by Ginger Booth
“My point is, your attention gets fixated on an outrage. A brutal act of violence that was done to you. That doesn’t make you gay. Unfortunately, it does open you up to perpetuating the brutality, somehow, some way.
“Now how many people in this room know someone who experienced sexual violence in the past couple years? Or sex work, prostitution.” Everyone raised a hand. “Everyone. Yes, every one of you. Oh, my sweeties, my heart goes out to you. And your friends. It really does.
“But let’s start getting past it, shall we? It won’t happen overnight. If something like this has been preying on your mind for a while, it gets to be a bad habit. Like any other habit, you’ve got to break it. But you can’t break a habit you refuse to be aware of. So let’s drag that crap out into the light of day and start dealing with it.
“Ground rules! None of us talk about ourselves. OK? Everything happened to someone we know. It’s not even a lie. You’re not that person anymore. You’re not in that place. I absolutely, positively do not want you going back there. So we’re all going to hold this stuff at arm’s length. It happened to someone else. Be kind to that person. He did the best he could at the time. Who wants to start?”
Ava wasn’t especially surprised that the leader of the resource aides went first, Lieutenant Twyla Harper. Certainly none of the recruits would go first. But she modeled talking about the brutal rape and the feelings afterward, of some Yazidi women she worked with in Iraq. This prompted one of the drill sergeants to share a story of a kid he trained, who ended up committing suicide over something that was done to him, and how that affected the rest of his squad.
After that the floodgates opened, and a lot of recruits had the courage to talk. Dwayne waded through the seated kids with a microphone to talk one-on-one with them.
Yoda never spoke. But Ava got up and told about a couple she knew, where a dozen blacks gang-raped the guy and girl in front of each other. They were hurt really bad, and scared for each other. The two went on to kill a lot of blacks during the Starve, and still didn’t feel OK with them. It was like their racism froze that rape in time and they couldn’t get past it. Eventually they even broke up over the racism. Dwayne gave her a big hug, and Awalo did, too.
“Yeah, you don’t have to do anything about it,” Dwayne reminded her. “That’s what gets it stuck, thinking you can solve it, fix it. Turns into a tar baby. The more you fight it, the more stuck you get. Hold it at arm’s length. Take a good look at it so you know what you’re dealing with. Then say good-bye. Surrender. Quit trying to win. I lost, and it’s over. I don’t want to be stuck in that tar anymore. Good luck to your friends, Panic. That crap is well worth chucking.”
After an hour and a half, Dwayne returned to the stage. “We’re going to stop here. It’s OK if you didn’t get to talk. Everybody here dealt with some baggage, just by listening.” A sigh went through the gym, some of agreement, some of relief, that their turn to talk had safely passed.
“This probably dredged up some ugly crap. It might bother you in the next few days. Remember, you are not alone. Look around you. You’re surrounded by people in the same boat. You don’t have to talk to them about it. Just know that they know. You’re in this together. And if you need to talk, the resource aides have heard it all before. No one’s going to judge you.
“But most of all, your beautiful precious blameless bodies, they’re with you every step of the way. Enjoy them. Now I don’t mean to go have sex right now. That’s against the rules.” They laughed. “But get yourselves all tired out playing. Keep those endorphins sky high. And know that whatever you are sexually, you’re OK. God made you this way. Who are we to argue with the Big Guy? Just surrender to it. Whatever is worrying you about sex, let it go.
“I love you very much. You were so precious and brave today! Know that back in the Apple Zone, we’re thinking of you, and cheering you all the way! Good-bye, and God bless!”
They gave Dwayne a standing ovation while he did a victory lap around the gym, trading high-fives, then waved good-bye at the door. Sergeant Zapple took the stage. Ava groaned with the rest when she told them they’d stay in here and do running circuits til supper.
While his husband was busy entertaining the troops, Lt. Colonel Cam Cameron fired the camp’s lead Master Fitness Trainer, Captain Stevens.
Afterward, during a brief and ugly interview with the brigade commander, Lt. Colonel Carter Newsome, Cameron let it be known that there would be no replacement for ‘the’ MFT. Major Thurston would supervise the drill instructors to set physical training guidelines from now on. All the sergeants held the same MFT credentials as Captain Stevens, just not the officer’s rank.
Colonel Newsome was welcome to stay and command the brigade, since Cam didn’t have the higher rank to sack him. But three lead Rescos were watching his every move. Newsome was most cordially welcome to make their day by trying to sabotage this program one more time. And see what happened. Because, as Cam pointed out, Newsome represented his own pointy head. While the Resco Raj spoke for the people of Hudson.
Ava was wakened by a gentle hand grip for her midnight watch.
“It’s me, Doc.” He was careful to whisper before Ava could open her eyes on his black face inches from hers. “Your watch.”
Ava pulled dorm pants, heavy wool sweater, and sneakers on over her sleep T and workout shorts. Doc was still there in the hall as she emerged yawning.
“You’re not Fakhir,” she said. That’s good, she thought muzzily. Fakhir didn’t go to the meeting.
“I demanded we switch,” Doc confirmed. “Lot of people still awake. I offer a silent handshake. No talk. Seems to help.”
She nodded and smiled. “Good job, Doc. We named you well.” For the first time, they traded a hug. Apples didn’t often touch each other. “What did they call you before muster, anyway?” They dubbed him Doc for wrapping up Sauce’s wound on the bus ride here. That amused him, and he’d written it on his uniform.
He almost told her, but thought better of it. “Don’t matter. Good night, Panic.”
Ava made her rounds, and peeked into every bed. As advertised, there were hands to press in solidarity. With a start, she realized she hadn’t touched so many non-whites in a single day since that awful night, two bitter Januaries ago. Good.
When her watch was over and she woke Puño, he seized her hand in a death grip and sat bolt upright. She just added another hand to pat his and whispered that she’d wait in the hall. She passed on the same briefing Doc gave her, adding that their new company aide, Gever, was chatting with insomniacs on the 6th floor.
Ava liked Gever, a Kurd fighter who’d married an American GI. The husband lost a leg in the wars, and was home raising their toddlers on Long Island. Gever’s build wasn’t much bigger than Ava’s. She was direct, confident, and tough as nails.
“Hey, Puño?” she asked, after they repeated the unusual hug. “What was Doc called before?”
He was clearly reluctant to say. “Think he let it go. Maybe I should too. Puño means fist, in Spanish.”
None of them said a word about sex or rape. Like Dwayne promised, they didn’t need to. It was enough to be there for each other.
24
Interesting fact: Freedom of speech and the press was still severely curtailed. News outlets had military censors. Online public forums relied on an automated censor plug-in.
“Hyper-alert,” the doctor muttered, after checking Ava’s knee reflexes. He made a note of it. He was old, maybe 50, with grey hair, and thick in the middle. Ava was coming to see that as ‘old,’ rather than ‘fat.’ Young people like her were lean around the navel, even as they gained weight.
Shivering in her ‘exercise uniform,’ a sports bra and snug shorts, Ava watched him make notes. She read the upside-down fitness form. She frowned at his medical tools, and scoped out the room again.
“And hyper-vigilant,” he added dryly.
“You think maybe post traumatic stress, doctor?” Ava asked with matching dryn
ess.
His eyes flashed up to meet hers briefly, as though surprised that a brain was attached to the young body. “No maybe.” He waved a hand. “Describes most of you. But you’re twitchier than average. Says here you suffer irritable stomach, irritability, insomnia and night terrors, panic attacks.”
“My stomach’s getting better,” Ava offered. “When the LI aides came, they fixed the menu. I couldn’t handle all that meat, and the spices. Too much fat. Getting rid of the worms helped, too. I’m gaining weight faster.”
The cooks had lagged behind the times. The old U.S. Army was chock full of southerners, who appreciated a heavy hand with the jalapeños and hot sauce, to help them sweat off the heat. Northerners preferred the spicy stuff served on the side, to add or skip to their taste. The new menus were rich in northern winter comfort food, like cheesy potatoes and meatloaf and jalapeño-free cornbread.
“Hm.” The doctor’s eyes flicked up to the ceiling. He seemed unconvinced. “When you eat one of those meals – too much red meat and hot peppers – how does it bother you? Sharp pains, loose bowels, constipation, bloating?”
Ava shrugged. “All of those, sometimes. But not since we got the new menus. Stomach didn’t bother me back home on furlough, either.”
He made a note. “Describe your panic attacks for me.”
“Breathe out. Your body breathes in automatically.”
“Excuse me?”
“The panic attack strikes, and that’s what I do. Just breathe out. In a few seconds it passes.”
“OK. What does the panic attack feel like? Sweaty palms, heart pounding, trouble breathing?”
“Exactly. And I want to get out of here, escape right now, kinda thing. It’s not a big deal. I’m used to it.” Ava pursed her lips up to one side and tapped the examining table rhythmically with her fingers.
The doctor gazed at her fingers.
She stopped the movement, and deepened the scowl.
“Are you anxious now, Ava?”
“It’s fine.” She swallowed.
The doctor sat back in his seat and put his tablet aside for the moment. “Ava, work with me here. I am not going to kick you out of the Army. There are standards you need to meet, and you’ll stay or go based on those criteria. I’m here to gauge your health, and help you meet those standards. Do you want to stay in the Army?”
“Yes. More than anything.” When did that happen? But it was true. She liked it here at Hogwarts-on-Hudson. She had a gang and real friends again. The idea of being sent back to Soho Ville, not advancing to Basic, nearly gave her a panic attack on the spot. Her head said coolly that the Army was power, and wielding power beat the alternatives hands-down. Her heart said she belonged. “I’d do anything.”
The doctor reached over to check her pulse. When he released her hand, Ava wiped sweaty palms on her thighs. He made a note. “What else triggers these panic attacks? Danger?”
“No! No, I love danger. Cool and collected then. Usually it’s just a memory that pops up. When I’m perfectly safe. Really. It’s no big deal. I never get a panic attack during a fight.”
“Interesting. Bad memories, I assume.”
“Yes.”
“What do you do to let off steam, Ava? Relax? Your sergeant noted you were resistant to meditation and sleeping pills.”
“Karate, black belt two dan. Sarge called me a control freak. Probably true.”
“Wasn’t that difficult in your gang? And your squad. I mean, you’re not in control there.”
“I was queen bee of my gang. I’m co-leader of the DTM for my squad.” I’m still a control freak.
“Queen bee?” The doctor smiled. “What does that mean, you were top girl in a little band of girls?”
“My gang had over two thousand at its peak. Yes, I ran the girls.” Ava’s annoyed defense died back, demonstrating her irritability, no doubt. “Maybe only eight hundred left. People died, or left, and the little kids went to quarantine. I left months ago.”
“I had no idea the city gangs were that large.”
“Yeah, around Midtown. There was this nut-job, Chet, who ran raids into New Jersey. Your gang needed to field at least five hundred fighters to get in on the spoils. Plus the little kids, security left behind, non-fighters. You needed a big gang just to keep up with the Joneses. The adult gangs were vicious.”
He stared at her, mouth slightly open, frozen.
“Problem, doctor?”
“Ah, no,” he said unconvincingly. “I was just, um, trying to determine whether you would benefit from a psychiatrist.”
“What for?” she said.
“To help you calm down.”
“I am calming down,” Ava said. “Over furlough, people remarked on it. How I’d mellowed. The Army is good for me.”
At her use of the word ‘remarked,’ the doctor flipped pages on his tablet.
“What?” Ava demanded. This whole doctor visit thing was making her anxious. And making her want to appear non-anxious. Which was about to drive her up a wall if she didn’t get this conversation turned around soon.
“I just checked your IQ. You’re very bright.”
Ava scowled. “How do you know my IQ?”
“We retrieved your school records. You took a Specialized High School Admissions Test, and the college SATs. At age fourteen and fifteen. That’s early.” He met her eye. “Most recruits used fake names. Well, you did, too. Pawic. But Ava Panic is your real name.”
“Oh. I don’t want to take drugs to calm down.”
“No. Because you’re a control freak.” The doctor sighed. “Alright, Dr. Begley gave us guidelines. I believe you fall into his category ‘stress-adapted.’ Meaning that you’re hyper-alert and hyper-vigilant, because it’s a correct response to your environment.”
“Sounds fair.”
“Glad you approve. Well. You seem on the mend. Oh, do your teeth hurt?”
“Nope. I brush and floss and avoid sweets.” She shot him a model-quality smile. Her wide, thin-lipped Serbian mouth was at its best showcasing her perfect teeth.
He frowned quellingly. “Are you sexually active at present? Any reproductive system complaints?”
“No.” She didn’t have periods, and she wasn’t complaining. If she regretted her chastity, she wasn’t complaining to him.
“We’ll put you at the end of the line for GYN, then. Remember to use condoms. Without fail. The nurse can inject you with long-acting contraception, along with your immunization boosters. Good for three years if you want it.”
“Cool!”
“You can go.”
He didn’t bother to ask about sexually transmitted diseases. Like the de-worming meds, Dr. Begley dosed the whole camp with antibiotics. He also ordered everyone screened for HIV. Another seventy recruits were dropped after the results for that came back. The Army wasn’t accepting the HIV-positive. Another seventy prospects from waiting lists outside the Apple Zone received their good news.
At first frustrating, Ava came to enjoy her afternoons with Sergeant Zapple perhaps best of the West Point day. After a large lunch rich in political intrigue with the young and brainy club, she could relax back and digest, while trying yet again to express her thoughts in well-formed English.
Actually, the English was getting easier. Zapple was a major fan of precision lesson plans and drill, baby, drill. Ava’s previous artsy, latest-fad, express-yourself English teachers often left Ava scratching her head. She didn’t have the sort of self that yearned to be expressed, except physically. And English grammar and punctuation didn’t exactly leap from the page to teach themselves while she free-associated bad poetry. Ava adored concrete do-this instruction and practice. That was more like math and science.
The hard part was that her thoughts were probably unacceptable to express on just about any subject assigned. Her essay on herself as a leader wasn’t much better received than the one explaining her racism. So step one was to invent something the graders might approve of. Or, accept her papers w
ould come back riddled with red measles and graded with extreme prejudice.
Ava alternated days. The lies got better marks, but it was easier to write something authentic, and take the C’s and D’s.
The day after New Year’s, having enjoyed a fun holiday of mass broom-ball on the West Point reservoir, the recruits were in rare form over lunch. A guy from Hauppauge held forth on killing off the elders. They knew what they were doing to the planet and destroyed everything anyway. Debate grew lively over whether it was best to actively murder people over 60, feed them maximum half rations, or force them once a year to justify their continued existence, including what they’d done to make amends for spewing carbon into the atmosphere with reckless abandon. It was all in good fun, of course. Not everyone was serious.
Ava hoped today’s assigned essay was nowhere near that topic. Though she supposed she could point out that Deda didn’t deserve to die. He knew the truth about carbon dioxide and lived his life accordingly.
Sergeant Zapple rapped the lectern to bring her students out of their digestive doze, and cleared her throat. “We’re going to do something a little different today. I’ve been given a…questionnaire. Apparently this is from one of the, er, different branches of the Army. Intelligence or something.”
