Forever Page 3

  Lights-out was coming up, but Scott was in no mood for sleep. He knew there was no way he could sleep until he answered her letter. He had to pretty quickly; for some reason, he actually had visions of her showing up in a week trying to get on the Fort and break him out of there. After all these years, he wouldn’t put anything past her. It was both cute and frightening at the same time.

  After everyone had crawled into their bunks, Scott took his notebook out on the back dock of the barracks, and huddled in his blanket, under a single security light and started writing.

  March 31, Thursday Night…

  Dear Roni,

  First of all, thanks SOOOO much for the whole naked thing. God, the shit I don’t sleep through. But yeah, that isn’t going anywhere anytime soon. Thanks. I think. Second, you’re damn right you’re going to wash my jersey.

  OK, on the important stuff. I wasn’t lying to Rick when I said I wanted to do this. I was lying to myself. It just all happened kind of fast. I was going into Christmas with basically no future. Dad was on my ass; I wanted to go to a community college and try and get my grades back up. I had money in the bank and Connel had said if I was going to be around, I should come help with wrestling. But the old man didn’t want to hear about it. He said they were hiring at the stockyards, and I wasn’t about to do that, so he said, fine, join the Army. So I did. On the 22nd I went to talk to the recruiter and on the 30th I was in Denver taking my physical and committing to go. This got me the GI Bill and stuff before Ford ended it.

  I showed Dad, didn’t I? Yeah, well…

  I’m not going to go into all the details here, but yeah, it’s pretty much sucked. And yeah, it’s kind of like “Tribes.” They scream in our faces and call us dumb motherfucker and maggot and piece of shit and whatever else comes to mind. And yeah, my haircut took all of about 30 seconds. And when I read your letter tonight, I had just finished puking up three dozen chocolate chip cookies. But that’s another story.

  But here’s the funny thing: Up until about an hour ago, everything in my life sucked. I think I’d actually hit bottom. Then all of a sudden I’m reading about you and Maggie’s drunken movie night, and you being naked and you being in the wedding, and you being naked, and Maggie telling you about my crush, you being naked, and our night together and you being naked. Wait, did I already say that? Thanks a lot for that…

  Look, it’s not your fault I’m here; you guys were gone over Christmas and everything happened pretty fast. At the point I did this, I’m not sure anyone could have stopped me. Most people didn’t even know about it. It finally got around the wrestling team about three weeks before I left; I’m surprised Brooke didn’t know.

  Roni, please believe me when I tell you I didn’t want you to find out this way. I didn’t even think about that picture being in the paper until just now; we had to send this whole thing home stating we were here and safe.

  As for the crush, well, yeah; I’ve never not had a crush on you. But, I’m an idiot, and shy about certain things, and I guess it’s always been enough for me that you’re my friend and in my life; especially the way we’ve been lately.

  As far as why I still have the crush, well, I don’t know why I breathe, but I just do. Oh, don’t get me wrong; you have been an absolute bitch to me sometimes, but I guess I can see beyond that. You have so much good in you, Roni. You just seem so scared to show that part of you. You should do it more; you’re actually pretty good at it.

  I’m so glad you went to Maggie after you found out where I was. She’s a good person and very accepting of people (which explains why she’s marrying Rick!). And I’m glad you guys are friends now. And that’s so cool she put you in the wedding! I’m assuming we’re going to walk together.

  I don’t want you to be scared for me, Roni. Please? I love the fact you want to be part of this and want to be here for me. But I did this and I have to get through it. And I know my family is behind me, and Rick and Maggie and other people, but knowing you’re there is just a whole other thing for me. It’s like in the middle of this wasteland that my life has become, there’s a flower growing. And it has a voice and it’s your voice and it’s saying “I’m here, Footer.” That’s going to get me through this, Roni, that voice, and knowing you’re on the other end of this goddamn tunnel I’m in; that’s going to get me through.

  It’s 49 days until we “graduate” from this hell-hole. Then it’s San Antonio for three months to learn how to be a medic, then off to Fort Riley, Kansas. Once I get out of here, I can be a person again. And we’ll see where things go from there.

  Yeah, that night you stayed with me was special for me, too. I woke up about 3:45 and at first it took me a second to realize what was going on. I looked down and saw you; you were lying on your side and your head was on my shoulder and your arm was across my chest. Your left leg was across my legs. You smelled incredible and you were softly snoring. You were so cute. I pulled you a little tighter and held you in both arms for a minute. I kissed you on your forehead and you smiled and laid your hand on my chest for a second. I pretty much could have died there. I was complete.

  Let’s make a deal: You sent your letter Monday morning and I got it tonight. I’ll mail this in the morning, so you should get it by Tuesday or Wednesday. If we write each other back the day we get our letters, that means we’ll each write five more letters and your last one will get to me by graduation. Is that a deal?

  I’m going to get to bed. I’m sitting outside and it’s cold and the MPs have driven by a couple of times, and about the last thing I need is to get busted for something!

  So, good-night, Roni. You’ve saved me; I was at the bottom a little while ago and you wrote me a letter and reached down and saved me. That’s twice now; one of these days, I’ll have to save you. Write back soon! I miss you.

  Love,

  Scott

  For the next 49 days, these letters really would keep Scott alive. He wasn’t going to tell her everything that was going on, and it didn’t matter what she told him; as long as she was there, as long as every 10 days he received a letter, he was going to be OK.

  And, there were a lot of things he could tell her.

  ****

  CHAPTER 5

  March turned into April and Scott was settling in to basic training as best he could. By the middle of the month, Delta 5-2 already learned how to clean and care for their M-16s, their gas masks, and a duffle bag full of equipment, known to the world as TA-50 (no one knew what that meant, but everything in the Army needed to have some kind of code).

  And Scott was learning to adjust to the Army way, and its people. He had come to realize that growing up in Wild Horse and having never gone much further than Greeley or Denver for more than a week or so had left him pretty sheltered.

  His closest friend there was Andy Day, a Southern Californian who’d dropped out of college for an adventure. There was Terry Esposito, from Chicago, who was always smiling and called everybody “Mac.” There was Derric Persson, a tall, intense, but also pretty funny, black guy from Little Rock who was the top of his high school ROTC class and was hoping to make it to Officer Candidate School.

  And there was Carl Forsburg from Minnesota, who was going to the same EMT school as Scott.

  There were the guys who were there because they’d been given the choice of jail or the Army. Scott didn’t see a lot of difference at this point, but these guys were definitely jail material. And not for petty theft; apparently a couple of these guys were convicted of assault and more physical crimes. Scott learned to keep an eye open.

  And, there was Nolan Moreland III, or “Slick Man,” as he called himself (“I’m the man with the plan with all the women in his hands, and you can understand because I am Slick Man!”). He was the color of coffee, 5-9, about 150. He had already shown he had athletic ability, and was gunning for the title of “Super Trooper,” which went to the best athlete in the platoon.

  The first night they were all together, the men of Second Platoon sat in one
building together, made introductions and told each other a little bit about themselves. Scott had mentioned he’d played a year of college football at UNC, but not a lot else about it. Over the next month, more of the story had come out, and pretty soon it was known he’d been a kicker on a national championship team. Or to some people he was; to others he was bullshitting.

  It was April 15. Scott had mailed off a return letter to Roni the night before after getting hers in mail call. She talked about being tired of UNC and starting to look at other options. Maybe, she said, even looking at designing again. Scott had never pushed the issue with her, just as she had never pushed football. He told her in the last letter he’d always wondered why she hadn’t gone to CU, but added she could tell him about it when they saw each other.

  During evening formation, Drill Sgt. Sprouil, a short, but powerful looking black man and Vietnam veteran, told the men of Second Platoon if inspection went well on Saturday, there was a chance for an afternoon on-post pass for everyone. The only thing off-limits was Phone City; a building near the main PX from which trainees could make $1 five-minute long distance calls. Delta 5-2 still had a week before they were allowed to make calls home.

  Persson called a meeting of all the squad leaders and senior squad leaders after dinner. Just as everyone else, he wanted a few hours off on Saturday.

  “Alright gentlemen, let’s get this fucking thing right,” he said. “I want to go have a beer and watch a little TV and relax.”

  Everyone agreed that would be a really nice way to spend a Saturday afternoon. Like a human being. What made it even better was it was mid-month payday. Everyone had received $200 in cash earlier in the day. Most of the guys bought bonds or cashier’s checks and just kept about $50 for the month. It’s not like they had to spend a lot of money in basic training.

  “Hey Mitchell,” Carl said, “you know there’s a football field with goal posts over by the NCO Club?”

  “No,” Scott said, wondering where Carl was going with this.

  “How about you show us how you kick?” he asked.

  “Shit, Swede, I haven’t kicked a ball since before I got hurt last summer,” Scott said. “I might suck.”

  “Nahhh, come on, Mitchell,” said Andy. “We’ve been hearing about this, we want to see it.”

  “What’s in this for me?” Scott thought.

  “What’s your longest kick?” asked Derric.

  “In a game, 52 yards,” Scott said softly. “I’ve hit from 60 in practice.”

  “SIXTY?” Carl said. “You’ve made a 60-yard field goal?”

  “Yeah. About a year-and-a-half ago,” he said.

  “OK,” Andy said. “How about this?

  “We won’t make you go 60, or even 50, but if you can make, say, three out of five from 40, we each owe you 10 bucks. If you don’t, you owe each of us five.”

  Scott had already sent $125 in savings bonds home, hit the snack bar and bought four cartons of cigarettes and picked up some new t-shirts and socks. He had about $50 left and if he had to give the other nine guys five bucks each, he’d have $5 for the rest of the month. On the other hand, if he won, he’d have an extra $90. What the fuck?

  “Alright, you’re on,” he said. “I’ll probably live to regret this.”

  Breakfast went great and after the meeting, so did inspection. Second Platoon was strack and after lunch, they were dismissed, with orders to be back by 1700 for dinner.

  The squad leaders hustled to the first post bus and took the 10-minute drive to the TRADOC (Training Division Command) NCO Club. It was a recreation building for trainees and other staff who were involved in basic training. In back was a football field with a track around it. Inside were a bar and cafeteria on one side and a gym on the other. Scott went to the check-out and picked out a couple of decent-looking footballs.

  “Got a kicking tee?” he asked the PFC behind the counter.

  “Yep,” he said. The PFC went back to the shelf and returned with an orange Voit kicking tee.

  Carl and Andy were waiting by the back doors as Scott joined them, tossing each of them a ball.

  “Swede, if this blows up, I will kick your ass,” he said.

  “I have total confidence in you,” Carl said. “And I need the extra money.”

  Andy laughed. “You could make a lot of money, Mitch. Fucking rolllllling in it!”

  “I’m screwed,” Scott thought.

  The rest of the guys were out on the field. Derric, Terry and the Slick Man already had beers in their hands. Everyone looked ready for fun. Except Scott, of course.

  The further into this challenge, the more nervous he became. It’s been too long, he thought, as he changed out of his boots and green socks and slipped on his white knee-high civilian socks and his white Puma tennis shoes. He wondered if he could still do this. And he wasn’t sure he wanted the answer.

  Scott hit his first extra point, then another. Pretty soon he ripped off 10 straight. They moved back five yards. Five for five from 25 yards, all boomers, all sent his shagger buddies back to the track.

  As he moved back to the 20 for the 30-yarders, Scott saw the crowd had grown. By now, it seemed half of Delta 5-2 was there. “What the fuck, Day?” Scott asked Andy. “I thought this was just a few people.”

  “Oh, that,” Andy said. “Yeah, it kind of got out.”

  “Just what I need,” Scott said.

  He’d kicked in front almost 20,000 people before. But that was a lifetime ago. A lot had happened and he’d caused most of it to happen to him.

  For a moment, he thought about Roni. “She’d love this,” he thought. “Hell, she’d be betting on me.”

  Scott hit all five kicks from 30 yards. He was still nervous, but the rhythm was there. He finally missed one at 35 yards, wide left. “Don’t open your hips so fast,” he muttered to himself. “Stay tucked, dumbass.”

  He settled in and nailed the last four and moved back to the 30. Now, seemingly the whole platoon was there. Guys were swapping money, so there were side bets everywhere. Half the crowd was cheering and half was chanting, “Choke!”

  Scott took his approach step, hit his mark and swung his leg. It was long enough, but faded right. “Goddamn it,” he snapped. Scott almost never missed right, and when he did, it usually meant his leg was tired. He stepped back behind the tee and took a practice swing.

  “Three more kicks and this is over,” he told himself.

  The next one was perfect, or at least it went over the crossbar. The next one did as well, but he nearly hooked it.

  “One more,” Andy told him. “And this will cost me $10.”

  The rest of the platoon was cheering and hooting around him. Scott was set up his usual step-and-a-half from the block. He stepped in, planted his left foot next to the block and snapped his leg through.

  As Scott looked up, even he was surprised. He had nailed it and a half. Right down the middle, high and deep. It backed Slick Man to the edge of the track and easily would have been good from 55-60 yards. He lifted both arms, palms out and turned to Andy, who lifted him off the ground. When Andy put him back down, Scott collapsed on his back, exhausted. With his eyes closed he thought of Roni and of football and of her talking about design school again. Maybe there’s a future for both after all.

  But his thoughts were soon broken as he felt something falling on his face. He opened his eyes to find himself covered with $10 bills. He smiled, and hopped back his feet. “Come on assholes,” Scott smiled. “I’m buying.”

  ****

  CHAPTER 6

  The following Tuesday was even more significant than winning the field-goal challenge. April 19 – 30 days from graduation – dawned warm and sunny in the middle of Missouri. It was going to be full day for the boys of Second Platoon.

  The morning was slated for the second of four physical training tests. Push-ups, sit-ups, pull-ups, horizontal ladder and the Run, Dodge and Jump made up the agenda.

  Scott knocked out 32 push-ups in the 30-second time
limit, 41 sit-ups and 21 pull-ups. Not his best output, but still in the Top 5 in the platoon. He hated the horizontal ladder. The ones he’d used in the past were a ladder set about nine feet off the ground.

  But the Army version was different. As an added door prize, the bars were similar to conveyer rollers, so it required even a stronger grip and upper body strength. Trainees had to grab a hold of the bar and use the momentum to swing to the next bar. And pity the guys who had to go bar to bar with both hands; they almost always fell off early into the drill.

  Only a few guys could go all the way down and back in one try. Scott wasn’t one of them. A badly dislocated shoulder in wrestling his junior year of high school had ended his dreams of college wrestling. He came back to play defensive end and kick for the Stampeders in football as a senior and also placed third at the State wrestling tournament, but it was the end of his college wrestling dream. And needless to say, it made the horizontal ladder a challenge.

  On his first try, he went down to the end but fell off trying to turn around. On the second try, he made it to the end, but couldn’t swing up onto the ladder. It was a good effort, but cost him points and he fell to 11th place in the standings. He’d have to make it up in the Run, Dodge and Jump.

  The unique exercise entailed a miniature obstacle course. The starting line was five yards from the first obstacle and trainees ran to it at full speed. Then, two hurdles, a little over waist high, made of 4x4s were set into the ground. They were about four feet apart and the object was to sidestep (or dodge) between them. Then, another short run to a six-foot wide ditch, which had to be jumped over. On the other side of ditch was another set of hurdles, which had to be dodged through, followed by another five-yard sprint, before turning around and going back and retracing the course.