The glorified barge had three levels, and Drake and I stood proudly on top, our
crisp new uniforms cutting into the crowd and accenting our distinctiveness. We
were fresh faces, ready to go, to grin as we marched to our possible doom. This is
what people my age had been raised for, what wed been prepared for since we
were children. Now, it was our time to shine, to pay service to our fathers
expectations. It was a good feeling, and I had to grin. I puffed out my chest and
surveyed the seascape as we crossed into Manhattan. The possibility had never
really occurred to me, really, that Id actually be here, that this would be happening.
Such things are foreign to high school boys, where death was an abstract thing
brought upon traitorous Indians by John Wayne and the like. We were more
worried about girls than firefights at that point.
The surreality incumbent in a major operation like World War II was
all-encompassing and total. Never was there anything like it, and never will it come
again. America isnt capable, these days, of food rations and gas conservation.
Meatless Tuesdays would be a joke. Those days, things were different.
Everything was devoted to this effort, and our world and our freedom depended
on our actions. Stacked on every shelf, plastered on every wall, spoken on every
tongue was the war, was this thing, this struggle, this burst of spirit that enraptured
the great lot of us. We all had our own role in this nations greatest defense of
freedom, and I knew mine. I volunteered for the Army. I asked for it. But,
before I left, I was to have a swan song.
The advantage of signing up for the Army over the draft: control. I was able to
choose not only when I went in, but where I went in and what Id do. The draft was
far more immediate, and sudden, and you pretty well lost control over your fate.
For me and for most young men my age who were reasonably healthy, the draft
was inevitable. So I signed up, and took the perks. What was great was, thered
be a few weeks in between registration and shipping-out for me to tie up any loose
ends, weeks that the draftees didnt have. It was in the tail end of that time Id been
allotted that I went to New York City.
If ever there was a dream city for me, it was New York. With its dark austere
look of threat, as well as a generally imposing reputation, the place was inhospitable
to my mother, yet oh so ideal for me. It was business, it was success, it was fame
and fortune, and yet it was poverty, and cold, and misery. Every state of being was
captured in cement on those worn streets. The world encapsulated onto a small
island. No matter how many reasons I can create, however many flowing
sentences I can dream up, stating precisely why New York so drew me, it will
always come down to the fact that at heart I was fascinated with the place. Taking
this soiree was going to be my chance to see it on my own, without tagging along
with the parents or walking in broad lines with school groups. This would be my
weekend where I could be a young man in a big city, and be free.
I did have company, however. There was this former Bostonite draftee named
Drake Dorniman, who Id known vaguely in high school. He was this grubby little
monster with a scalding mouth of tar, and I found myself on the way up having to
keep us from being accosted by the Jews, Italians and Indians he offended
regularly. Drake was of vapid mind, and reminded you of it with every plate of
inanity hed hurl. Needless to say, he wasnt pleasant company, to me or to anyone
else. New York was going to be a ball.
The two of us boarded the Staten Island Ferry on a Friday, and we had til Sunday,
when wed have to take a bus to Texas for training. I had two days to see the
sights, two days to pursue any last endeavors before Europe would swallow us
whole. Drake was jumpy, nervous as his fate loomed. He was far more eccentric
than I could ever have been, a winding ball of neuroses and libido revolving on an
axis of inadequacy. Inadequate he certainly was, as he was constantly bemoaning
women and his stunted sex life, pressing forth to harass as many as possible. Most
of our discussions that day tended to revolve around his plans to hire a prostitute
for entertainment that night. That bowled me over enough, even more the audacity
of the suggestion. At this point in life, I was a bit of an innocent. My early social
pains had left me extremely inexperienced with girls, and talks of a hooker were
alien. Nonetheless, I was against it- morally and otherwise. He wanted me in on it,
which was the last thing I wanted to do. As best I could, I tried redirecting his
thoughts.
"Hey, I mean, you have to watch out for girls like that. Thats how you get VD.
You dont want that, especially not in the trenches." I said, in the best calm,
advising voice possible. Here was the Virgin giving advice to the one wanting to
"split" a woman for the evening.
"Lame-o, man. VDs nothing. You get a friggin shot and its taken care of, case
closed. Youre worried, thats all. Im telling you, man, you need to get laid before
we get over there. And especially before we get over there, since most of those
European broads are hairy as monkeys." he replied, as his gummy Massachusetts
dialect made his words sound doubly dirty. "I mean, shit, do it for the good of the
country. I wouldnt want to be in a freakin firefight with you and you got a hard-on
cuz some Frauleins making eyes at you. Youve gotta watch out for that shit."
"Its alright, really. You have all the fun you can. I need to save my money, really.
I cant afford to blow it all in one place."
His greasy laugh was positively grating, as he noticed the pun Id accidentally made.
"Hahaaaa, you said it, brother. Really though, most girls arent too expensive.
Youre lookin at maybe five, ten dollars. Man, and some of these broads you can
bargain with. Specially the ugly ones."
A girl of about sixteen walked past our view, clenching Drakes attention and
dragging it away. She was a beautiful, starry young blonde in a glistening white
blouse and harshly checkered skirt. She carried her books in one arm, and a
brown school-bag in another. Drake was enthralled.
"See man, its chickies like that that get to me, the sweet little mommies girls, the
Billie-Janes, the Mary-Sues, the ones with the cans that want to slap you in the
face, and they know it," he moaned, his eyes widening to absorb more of the
overpowering view. "And they love it. Dont think they dont, though sometimes
they may try and cover it up. No way, they love flaunting that stuff because it
makes them powerful. Those are the ones that get to me, theyre the ones that drive
me to the whores."
"What about her makes you think, just by looking at her, that shes so bad?"
"Ah, its a general feeling. You can take a look at a broad sometimes and figure
them out, you know?" I nodded as though I agreed, which made me feel bad.
"Then sometimes theyll be sneaky and shit. They act like youve got a shot, like
you could ever be with them, and what do they do? They run to Ted or Steve or
Billy-Jo from the football team, and screw the brains outta those guys, and what do
you got? The female chess team captain or some shit like that. Shit is ludicrous,
man."
"Well whats wrong with the chess team captains? Why should they be lonely?"
"Ahh, but see, thats the catcher- you want that interplay, that hard to get shit. You
want to be unsure, to not know where you stand with the chick. Say you date
Olga Siklorsky, who reads books on friggin Bill Shakespeare in her free time. And
Olga, man, shes got this big honker of a schnozz, and zits and moles on her face
and shit, and she couldnt get a man if she were wearing a Greta-friggin-Garbo
costume. So to her, damn, youre hot stuff no matter what you look like. You
know you got her. But why go for her? Whats the interest there? Sure, she might
be interesting if you wanted to talk about politics and shit, but when it comes down
to it, shes a dog, man. No, youd rather be beggin for sweet Mary-Sue than
plugging Olga S. any day of the week, that I can assure you."
"Nah, I dont buy that. The world isnt that cut and dry. When there are feelings
are beneath the surface, it changes everything else."
"How have you seen this in play?"
"Well," I said clumsily, "I havent. But its the way it should be."
"How many girlfriends you ever had?"
"Wellnone, really."
Drake face crinkled up on that, upon which he reached into his navy-blue overcoat
and pulled out a flask, from which he inhaled several swigs of God knows what.
"You a homo, man?"
That one took me off guard, and nearly knocked the wind out of me, making my
answer very weak.
"No, I-"
"Its okay, man, really." His breath was thick with this spicy-sweet liquor, sending
me back into my long dead grandfathers house, and the smell of his cheeks from his
after-shave. "To me, it is, its okay. My uncle, hes a queer, and me and him get
along just great. But the Armys different, because Im tellin you, man, what you do
in your private life is your business, but the Army really dont take any funny boys,
know what I mean? Theyll deal with you, thats for sure, and it aint always
pleasant."
"Really, Drake, I can assure you, theres nothing to worry about, I just.well"
He gripped my shoulder, to accentuate his point. "Listen buddy, I understand
where youre coming from. The ladies, theyve not always been too great to me
neither." Another swig of the liquor was inhaled and quickly soaked into his
bloodstream, visibly relaxing his tightened facial muscles. Drake nudged me with
the flask, offering me a bit. I declined. His head swayed silently for ten seconds,
then he leaped again into his train of thought. "Ever got your heart broken, man?"
"No. Ive never gotten that chance, I dont think."
"Man, you dont need a girlfriend for that shit," he said, gritting the word friend, "All
you need is love, that love thats only there with you, inside of you. If youve got
that, and she doesntman, its horrible. Love is all you need."
He took a long chunk of the flasks molten contents, then put it away into his
pocket. "There was once this girl named" He paused, not in drama it seemed, but
legitimately to remember her heavily buried name, " Charlene. And Charlene, man,
she was just this thing, this beautiful thing, and I was so in love with her. We were
going to get married this summer- married! And then, one day, well, she was
gone. Shed left, shed gone to Hollywood or Chicago or London or all those places
shed always wanted to live in, and I was stuck in Massachusetts with a note." He
looked out at New York, dark against the bright morning light. "Yeah, a note.
But call girls are amazing, see, since you dont have to do nothing. You do your
thing, pay her a score and shes out the door. Its simple business for them."
I was stunned, and stared incredulously at him. "Well see," was about the strongest
denial I could muster, "maybe at some point this weekend, but not tonight."
"Well see?!" he cried, "What kinda shit is that? How can you not be into this?
Youll regret it, one day youll regret it. I swear, this will be the greatest day of your
life, all you gotta do is do like Im telling you. But youre having to rain on the friggin
parade with your moralizing shit. Now you gonna engage in carnal pleasures with a
lady of the night?"
"Not my thing, Drake."
"Ohhhhhh.ah, you pussy." Drake struck a match on the side of a pole, lit a
cigarette and started walking towards the other end of the ferryboat.
"Wherere you going?"
"I dunno, I think Ill try to find some military men with testicles, a real guy that wants
to get his rocks off. It seems, unfortunately, that Ive been paired up with
Tinkerbell, and that wont do for tonights activities. Unlike you, Ill be getting
something going while youre wandering around, twiddling your thumbs. Have fun,
kid, Ill see you tonight at the hotel."
And I was on my own. I turned and saw a world, that giant city, looming larger
and larger as the boat neared. This wasnt real, it was something out of the movies.
The Empire State Building isnt real, its Kongs jungle gym, where he smuggles Fay
Wray to in the film. The Statue of Liberty, smaller than in the newsreels,
nonetheless was there, watching over the melting pot that covered this island. And
here I was, the prototypical soldier, polished and shined and glistening. My eyes
were wide, and I was fresh to everything, and I wanted that to go. I wanted to be absorbed into
this world, to permeate my existence in every alley and through the glass of every
window. On this boat, watching this metropolis come into view, I was so
hypnotized, so distracted that I failed to catch any glimpse of the girl who would
come to overtake my corporeal being.
The smoke I noticed first, as the steady flow of smoke drifted out of her mouth and
into my eyes. Thrown back by the stink, I turned to see what cretin was smoking
such a disgusting product so flagrantly. I was greeted with a burst of bitter smoke
propelled deep into my face.
"Well hello there!" she said, her eyes flaring and alive. The small cigarette dangling
off her lip seemed to be an extension of her, and the smoke merely an after-function
of breathing. Her lengthy brown hair framed her perfectly symmetrical face, angling
into slight waves and curls. She had this strange face: sleek and dangerous, but
with soft, tender elements. This girl, I determined within a half-second after meeting
her, was a movie star. No, more than a movie star. She was Delilah, she was
Helen of Troy, she was Cleopatra. Men corrupt themselves for women like her,
men fight wars for women like her, and dammit, men die for women like her. Id
never seen anything like this girl in my life. And she was blowing smoke, quite
deliberately, in my face.
And so, after completely inhaling the contents of that cloud, to make things perfect,
to bring it all together, well, I threw up. I ran to the side of the boat and exhaled
the entirety of my stomachs contents: A) a bologna sandwich my motherd made for
me that morning, B) three apples devoured on the bus ride, C) three sticks of
licorice Drake had lent me, and D) a lot of Coca-Cola. Within seconds they were
returned to nature, one mass evaporating into the damp void. The girl, I could
somehow tell, was patting me on the back as I continued to upchuck into the brine.
Was it in support, pity, or was she trying to make sure I got it all out? I was
green with embarrassment, and blue with illness.
Either way, these were the first impressions that led to a lifetimes worth of longing. Jonly Bonly (working title): Chapter One Thoughts? Let me know. |
