Free Gray Girl by Susan I. Spieth

knew she might cry if she wasn’t
careful.   For that reason, she
stared straight ahead as if she were standing at attention.
    The singing stopped and the man
called “Chaplain,” another unknown word to a lapsed-Catholic girl, began to
speak.   Jan could not remember
anything he said that evening, except one sentence:   “I lift mine eyes to the hills from
whence cometh my help.”
    Her brain locked onto this sentence,
and as Beast progressed, she said it over and over again.   When doing leg lifts on The Plain, when
running in formation, when marching in full combat gear, and when staring at
her barely-eaten plate full of food in the Mess Hall, it became her mantra of
sorts.   Along with Jim Croce's song,
“New York's Not My Home,” this verse somehow comforted and sustained her.
    “I will lift mine eyes to the hills
from whence cometh my help,” followed her like a prayer.
    After Chapel, just as she and Wright
began polishing their boots and quizzing each other on poop, they heard two
loud knocks on the door.    It’s probably Dogety or Jackson wanting to know how many cookies I ate!
    The two roommates popped to attention
and yelled in unison, “ENTER, SIR!”    The door flung open and Wright’s Squad Leader stood at the door.   He held out a whole, uncut, Martha
Washington Sheet Cake.
    “Just happened to have an extra one
of these.   Thought you two might
want it.”   Jan and Wright stared in
disbelief at this unexpected offer.   Jan also wondered what the catch might be.   Was he teasing them?   Yet, the firstie simply stepped into their room, put the cake down on the sink counter, then
turned and walked out.  
    First the guy at chapel offered her
cookies, now this.   Well, maybe not everyone thinks I’m fat.

 
 
    9

 
    Friday,
May 7, 1982
    0330
hours

 
    The
blueberry pie is sailing through the air in slow motion.   It looks like a Frisbee, but she knows
what it really is.   The sweet scent
floats toward her, closer and closer.   She shuts her eyes and breathes in the perfume of warm blueberries.   Her mouth waters in anticipation of that
first bite.
    The
pie smashes into her face.   Ah shit,
how’d that happen?   The blueberry goop
drips from her nose and chin; somehow though, it looks like camouflage.   She stands up.   The entire Mess Hall is silent.   Everyone is watching the girl with the
blueberry face.   She hopes they will
assume that she’s covered in combat paint, yet she cannot tell what they
see.   She turns to run away from the
table, but her body feels like it’s underwater.   Her feet seem to have grown roots into
the floor.   The muscles in her legs
ache with every arduous step.   She keeps
running, slowly and painfully, until she reaches the massive, oak doors.   With the speed of peanut butter, she
descends the granite steps.
    She
hears Cadet Jackson laughing from his table inside the Mess Hall.   Then Cadet Dogety starts laughing even though he is at the opposite end of the Mess Hall.   Another cadet begins to laugh from the
third wing, then another joins in, and then another.   Soon the entire Corps of Cadets is
laughing.   Even the waiters are
laughing.   She knows they are
laughing at her.  
    She
keeps running toward her room and finally arrives just as the two-minute bell
is being called.   She must report to
formation.   But her Dress Gray is
ruined.   Blueberry goop has stained
all of her uniforms.   There is
nothing she can wear.   The minute
caller leaves his post.   She has to
go to formation.   Now.
    She
pings back outside and stands in the squad line.   Everyone is staring at her.   The Commander shouts, “Forward,
March!”   She begins marching in
formation with her Company onto The Plain.   All the other companies are already there and formed into a large
circle.   Company H-3 marches into
the center of the huge circle.   The Commander
shouts, “ Wishart , stand fast!”   The rest of H-3 marches away toward