Chapter 5

I set my cruise control to seventy-five and fired up my CD player. I had the six-disc cartridge loaded with the greatest hits of Foreigner, AC/DC and Bon Jovi; so I was set with seven hours of righteous tunes. I loved my truck. It rode like a dream and when needed, it accelerated like a rocket sled. The downside, however, was that it guzzled premium grade gasoline like a sailor on shore leave drank beer. It could pass everything but a gas station! I filled up once in South Carolina and once in Jacksonville before I hit Palmdale at six that evening.

I said hello to the folks and took a shower. The drive didn’t tire me out, but sitting still for seven hours had my a back a little stiff. Since the temperature was in the eighties, I slipped on a t-shirt, cargo shorts, and deck shoes and then I headed towards the Cavanaughs. Donna Cavanaugh had called me just as I was crossing the Florida state line. She wanted me to drop by and speak with her and Mister Cavanaugh that evening. They were expecting me at seven-thirty, but I was twenty minutes early. Johnny Pulaski wasn’t a slave to the clock like Elaine and Becca.

Missus Cavanaugh asked me not to tell the twins I was seeing their parents. Elaine and Ellen were babysitting for Nina, and I was going to visit them later, so I said sure. I assumed it was something about the twin’s upcoming eighteenth birthday. Boy was I wrong (you know what they say about ’assume’ right?). I took a seat, and Missus Cavanaugh started the conversational ball rolling.

“Thank you for agreeing to meet with us, Johnny,” Missus Cavanaugh said much too formally.

I glanced over at Mister Cavanaugh, and he shrugged to let me know this was out of his hands. I started to have that sinking feeling I usually got, when I knew bad news was coming.

“We invited you over to discuss my ... I mean, our daughters’ future. As you know, they will be eighteen in a few weeks, and they will be moving on to a university to finish their education. You have been wonderful in helping them through their teens but now I think you’ll agree they are too young to be tied down to a relationship without a future. It’s time for them to move forward with their lives,” she said primly.

I glanced at Mister Cavanaugh, he winced, and shook his head. He wanted no part of this conversation, even if he disagreed with his spouse. I looked at her as if she had just walked out of a flying saucer.

“No offense intended, Mister and Missus Cavanaugh, but this is a conversation I refuse to have behind Elaine and Ellen’s backs. Like you said, they are almost eighteen. They are more than intelligent enough to choose their own future. I will stay away from here, because I don’t go where I’m not wanted. But us not seeing each other is up to them,” I said angrily.

I got up and stalked out.

I didn’t go over to Nina’s to ‘help’ babysit Bella. I at least had the presence of mind to stay away from them when I was so pissed at their mother. Instead, I called Elaine and pled stomach trouble. That wasn’t too far from the truth because Missus Cavanaugh had my stomach churning. I went home and hung out for an hour until I was too antsy to sit still. I grabbed my wallet and keys and headed over to see Papa and Nana.

Nana sat me at the kitchen table with a big slice of chocolate cake and she and Papa listened to my tale of woe. They listened but they had no magic solution for me.

“They are concerned parents, Johnny,” Nana said, “and you must respect that. Keep your temper in check and keep being yourself. You are not at fault here, but neither is their mother. She thinks she is doing the right thing, even if her reasoning is faulty. Besides, their mother is discounting how intelligent and mature the twins are. I’m betting talking to you is going to be the easy part of this for their parents.”

I didn’t like the advice as much as I liked the cake, even though I knew Nana was right. I went home to brood. Thirty minutes later, I was watching Desperate Housewives with my parents when my phone rang. The caller ID read, ‘Elaine.’

“Hi, Baby,” I said, and I tried to keep my voice light.

“Johnny, Mom just forbade us from seeing you!” she exclaimed.

“I know, she told me to get lost, earlier this evening,” I replied.

“That Bitch! She sprung it on us when we came in from Nina’s. Can you believe she has even hired some goons to follow us around? She said they were ‘for our protection’ because of some bullshit made up threat. I am so pissed off! I’m about to explode! But she only has control over us for another three weeks,” Elaine screeched.

I’d never heard her so angry.

“What about your dad? He can’t feel the same way, can he?” I asked.

“Dad’s not going to go against Mom. They always back each other up, whether they agree or not,” she replied.

“Maybe she wants you to date other guys, so you’ll see there is better than me out there,” I theorized.

Elaine was silent for a long ten seconds and when she spoke again her menacing tone was scary.

“If that’s what the bitch wants, I am going to make her regret even thinking about it.”

So, my week home started off badly, and never recovered. I got a call from Cindi Frazier, my other girlfriend, Monday evening. She said she got a call from Donna Cavanaugh asking her to stop hanging out with the twins. Missus Cavanaugh said Cindi and I were distractions the twins didn’t need as they transitioned to a university. Missus Cavanaugh even threw in the ‘if you care for them, you’ll do this’ argument.

Tuesday the fuel pump on my truck gave up the ghost, and it cost me a big chunk of change to replace it, even with my dad giving me a substantial discount. Who knew that the gas tank had to come out of the truck to change the fuel pump?

Wednesday, I talked to my sister for half an hour. She was in a great mood, so I didn’t lay my problems on her. Katrina had only a couple of months until she graduated and she and this guy, Hunter Crawford was his name, were a serious couple now and talking engagement after they were commissioned. I didn’t know if I was happy, sad, or jealous about Katrina falling for some random dude I’d never met.

Thursday Nana was in a car wreck. She was driving home from grocery shopping at Publix when a woman busy texting on her phone ran a stop sign. The other driver t-boned Nana’s five-year-old Lincoln Town Car. The impact slammed Nana against the driver’s side door and the airbag broke her glasses, her nose and who knows what else. My heart was in my throat as I raced to the hospital. It didn’t help that they kept me and Dad standing around in the Emergency Room lobby. Finally, Papa came out of the treatment room and brought us up to speed.

“Nadia is fine, boys. She has a broken nose, and a cut above her eye from her glasses. Otherwise, it’s just bumps and bruises. The woman who hit her was driving a Prius and is in much worse condition. Nadia should be released within the hour. Can you two stay here with her while I go get her a change of clothes? She refuses to leave here in bloody clothes,” he explained.

Nana was an attractive woman, and was always well dressed. She was vain about her appearance, so her wanting a change of clothes meant her mental faculties were working normally.

After making sure my grandmother was okay, I couldn’t think of a single reason to spend the weekend at home, so I planned on heading to Fort Benning early Saturday morning. I packed up my truck in the late afternoon and paid a last visit to my grandparents Friday night. Nana insisted on feeding me dinner. She was recovering but she sure was unhappy about the bandage on her nose and her two black eyes. Like I said, Nana was vain about her looks. I left Papa and Nana at about ten-fifteen and since it wasn’t too late, I decided to fill up my truck’s gas tank ... again.

I drove out to the Circle K on the other side of US 1 because their Premium gasoline was fifteen cents cheaper than anywhere else. I pulled up to the pumps, hopped out, and walked towards the building to pay. I was parked at the pump farthest to the left, closest to the road. I was about to push through the door when I noticed a man in a stocking mask with a gun in his hand turn away from a cowering clerk.

I ducked back into the shadows and watched the guy shove the gun into the waistband of his jeans and pull off the mask as he neared the door. He was a skuzzy looking white guy of average height and skinny. It was probably eighty degrees outside, and he was wearing a black hoody. He might as well have had ‘crack addict’ stenciled on his forehead. He walked to the door paying me no attention so I figured he couldn’t see me because of the bright lights inside the store.

He was halfway through the door when I slammed into the other side of the glass with all two-hundred and forty pounds of former linebacker. He went flying backwards with a grunt and the air whished out of him when he hit the floor. Before he regained his senses, I jumped on top of him with my knee in his chest. I reached down and took the pistol out of his pants. I looked up and the clerk was already calling nine-one-one.

Two Deputy Sheriffs rolled up a few minutes later and cautiously came through the door, weapons drawn.

“Let him up, son,” said the older of the deputies.

When I stood up the deputies rolled the guy over and cuffed him. The robber offered no resistance, still groggy from where I hit him with the door I guessed. When the perp (thank you NYPD Blue) was cuffed, one of the officers used his pen, and picked up the guy’s gun from where I had laid it.

“You disarm this guy?” the older officer asked.

“Not really. It was in his pants when I knocked him down. I just took it out and held him down until you got here,” I replied with a shrug.

He looked me over and asked, “You in the service?”

That was not a big leap for him to make since I had a high and tight crew cut.

“Yes, Sir,” I replied. “I’m a medic in the 75^th Ranger Regiment.”

“Okay, bud. You done good, tonight. As your reward, you need to come down to the station and make a witness statement,” he said, and he handed me a card with a case number on it.

I filled my tank and drove over to the Sheriff’s Sub-Station on the beachside. I presented the Sergeant sitting at a large, elevated desk with the card from the deputy at the Circle K. The Desk Sergeant gave me a clipboard that held a Witness’ Statement form.

“Sit over there, and fill this out. When you’re finished, I’ll notarize your signature. Any questions?”

I had none and did as he directed. He looked over the finished product and dismissed me. I made it home by midnight.

My parents were asleep when I got home so I didn’t see them until I was leaving Saturday morning. Mom gave me a hug and made me promise to come home on Memorial Day. Dad shook my hand and told me to be careful.

I motored up to Savannah, Georgia, and my new unit: Headquarters Company, 1^st Battalion, 75^th Ranger Regiment. The battalion was stationed at Hunter Army Airfield, just south of Savannah. It was ‘balls to the wall’ when I arrived at the Battalion, which was good for me in a way, as it took my mind off my girlfriend troubles. I reported in to my Company, did the required in-processing and squared away my new room. The Supply Sergeant assigned me to a two-man room on the second floor by myself with the caveat that if they needed the space, I’d get a roommate. I also met my section chief, Captain Reece, a Physician’s Assistant who was the Battalion Medical Officer.

Captain Reece welcomed me to the unit and told me I wouldn’t see much of him because I would be attached to a platoon as their medic. He also cautioned me not to get on the First Sergeant’s bad side.

“I saw him make one of the cooks pee his pants when he got in the cook’s face because chow was ten minutes late getting to the rifle range,” Reece told me.

Taking care of administrative issues took care of Monday and Tuesday. Who knew that in the age of computers, there would be so much paperwork?

Wednesday, I reported for duty as the First Sergeant’s ‘do boy.’ I was just a duty soldier because I was waiting to attend the Ranger Training Assessment Course (RTAC). The First Sergeant was just as scary as Captain Reece described.

Every time he saw me it was, “Hey, Pulaski! Do this and do that and, oh yeah, do this other thing while you are standing around stealing oxygen from people with a purpose.”

I called Elaine Monday night. And guess what, her phone number no longer worked, nor did Ellen’s. I did get ahold of Cindi, and she couldn’t reach them either. I called Nina and much to my surprise she wouldn’t help me.

“I promised to keep my nose out of this, Johnny. Donna reminded me that I was a mother now, and I should understand her being protective of her children. She’s my sister, so I’m remaining neutral for now,” she said.

That did not make me happy.

In the spirit of ‘preparing’ me for the course designed to get me ready for Ranger School, (and probably for his own cruel amusement) the First Sergeant had me wearing a rucksack, with sixty pounds of sand in it, everywhere I went. He also had me take the Ranger Physical Training (PT) test every week even though I’d have to take the test again for RTAC, and then again, as soon as I started Ranger School. Luckily, I was in the best physical condition of my life because I’d been practicing for the PT test while I was a Combat Medic Course student.

The only part of the test that I dreaded was the five-mile run. The distance didn’t bother me, but the forty-minute time limit did. I was not a svelte gazelle like my sister, I was more the plodding beast of burden. Dad said we Pulaski men were built for comfort not for speed. According to my grandfather we were designed for the long haul and not the sprint, sorta like the tortoise and hare. I squeaked by the forty minute run in thirty-eight minutes, but I excelled in the twenty-kilometer road march wearing a fifty-pound rucksack, a helmet, and carrying a weapon. I always finished that event much sooner than the allotted three hours.

The two-week RTAC course was designed to put the final polish on soldiers going to the Ranger Course. I didn’t exactly set the place on fire and had to repeat the land navigation module, but I finally did well enough to be deemed ready to attempt the school. The Friday before I was to report to the 4^th Ranger Battalion at Fort Benning to start the course, First Sergeant Blakemore called me into his office. He stood me at ease after I reported to him.