by Graham, Jo
“I’m not a prep.” John wasn’t sure whether or not to be offended.
She looked him up and down, untucked button down shirt, rumpled khakis. “You’re nineteen years old and you play golf. You’re a prep.”
“Ok, maybe so. But…”
“And you’re a poli sci major. Geeks don’t major in poli sci.”
“It’s for law school,” John muttered. “It’s one of the statistically best majors for admission.”
“You want to be a lawyer?” Mel asked skeptically.
Nobody had ever asked him that before. He was surprised he knew the answer. “No.”
Mel put her hand on her hip and looked at him. “Then why are you doing it?”
John shrugged. “I guess because my dad wants me to.”
“And that matters a lot to you?”
“It kind of did.”
***
November first there was no deposit into his bank account. $350 on the first of the month. That was the deal. It had been for the last year and a bit. The first. On the dot.
John walked away from the ATM, reading the slip over and over. He still had almost $200 in the account. With no beer and pizza he could manage until the end of the semester. He still had some money on his dining card.
And then what? The registrar expected $6,526 on January 4. Books were going to run a couple of hundred at least.
“I am so screwed,” John Sheppard said to no one in particular.
***
Thanksgiving was pretty bleak. It was him and his mom and David at the Tahoe house. Dad had gone on a Panama Canal transit cruise with Linda.
“You have to talk to your father,” his mother said.
“I don’t.” John stared into the stuffing.
Her voice choked, and he looked up. “John, I don’t have the tuition. I don’t have it. Our joint accounts are frozen pending settlement. When I met with my lawyer on Monday he said your father says he’s not going to pay it. That he’s not going to pay for your school at all because of the way you’re acting. And he doesn’t have to. Don’t you understand that? You’re nineteen. He has no legal responsibility for you like he does for David.”
John looked up. “He’s treating you like crap.”
“I don’t want to hear that language at the table.” She looked more like her old self when she said it, but with dark bags under her eyes where she wasn’t bothering with the makeup.
“Mom, he’s wrecked your life!”
She had always been frivolous. He’d always been kind of bored around her, since he got too big for kids’ games. She wasn’t interested in anything he cared about, and she was scared of skiing and hated golf. She couldn’t have named two women astronauts on a bet. But there was a stark kind of dignity in her face. “That’s already done, John. But I am trying to keep him from wrecking yours too.”
He took a deep breath.
“If you have to drop out of college you won’t be able to go back. Not for years. Lots of people say they’re going part time and get a job, but it doesn’t work, John. Things happen. Things come up. And they never finish. You have too much potential to waste that way. You have too much future.”
He felt cold. “You’re saying I should suck up to that…” He substituted an acceptable word to avoid a lecture. “Girlfriend of his for money.”
His mother reached across the table and put her hand over his. “I’m saying you should do whatever you need to do to get your tuition.”
***
“Maybe you can get financial aid or something,” Mel said.
“In the next six weeks?” John looked at her across a dining hall breakfast.
“Aren’t there emergency loans?”
“Capped at $800,” John said grimly. “I already looked. That would leave me with nearly six thousand dollars still to find.”
Mel grimaced. “Out of state tuition?”
“Out of state tuition. My legal residence is in Nevada.” He toyed with his scrambled eggs. “Aren’t you paying it? I thought you were from Arizona.”
“I’m on a full ROTC scholarship,” Mel said, taking a long drink of her coffee. “My rich Uncle Sam is paying.”
Maybe they would be better with more ketchup. “It takes two years to establish residency,” John said. “So if I drop out and work, I’ll be eligible for in state tuition in spring 1990. To get federal financial aid I have to be unclaimable on my dad’s taxes for two years, so I’d be eligible in fall 1990.”
“Two years out of school at least,” Mel said. “Don’t you have any rich relatives or something?”
“Other than my dad? No.” John looked across at her jaunty little hat. “Maybe I should just drop out and enlist or something. It would answer the question of where I’m going to live in six weeks anyhow.”
Mel shrugged. “You’d be better off trying for a ROTC scholarship.”
“I thought you had to be a freshman and apply when you got into school.”
She shook her head. “You can. That’s what I did. But you can crash into the Professional Officers Course at the beginning of junior year. You have to do boot camp the summer before, but if they want you, you can get a scholarship then. Then you’ve got two years of the POC before graduation, keep your grades up and your nose clean, and you get your commission.”
“What’s the catch?”
“Four years active duty, ten years reserves. Minimum.”
“And be an astronaut?”
Mel grinned. “Not likely. That’s more of a mid-career move. With poli sci instead of a sciences degree you’d probably be a paper pusher.”
“I’d rather be a fighter pilot.” Four years of that didn’t sound too bad.
She actually laughed. “Yeah, and I’d like to flap my arms really fast and fly around in circles! You have to get top marks on the AFOQT to even get qualified for TAC. That’s tactical aircraft, the most desirable designation for a cadet. I’m TAC.”
John raised an eyebrow. He’d thought she was sharp. “I thought girls couldn’t fly fighter planes.”
“Women can’t fly them in combat situations. It’s prohibited by Congress. But how long do you think that ban will last?” Mel looked at him over her coffee cup. “I’m twenty. It’s not going to last my whole career.”
“So can I take this test…thing?”
Her face sobered. “I don’t know. They gave it in October. I’m not sure they’re giving it again this semester. And we have to have our summer camp paperwork in by the beginning of break.” She shrugged and put her cup down. “You could ask Lt. Col. Raymond. He’s the detachment commander. I’ll go with you if you want. It can’t hurt to ask, can it?”
***
He sat in an empty classroom by himself the week before exams, listening to the clock tick, answering questions. After all the talk about it, John had thought it would be hard. But he was good with standardized tests, and some of the questions were really obvious. Ok, the military protocol ones weren’t, because he hadn’t been doing two years of this stuff like Mel had, but the math and history and science were easy. And the situational questions were really totally obvious. He turned the paper in and went to catch Mel for lunch.
“Ok?” she asked.
John slouched into a chair. “Yeah. It was just a test. I went in expecting the Kobayashi Maru.”
“You are a geek,” Mel said, unpinning her sandwich from the little frilled toothpicks.
“Yeah well.”
“I mean that as a compliment,” she said. “You have an inner geek. Underneath your preppish exterior.”
“Thanks, I think.”
“And you’re brooding again.”
“Sorry.” He gave Mel a forced smile. “I was just thinking that even if this works I still have to figure something out about the spring semester. I’m betting this whole scholarship thing depends on being a full time student in good standing.”
“Unfortunately, yes.”
“So I’m still going to have to suck up.” John closed
his eyes. “Or just walk away.”
“And who does that hurt?” she asked gently.
“My mom.” He waited a second, a thought bubbling through. “Sucking up just hurts me.”
“Then I think you know what to do,” Mel said.
***
“Dad?” The phone connection sounded scratchy. No reason it should.
“John.”
He swallowed. “I wanted to tell you I’m sorry.”
There was a long pause. “That’s not good enough.”
“What?” John moistened his lips.
“I said that’s not good enough,” his dad said. “After the things you said to Linda. I’m sorry won’t hack it.”
He’d never considered this. He’d never imagined it. He was his dad’s son, a chip off the old block. His dad had been proud of his grades, proud that he was good enough to play halfback in high school. They did stuff together. They were tight.
Something constricted in his chest. “Dad?”
“You called her a bimbo and a whore. You had the whole lodge listening while you called her a slut, a home wrecker and a high class call girl. She cried for days. She said she’s never been so embarrassed and hurt in her life. I’m ashamed to call you my son.”
“What the hell did you think would happen when you brought her there?” John choked.
“I wanted you to meet her. I wanted you and David to see what a wonderful person she was. I wanted you to understand why I love her.”
“What about mom?”
There was a silence for a moment. “Your mom and I haven’t had a lot in common for years.”
“So what?” John demanded. “I mean, so she doesn’t like to ski. You had to dump her because Linda likes to ski?”
“Your mom is a nice person,” he said. “But she’s pedestrian.”
“Pedestrian?” From wherever it was he was talking from John could see his knuckles white on the receiver. “You’ve been married for twenty four years, and suddenly you decide she’s not good enough? You’ve got to trade up?”
“It wasn’t fulfilling me personally anymore, and that’s the way it is. Your mom accepts that this marriage is over. You need to, too.”
He couldn’t say anything. He couldn’t think what to say. There weren’t any words in his head.
“Someday, John, you’ll reach the point in your life where you realize that it’s time to shake things up. That you’ve taken on responsibilities that are nothing but burdens. That you’re not getting a good return on your investment.”
“We’re just bad investments to you.”
“You boys are good kids. But life’s not about having kids. It’s not that fulfilling for men. Motherhood may be some kind of biological imperative for women, but men don’t really get anything out of it. You’ll understand that someday.”
“I see.” He was surprised his voice was perfectly even.
“You will. You’ll get it when you’re forty. That’s why I’ve told you to always use a rubber. Don’t get some girl knocked up and get stuck with a burden you can’t get rid of. Lots of girls are after bright young men.”
“Yeah.”
“I expect you know that already, right, John?”
“Oh yeah.” As if. Why was it so freaking cold?
“Listen, you come apologize to Linda. I want you to tell her how sorry you are, and I want you to make it good. And then if she agrees to it, I’ll pay your spring tuition. That’s what this is about, isn’t it?”
He didn’t answer.
His dad chuckled. “Chip off the old block, John. You’ve got a hard nose, just like your old man. You’ll grovel and beg if it will get you the dime. Don’t blame you. It’s smart. It’s always smart to show your neck when you’re the beta dog.”
“When do you want me to come?”
“Day after Christmas? Think you can drive to Sundance? Linda and I are planning Christmas on the slopes.”
“Sure,” John said. The weather might be bad. But he’d have to go anyhow. It couldn’t be that bad. “I’ll see you, Dad.”
***
“Knock, knock.”
John looked up from where he sat on the floor of his room, surrounded by coursepacks.
Mel stood in the doorway wearing a little black sweater. “You busy?”
“Studying.”
“I see that.” She came in and shut the door behind her, came and sat down on the floor, moving papers around to make room. She held out a package. “I brought you a Christmas present.”
It looked pretty big, wrapped up in red paper with holly leaves on it. “Bruce Springsteen and the E Street Band Live, the complete collection? Oh man, I’ve been wanting this so much!” For a moment that was the only thing on his mind, how great the present was. And then… “I didn’t get you anything.”
Mel shrugged. “I figured. You can’t afford it right now, not knowing whether you’ll even be here next semester. Don’t worry about it. I just thought it might cheer you up.”
“It’s great, Mel. It’s just what I wanted and I didn’t think I should get it because… But it’s just what I wanted. There’s some great stuff on here. Really great.”
She smiled and leaned over, turning the LP boxed set. “I thought you’d like the live versions. I know you’ve got a bunch of albums, but this is really complete.” She was sitting right next to him, and when she leaned forward he could see the edge of her bra, the slight rounding of her breasts.
“You’re really great,” he said. John took a deep breath. “You’re kind of my best friend right now.”
She looked thoughtful. “You’re a really good friend too, John.”
“I was wondering…”
“Wondering what?”
His shoulder touched hers, and it was just a turn of the head to kiss her, to feel her all warm and soft and startled. Curious. Assessing.
And then she drew away, a sad expression on her face.
“What’s the matter?” he asked. “Did I do something wrong?”
Mel shut her eyes and when she opened them again he thought he saw tears there. “I can’t.”
“Why not?”
“I didn’t know that you… I thought we were just friends and I didn’t mean to make you think that…”
“What’s the matter? Is it somebody else?” She’d never said anything about a boyfriend. Maybe she had a boyfriend back in Arizona. Maybe she was having this long distance thing and she’d just never mentioned it and …
Mel took a deep breath. She looked like he thought he had on the phone with his father. “I don’t want you to hate me.”
“I won’t hate you,” he said. “I mean, if there’s some guy in Arizona or at another school…”
“I’m only into girls.” Her face was white.
“Oh.” He opened his mouth and shut it again. “But you don’t do lesbian things. I mean I don’t see you hanging around with the student group or taking women’s studies or…” He ran out of things that he thought lesbians might do.
“Because I’m in the Air Force!” Mel shouted at him. “John, do you have no sense? Do you have any idea what would happen if I got caught?”
“You’d lose your scholarship? A dishonorable discharge?”
Mel grabbed his hand and squeezed. “Having to repay four years out of state tuition is least of my worries. Try two years in Fort Leavenworth as a sex offender for crimes against nature. It’s a prison sentence, John. If you actually get caught after commissioning.”
“Then why the hell are you doing this? This is California…” There were a lot of lesbians in California. That kind of went without saying.
“Because I want to be an astronaut. And the way to be an astronaut is through the Air Force. I want to be an astronaut more than anything else in the world, and nothing is going to stop me from getting there.” Her voice was low and intense. “I’m TAC. I’m good. And I’m going to make it.” Mel blinked. “And now I’ve told you. I’ve put it all in your hands. I never tell anybody.”
“I’m not going to tell anybody,” John said.
She looked at him, and there was something familiar in that quirk of her mouth, an expression he’d seen in the mirror. “Good way to get back at me for turning you down.”
“I’d never do that. I’m your friend.”
“Seriously?”
“No, never.” He patted her hand awkwardly. “Never. I promise. I’ll never tell anybody. We’re friends. Friends stick together. There’s got to be something in life you can count on.”
“Yeah.”
Mel still looked like she was going to cry, and he hugged her. Not you know, boyfriend hug. Just friend hug. “You can count on me.”
“I do,” she said. She saw something in the papers around her, reached for it as he let go. “What’s that?”
“Oh. My scores.” He would have taken it, but she’d already opened the envelope.
“Jesus, John.” Mel unfolded it, skimming all of it. “You’re in the 99th percentile on the AFOQT. Do you have any idea how rare that it?”
“It means 99 guys out of a hundred do worse,” he said.
“It means you’re going to get approved for camp,” Mel said. “Lt. Col. Raymond will take you for sure. You’ll get a scholarship next fall if you want it. It means you might get rated TAC.”
“It’s kind of cool, isn’t it?”
Mel looked at him keenly. “It hasn’t sunk in, has it? With all the shit you’ve got going on?”
“I guess not.”
“This is the last time you grovel,” she said. “You go make nice this semester, and you’ll never have to grovel to your dad again. You won’t have to worry about paying for school, and you’ll have a job when you graduate. You can tell him off if you want to. Like, in May.”
“Yeah.” It ought to make him feel better, but it didn’t.
“And you’ll be twenty in May, right? It’s not like you’re a kid. He can’t do anything about it.”
“Yeah.” That would feel good in May, probably. It just seemed like a lifetime away. A lot further than the day after Christmas.
Mel put the paper in her lap, took his hands. “Look, John. We all make compromises with life. We have to. I have to suck it up and not date if I want to be an astronaut. And you have to suck it up and deal with your dad one more semester. Or we can walk away. That’s the choice. We can walk. But you and me, I think we’d rather fly.”
