Running Barefoot
Page 38
Other than Yazzie, life was pretty uneventful, and I struggled for material to include in my correspondence. I couldn’t tell him that I had cried yesterday while I fed my chickens, thinking of how I was going to be gathering their stupid brown eggs for the next five years at least, while they clucked and pecked ungratefully around my legs. Meanwhile, Samuel would be off, fighting battles around the world, being a man, falling in love with WOMEN. I hated that I was almost fourteen, and that I was way too young for him. I was alone in my room too often, daydreaming about him coming back in the fall and riding the bus, sitting next to me in his Marine uniform, holding my hand and listening to classical music from the Romance period.
I would feel even worse when I caught myself in these ridiculous fantasies, realizing how truly juvenile I was. I missed him horribly, and I had a terrible, terrible fear that I would never see him again. In my letters, I found myself saying these things, only to rip the letter up into tiny pieces and send the appropriate missive, chattering about music and telling him the interesting facts and stories Sonja always seemed to provide during our sessions together.
I spent my free time with Sonja and Doc - as much as I felt I could without wearing out my welcome. My lessons were eclectic and covered more subjects than music. Doc even participated every once in a while, putting in his two-bits, sharing his vast knowledge and opinions. He wasn’t musically talented, but he liked listening to me play, and more often then not would be asleep in his chair when I left. I don’t know what ever became of his desire to write a book. As far as I know he never finished one, but for whatever reason, he and Sonja loved Levan and stayed. Doc’s son was grown and lived in Connecticut or somewhere else on the other side of the Earth – so they didn’t see him much. Their little eccentricities were not so great that they felt stifled by our little town. People seemed to like them, and Sonja’s musical abilities were utilized on the organ each week at church. Doc fell asleep every week in church too, but he always went, even though he kept his pipe stuck in his mouth throughout the service. He never lit it, so I guess the congregation just decided to let him be.
I often thought if it hadn’t been for Sonja and Doc, my brain would have atrophied with nothing to occupy it but chicken feed and recipes and unchallenging school work. They were a balm and ballast to my yearning heart, and a stimulant to my intellect.
That summer, I checked the mail every day but only received letters from Samuel sporadically. Two months after he’d left town, I received another. Racing home, I threw the rest of the mail in the bill basket for later perusal, and ran up to my room, throwing myself onto my bed and ripping the letter open. I smelled the pages first, closing my eyes and trying to imagine him writing it. I felt like one of those girls who cried whenever they saw Elvis. I shook myself out of my silliness and unfolded the pages. The letter was long, and his precise handwriting slanted forward aggressively. I read it hungrily.
July 31, 1997
Dear Josie,
I hear the drill instructors in my sleep yelling “pivot, align to the right, cover, don’t close up, and don’t rush it!” We drill for hours on end it seems like. I feel like I am marching in my sleep. Antwon Carlton actually did march in his sleep. Tyler was on Firewatch duty night before last and Carlton came marching by in his sleep. Tyler called out “Pivot, back to the rack recruit!” It worked, and big bad Carlton marched back to his bunk. Tyler had everyone laughing about it-you know he didn’t keep it to himself. Carlton got a little ugly, but a couple of the other black guys told him to relax - they all thought it was pretty funny too.
Everybody seems to realize if we don’t hang together, we all suffer. One day our squad leader, a tough red head from Utah named Travis Fitz, had to do punishment exercises every time one of us swatted at a fly or missed a drill order. He paid for our screw ups. It was a pretty big lesson. About half way through, I ended up requesting permission to speak and volunteered to take his place. It bothered me that he was taking the abuse for all of us. Sergeant Blood said that’s what a real leader does - he takes one for the team. He did let me step in for Fitz, but the point was made.
We’ve been spending the last few weeks on the rifle range. I learned how to shoot from my grandma. When we were out with the sheep she would send me off away from the sheep, and I would practice. She called this time ‘loose time’when the sheep were finished grazing, and they were full and drowsy, and we stayed in one place for a while to watch them. When my grandma was little she actually used a bow and arrow to run the coyotes off. I know how primitive that sounds - most people probably wouldn’t believe it. My grandmother had her own herd at eight years old. If she lost a sheep she would be whipped, because it meant loss of food and livelihood. She wasn’t as hard on me, but the care and well-being of her sheep was the most important thing to her. I’ve seen my grandma ride full out, shrieking at a coyote, shooting from the back of her horse. My grandma probably would have made a good Marine, too. I’ll have to tell her that when I see her again. She’ll get a kick out of that.
I haven’t had any difficulty on the rifle range, and it’s all due to her. Again, some of these recruits have never shot a gun before. It blows my mind - even the boys in Levan all have BB guns and 22’s don’t they? What is America coming to? Our generation is unbelievably soft. Man, I’m starting to sound like my D.I.’s. Anyway, on qualification day I scored a 280 on the course, which puts me in the high end of the expert category. Sergeant Meadows said I should set my sights on sniper school after Marine Combat Training and infantry training. I’m not sure yet, what comes next. I used to think maybe I’d just go into the Reserves, but I’m thinking I’m going to go Active.
I would feel even worse when I caught myself in these ridiculous fantasies, realizing how truly juvenile I was. I missed him horribly, and I had a terrible, terrible fear that I would never see him again. In my letters, I found myself saying these things, only to rip the letter up into tiny pieces and send the appropriate missive, chattering about music and telling him the interesting facts and stories Sonja always seemed to provide during our sessions together.
I spent my free time with Sonja and Doc - as much as I felt I could without wearing out my welcome. My lessons were eclectic and covered more subjects than music. Doc even participated every once in a while, putting in his two-bits, sharing his vast knowledge and opinions. He wasn’t musically talented, but he liked listening to me play, and more often then not would be asleep in his chair when I left. I don’t know what ever became of his desire to write a book. As far as I know he never finished one, but for whatever reason, he and Sonja loved Levan and stayed. Doc’s son was grown and lived in Connecticut or somewhere else on the other side of the Earth – so they didn’t see him much. Their little eccentricities were not so great that they felt stifled by our little town. People seemed to like them, and Sonja’s musical abilities were utilized on the organ each week at church. Doc fell asleep every week in church too, but he always went, even though he kept his pipe stuck in his mouth throughout the service. He never lit it, so I guess the congregation just decided to let him be.
I often thought if it hadn’t been for Sonja and Doc, my brain would have atrophied with nothing to occupy it but chicken feed and recipes and unchallenging school work. They were a balm and ballast to my yearning heart, and a stimulant to my intellect.
That summer, I checked the mail every day but only received letters from Samuel sporadically. Two months after he’d left town, I received another. Racing home, I threw the rest of the mail in the bill basket for later perusal, and ran up to my room, throwing myself onto my bed and ripping the letter open. I smelled the pages first, closing my eyes and trying to imagine him writing it. I felt like one of those girls who cried whenever they saw Elvis. I shook myself out of my silliness and unfolded the pages. The letter was long, and his precise handwriting slanted forward aggressively. I read it hungrily.
July 31, 1997
Dear Josie,
I hear the drill instructors in my sleep yelling “pivot, align to the right, cover, don’t close up, and don’t rush it!” We drill for hours on end it seems like. I feel like I am marching in my sleep. Antwon Carlton actually did march in his sleep. Tyler was on Firewatch duty night before last and Carlton came marching by in his sleep. Tyler called out “Pivot, back to the rack recruit!” It worked, and big bad Carlton marched back to his bunk. Tyler had everyone laughing about it-you know he didn’t keep it to himself. Carlton got a little ugly, but a couple of the other black guys told him to relax - they all thought it was pretty funny too.
Everybody seems to realize if we don’t hang together, we all suffer. One day our squad leader, a tough red head from Utah named Travis Fitz, had to do punishment exercises every time one of us swatted at a fly or missed a drill order. He paid for our screw ups. It was a pretty big lesson. About half way through, I ended up requesting permission to speak and volunteered to take his place. It bothered me that he was taking the abuse for all of us. Sergeant Blood said that’s what a real leader does - he takes one for the team. He did let me step in for Fitz, but the point was made.
We’ve been spending the last few weeks on the rifle range. I learned how to shoot from my grandma. When we were out with the sheep she would send me off away from the sheep, and I would practice. She called this time ‘loose time’when the sheep were finished grazing, and they were full and drowsy, and we stayed in one place for a while to watch them. When my grandma was little she actually used a bow and arrow to run the coyotes off. I know how primitive that sounds - most people probably wouldn’t believe it. My grandmother had her own herd at eight years old. If she lost a sheep she would be whipped, because it meant loss of food and livelihood. She wasn’t as hard on me, but the care and well-being of her sheep was the most important thing to her. I’ve seen my grandma ride full out, shrieking at a coyote, shooting from the back of her horse. My grandma probably would have made a good Marine, too. I’ll have to tell her that when I see her again. She’ll get a kick out of that.
I haven’t had any difficulty on the rifle range, and it’s all due to her. Again, some of these recruits have never shot a gun before. It blows my mind - even the boys in Levan all have BB guns and 22’s don’t they? What is America coming to? Our generation is unbelievably soft. Man, I’m starting to sound like my D.I.’s. Anyway, on qualification day I scored a 280 on the course, which puts me in the high end of the expert category. Sergeant Meadows said I should set my sights on sniper school after Marine Combat Training and infantry training. I’m not sure yet, what comes next. I used to think maybe I’d just go into the Reserves, but I’m thinking I’m going to go Active.
