Chapter 6: Winter 1988-89-1

By the middle of December we were well into the second quarter at school. Everyone was looking forward to the Christmas break.

We were to have two full weeks at home and Cindy had promised to be home for six days and five nights.

I was really looking forward to the break from classes and my duties as commander of Company C. Rooms three and four were under

Contro, l but the room leaders of rooms one and two had not been promoted to second lieutenant and they were letting the discipline in

their rooms deteriorate. Cadets were being sent to my private room nearly every night for a chat and I was losing valuable study time.

The Christmas break couldn't come soon enough for me.

Every student from both schools welcomed the announcement of a winter dance. Since the end of football season we had been deprived

of those post-game dances which the faculties used to teach social intercourse between gentlemen and young ladies.

The dance was to be held in our auditorium from four P.M. until six P.M., twice as long as post-game dances. What's more, we who

played varsity football would partake of the entire two hours instead of arriving late to the dance after showering. We formed in the

courtyard at three forty-five P.M. and marched to the auditorium with the band playing The Stars and Stripes Forever.

I danced my first dance with Marcie Cochran who immediately asked, "How are you getting along with the 'eye' lady?"

"She dumped me last week," I answered, a little amazed that I could laugh about it.

"I've got to hear more. I'm going to call you," she promised.

I danced with Jeannie and Celia, but sat the last dance out, telling myself I was an officer with responsibility to oversee the conduct of my

Company, but the real reason was that there was no one I wanted to dance close to. I took notice as to who was dancing with whom and

saw Jeannie with Josh, Celia with Eddie, Marcie with Press and Gloria in the arms of Spence. There were other Speedwell girls I would

have been happy to dance with the year before, but it was different now. After being told by Ann that we were finished I wasn't in the

mood to go through the getting-to-know-you process to be able to take up with someone new. It just didn't seem worth the effort. Besides,

Cindy would be home in a few days.

Marcie kept her word. She called on Saturday morning and we talked for an hour. I felt comfortable telling her what was on my mind and

she didn't hold anything back either. Before we ended the call I gave her the number in my room. I wanted to talk to her again, without

Molly overhearing my side of the conversation.

There was a letter from my sister. Heather said she and her husband had broken up. He had left her and she didn't know how long she

would be able to keep the apartment. She had obviously picked the wrong guy, again, a mistake I vowed never to make. If I could profit

from her mistakes it would save me untold heartache, not to mention the expense of breaking up. I felt I owed her something for the lesson.

I had money in a checking account. It wasn't money from an allowance or from my summer employment. New deposits appeared on my

bank statement from time to time, in varying amounts and not on any regular schedule. I withdrew money periodically, also of varying

amounts depending on my needs, but my needs were small compared to the accumulation in the account. I always had spending money and gave generous gifts to my friends, but Mr. Oldham met my other needs. He paid for my school tuition, new clothes and car expense.

There was no need to have money at school, unless you wanted to buy marijuana and I had no interest in doing that, not since I witnessed

a kid being dismissed from the academy after a shakedown my freshman year. I knew, even back then, that getting kicked out of Cromwell

would sever my relationship with Mr. Oldham. I knew I had too much to lose by disappointing him.

Money was not a subject we discussed, but I decided to tell Mr. Oldham that I was going to send money to my sister. What if he was

monitoring my account? If I were going to send Heather a check it wouldn't have mattered. But I was planning on drawing cash out of the

bank, then buy a postal money order and send it to her as a Christmas present. It wasn't that I mistrusted Heather; I didn't want her knowing

I had my own checking account. If Mr. Oldham were monitoring my account and saw a cash withdrawal he might think I was using drugs, something

I didn't want to him to ever even think.

"How much?" he asked.

"Five hundred," I said. He looked up from his reading, nodded and dropped his eyes back to the document. Suzanne, however, wanted more of an explanation.

"That's a nice Christmas gift," she said, making me explain that Heather's husband had taken off. This got Mr. Oldham's attention.

"Do you think five hundred is enough?" he asked.

"It will be enough to help. I don't want her to think I have a lot of money. She would end up expecting more every month. I know how she thinks," I said and this seemed to satisfy them for the time being although I suspected Suzanne would bring it up again.

When we returned to school after Christmas vacation Charlie Evans talked more about me coming home with him for a weekend. He had seen Debra Simmons at a party and she had asked about me. He was not specific, but I got the impression he had mentioned that I would be spending a weekend with him soon.

As far as I knew Cindy had no plans to come home again until summer vacation, which was a long time off. Spending every weekend alone was becoming boring. I longed for female companionship.

Eventually, it surfaced that my visiting the Evans home was not entirely Charlie's idea. "Come home with me this weekend. There's a party Saturday night and I'm pretty sure Debra will be there. My mom keeps asking when I'm going to bring you home," he said. It was the middle of February and there was snow on the ground. What was I going to do all weekend at home? Spend Saturday answering letters and Saturday night playing chess with Mr. Oldham? I called home and left a message that I was going to Charlie Evan's house for the weekend.

The only problem was that I didn't have any civilian clothes with me except my leather coat and a pair of heavy boots. I packed my shaving gear and told Charlie I would have to shop for something to wear to the party.

In the years that Charlie and I had been friends I had often waved at Mrs. Evans when I saw her picking Charlie up or dropping him off but we had never spoken more than a few words to exchange greetings. She seemed pleased to see me. She got into the back seat of her Volkswagen Rabbit and insisted that I ride up front with Charlie.

"Congratulations on your promotion, Sammy. I'm sure you deserved it," she said from the back seat and I turned around to answer her. She was dressed in slacks and a parka, but it was open. Stop staring at Charlie's mother's chest, I told myself.

"Thank you, ma'am," I said, turning to face the front again because I didn't want to get caught visually measuring her bra size.

"Please call me Sheila," she said and I turned to acknowledge her request. But there was no way I was going to call Charlie's mother Sheila.

We dropped Mrs. Evans off at their house and Charlie took me to a mall where two men's stores were located. The clerk in the first store whistled when he saw our Cromwell Military Academy uniforms. His whistle had already pissed me off, but when he remarked that we looked 'pretty, ' in our uniforms I told Charlie we would try the other store.

It had been a long time since I had snapped like that and I was ashamed at myself. "He pissed me off," I explained.

"The other store has a better casual section anyway," Charlie, always the pacifier, assured me. He was right. A female clerk pointed to one corner of the store, telling us to yell if we needed assistance. I found some underwear and socks before trying on a pair of jeans.

"Are you a Captain?" the clerk asked as she rang up my purchases. In addition to the jeans I found a crewneck sweater that I could wear to the party. I also picked up sweats to wear around the house.

Embarrassed by her question, I put on my jacket to hide the upper part of my uniform. "Having the rank of Captain in a private high school is not exactly a major accomplishment," I answered as I handed her my credit card.

"But you're an officer, aren't you?" she asked before looking at my credit card and adding, "Samuel K. Oldham?"

I looked at Charlie and back at the clerk before nodding. There was something about her forward demeanor that made me uncomfortable.

"Are you an officer too?" the clerk asked Charlie, who was only too happy to nod his head, vigorously. Charlie had managed to elevate his class ranking to number ten and made first lieutenant at the midterm.

"He outranks me though," Charlie told the clerk, nodding at me.

She smiled as if she understood.

"Just another dumb blond," Charlie said as we left the store.

"I don't think she's a real blond, but I wouldn't mind finding out for myself," I corrected him. We laughed and forgot about the sales clerk until later that night. We were in the den, watching television with Sheila when Charlie suddenly got up and disappeared, returning a few minutes later with a high school yearbook.

"I knew I'd seen her some place before. It's been driving me crazy. Look here," Charlie said, handing me the book.

"Ah! I told you she wasn't a real blonde!" I exclaimed when I saw the girl's photo, making Sheila, who was a real blond, look at me with

a critical eye. She questioned Charlie about the book and he said the kid next door loaned it to him. There were some classmates from

elementary school he wanted to look up.

I checked the cover of the book and discovered if was from 1986, the year we were freshmen.

"Hmm ... Melinda Swan was a junior in 1986. That makes her what ... nineteen or twenty?" I said.

Sheila wanted to know what we were talking about, and Charlie told her about the sales clerk in the clothing store asking if we were officers. He made it sound inconsequential that he had taken the time to find her photo in the yearbook, but I could tell it was more than a passing interest.

"Do you know her?" Sheila asked her son.

Charlie denied that he had ever seen the girl before. I suspected that he was hiding something. I questioned him about it later but he still wouldn't admit that he knew the girl.

The next day, I met Charlie's dad. Charles Senior greeted me warmly before excusing himself, saying he needed to speak with his son.

He didn't acknowledge his ex-wife's existence. I stayed in the kitchen with Sheila while Charlie and his dad went to his room for a private conversation.

"They're probably making arrangements to go skiing or camping next weekend," Sheila said as if to explain the reason for the private talk between her ex-husband and her son.

"That's nice," I said, feeling foolish for my dim-witted comment. I didn't know if it was nice or not. I didn't know what it was like to have a father take me skiing or camping. Mr. Oldham had made a point of telling me he would never take me hunting or fishing. We played chess and talked football and current events, that was about it.

"I'm sure it is," she said, dismissively.

Mr. Evans spoke to me again on the way out, but he ignored Sheila. Seeing the coldness between them bothered me and I was sure it bothered Charlie too. I could see where he got his height and his looks. It wasn't from his father. Charlie senior's hair was beginning to gray and thin. I wondered how much longer his employer would allow him to anchor the evening news. Sheila was by far more attractive than her ex-husband and she had lost her place in the spotlight. When would Charlie senior's on-air time be changed to mid-day or, worse, to a smaller market?

Charlie made several telephone calls, giving me the thumbs-up sign each time he ended a call. I wondered why it took so many calls to find out where the best parties were being held. "I think Debra Simmons is going to the snare-brothers' party," he said after one call.

"What are the snare-brothers?" I asked, not caring if Debra Simmons was going to be there or not. I wondered if he had even spoken to her.

"Just two guys who got that nickname because they can lure females to their parties. They're not even brothers," he said, making me wonder if he knew their real names.

"Your parents don't get along very well, do they?" I asked Charlie as we were getting ready for the party.