
“C’mon, I’ll show you.”
Cadets were lining up on one side of the barracks’ outdoor atrium, their dates on the other. Magnolias bloomed in large wooden planters, their perfume almost overpowering the cheap cologne every cadet had apparently bathed in before the dance. In the center a giant papier-mâché John Paul Jones Academy ring straddled a mosaic tile pond. Gold-painted plywood made a platform through the ring’s base, bridging the pond. Giant goldfish the size of kittens swam back and forth beneath it, hiding in the shadows or darting up to the water’s surface looking to see what all the fuss was about.
The first couple stepped forward, meeting at a shiny brass binnacle bolted to the atrium’s flagstone floor. Inside the compass housing, a glass bowl half-filled with water rested on blue satin. The girl leaned over, dangling her date’s ring from the ribbon circling her neck, dipping it into the water.
“Water from the seven seas,” Coop whispered.
“Yeah, taken from the men’s room five minutes ago!” Goldfarb wisecracked behind us.
The girl stood up straight, glaring briefly in Goldfarb’s direction. Then taking her date’s arm, they walked together up the platform over the pond, stood together beneath the ring. The guy, a friend of Coop’s named Terhune, turned to her, untying the knot in the ribbon, handing her the ring so she could place it on his finger.
