An Anomaly in Time
by Charles Merkel
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Table of Contents parts 1, 2, 3 |
part 2
“Where are you from, Tommy?”
“Anderson, Indiana.”
“Did you just finish high school last June?”
“Yeah, I decided to hold off on college, even though I graduated in the upper twenty percent of my class,” he told her, not sure if the college part was really true or not.
“Do you hate basic?”
“It’s hard. But I still did pretty good, ah, I mean, well.” He elected at that point to use his best grammar rather than barracks talk. “I was on the track team in high school. Over my four years, at one time or another, I ran the 220, 440 and 880; I was great at the running part. I could go forever. And let’s face it, if you can run and do thirty good push-ups, you got seventy-five percent of it.
“Then, I qualified as a sharpshooter on the rifle range. I only missed expert by four shots. I surprised ’em.” He smiled proudly. “They thought I was a skinny, worthless kid.”
“I’m happy for you. I played tennis for the University of Missouri. So I know what you mean about having an athletic advantage.”
“What did you major in at Missouri?”
“What do you think, dummy?” she said, laughing.
“Oh, yeah, probably nursing.” He realized his normal shyness around girls somehow waned considerably when he was with her.
“How come you have hair that’s almost long enough to be combed?” she asked. “Most of you guys are sheared so closely, I usually see a scalp full of sores where the clippers actually cut into your head.”
“When I got a top three time in the mile, out of two-hundred and twenty guys on the PT test, they said I could take a week off from the haircuts,” he said. “Then, last week, me and two other guys from Indiana just said screw it. If we got away with it, you only have to get a white side-wall haircut before graduation. We figured we’d have a three-week head start on hair on top when we got out. And we did. Our sergeant didn’t seem to be in our face all that closely the past couple of weeks during inspections.”
“And if you didn’t?” she asked. “Get away with it?”
“Well, KP for a day, and you’d be seeing some of those sores on the top of my head.”
She smiled. “You’re a lucky soldier, then.”
“How old are you, Glenda?” he asked boldly.
“Private Gettlefinger, I think this may be a lieutenant day, not a Glenda day. I don’t remember giving you permission to call me that on this particular evening,” she lectured. “And I cannot believe you would ever ask an older woman her age, let alone one who was in charge of you, and who had an endless supply of shots, and worse.” She pointed to the enema bottle dangling from a metal arm above her cart.
At this, they both laughed. “You have a good point there, lieutenant,” he said. “But, like, twenty-three?”
“Twenty-six,” she said. “Time to go.”
The next day was more of the same. Tommy contentedly felt he had gotten to know her pretty well. He also realized he had a hopeless crush on her. On Saturday, while working the afternoon shift, she caught him in the convalescent center watching the Notre Dame-Michigan State football game with thirty other hooting soldiers.
“Private Gettlefinger,” she called in to the room.
When he appeared in the hall, she said, “What are you doing here? Your fever was up again, I see.”
“I feel better, Glen-lieutenant,” he said while she grimaced. “And, like, I’m a giant Notre Dame fan.” He began pleading. “I haven’t seen them all season ‘cause I’m in basic. Michigan State and Notre Dame are both ranked number one in different polls. It’s like the game of the century. Besides, I’ve been in that bed for a week. I only get up to go to the bathroom to shower and stuff. I think I need to move around some.”
She felt his forehead. “You can watch the game. I want you back in your bed afterwards. You’re not to stay up watching TV.”
“Not even Get Smart and Gunsmoke?” he asked.
“Don’t play games.”
“Okay, Lieutenant Wingate.” Then he put his hand on her shoulder and cupped his hand to her ear. “Thanks, Glenda,” he whispered.
“Get out of my sight, brat,” she said harshly.
On Monday night, his tenth night in the hospital, she asked, “What do you think about going to Vietnam?”
“I’m scared, really. But I got to do it.”
“When President Johnson requisitioned all those troops in January of last year,” she said, “I thought it would be long over by now. I mean, that’s nearly two years! I think something’s not right.”
“Maybe not,” he said reflectively. “I just know there’s no way out. A few nights back I was really thinkin’ about it and I thought, what if I had spinal meningitis, so what? That might be a better way to go. Then, later I thought, no, that would be a waste of a life. At least if I get killed in Nam, it will have meant something. You know?”
At this, her eyes did tear up. She smoothed his forehead. “Have you even had a girlfriend?”
He hesitated. “Well, not exactly,” he said. “I just went out with a few girls, but none were actually my steady girlfriend.”
“That’s a shame, Tommy. I mean, to go to war before you’ve even had a serious relationship. That’s just too young. I’m having quite a problem with this day in and day out. You all seem like boys to me.”
“Well, I’m not the only one who’s got to go. We just gotta do the war first, then we get to the good stuff.” He cleared his throat. “I guess.”
“You should’ve gone to college,” she said. “You’re a smart young man. And with you being in the top fifth of your class, you should’ve gone.”
“Yeah, that’s where my best buddies are, and most of the girls I know,” he said dejectedly. “But, we all got to go in eventually. Everyone gets drafted.”
She smoothed his hands. “If I could get away with it, I’d keep you in here for the rest of your two years, sort of like I kept you from having a second roommate all week. But I won’t be able to keep you much longer, maybe a day or two.”
“I never thought I’d actually have a good time in a hospital,” he said. “I kinda hate to go.”
“I’m going off nights and back on days tomorrow, not that it really matters.”
“Will you write to me in Vietnam?”
She took his hands and held them more tightly than ever before. A tear ran down her cheek. When she suddenly bolted from the room without answering, Tommy trembled at the bleakness of his situation.
On Tuesday morning at eight o’clock, she woke him. His temperature was one hundred, but there were sicker troops who needed the bed. He had also acquired a roommate.
“Well, Private Gettlefinger, it looks like you’re gonna live,” Lieutenant Wingate said, taking him aback with her distance and formality. “I have some orders here for you,” she continued. “At ten, you’re to be STRAC and ready to take a base cab to the proficiency test grounds. There you’ll join up with A Company, Fifth Battalion, Third Training Brigade, and take the proficiency test with them.
“After that, you’ll be in a holding barracks. No official graduation for you, I’d bet. You’ll get your orders, most likely, for Fort Polk, Louisiana, in a few days at the holding barracks. I’m writing you a note absolutely excusing you from any work details or extra duty while you wait to ship out.”
“Thanks, lieutenant.”
She turned to tend the roommate. Tommy felt glum, then he noticed that she had left a slip of paper on his chest.
After you’ve dressed, go through the convalescent room and out the door on the other side. Follow the corridor. It will turn right. then leftt/ Then there is a door marked H SECTION. Go through it. I will meet you at 9:00 a.m.
Forty-five minutes later, Tommy began his journey. He noticed that the corridors were simply narrow hallways with buckling maroon linoleum that connected various wooden structures, in some cases hundreds of feet apart. The distance to the first turn amazed him. It was even farther to the second one. His anticipation peaked as he came upon the simple door labeled H SECTION.
Tommy turned the knob and entered. It was dank and musty but clean inside what appeared to be an old open-style ward of sorts.
“Is that you?” Lieutenant Wingate asked, coming down a creaky stairwell he hadn’t noticed near the end of the room.
“Yes, it’s me, Glenda,” he said.
“Oh, you’re bold aren’t you?” she said, as she placed a clipboard on a table, the only piece of furniture in the room. “I somehow knew you wouldn’t be calling me anything from regulations.”
His heart pounded in excitement and fear, and he smiled sheepishly. “I guess you were right,” he managed.
“That’s presumptuous. For all you know, I brought you out here to discipline you for all your trips to the convalescent center and the coke machine. This may be an army version of the woodshed for little brown-eyed Tommy.”
“Well, whatever you think, Glenda.” He tried to be loose, but his nerves betrayed him and he shifted his weight and glanced around.
She smiled and stepped to within inches of him. “Do you want to know why I had you meet me here?”
He nodded.
“I’ve decided to let you kiss me,” she said softly.
The words filled his soul to the bursting point. He could not believe he had heard her correctly. Then, slowly, he embraced her and for a full minute, they kissed.
“What did you think of that?” she asked.
“Oh, Glenda,” he said, longingly.
“Was it a nice surprise?”
“God, yes. Thank you.” He wondered if that was an okay response.
“Would you like to see me again, Tommy?”
“Yes, geez, yes, I would.”
“It won’t be easy. And it will be dangerous for both of us, especially me. As you know, an officer cannot hang around with the likes of you. You will have to do exactly as I say.”
“Well, yeah, of course.”
“I’m going to have you over to my apartment in Rolla on Friday night for a candlelight dinner. It’s about thirty miles from here. I live alone, but there are other personnel stationed at Leonard Wood living there. So, we must be careful. Now, this is up to you. If you change your mind, it’s okay. But this is my number.”
“Change my mind?” he blurted incredulously.
“I’m on days now for the next four weeks. You’ll have to call me tomorrow night from a phone booth near your holding barracks if there is a change to these plans. Compared to what you’ve known, that place should seem like a hotel. You’ll only have to dodge an occasional NCO trying to put you on KP or some other detail. You show them the note. If you have any trouble, just say you have an appointment at the hospital. We will not let them bully a recovering patient, and if someone wants to end up several pay grades lower, he can mess with us,” she said with conviction.
“You’ll need civilian clothes. I doubt if you have any.”
“No, I don’t. We can buy them or get them shipped in from home once we’re out of basic and in our next phase of training. But not at the moment.”
She picked up a shopping bag he had not noticed next to the wall. “These will fit closely enough. They are from when my brother visited last spring. With the stuff he bought in Saint Louis, he must’ve forgotten these.”
Folded neatly inside were pants, a dress shirt, and a black letter jacket with a gold, varsity chenille-letter P.
“My brother played baseball in high school,” she said. “You look so young, if need be I could pass you off for another kid brother.”
“Sure.”
“The deal is this. You meet me at seven-fifteen outside the post theatre. Take a cab, they’re only twenty-five cents anywhere on post. The first flick starts at seven. I have a white ‘64 Chevy Impala. When I pull up, just hop in like you’re a general.”
Tommy stood near the theatre at the appointed time. Having done well on the proficiency test, he had officially completed basic training. A sergeant, the nicest one he’d met, looked at his note Thursday afternoon and said, “No problem. I’ll give you a pass to get off post in case you feel up to it. You got it made, until your orders for shippin’ out arrive.”
Copyright © 2025 by Charles Merkel
