The Obstacle Course (2 page)

I took a deep breath and started to run the course again.

I ran the course five times. That isn’t so many, I can do that many pretty easy, I’m faster on it than most of the midshipmen. I’ve got a lot of stamina for a kid my age. I ran it once twelve times in a row without stopping. That was last summer, when it was light out until nine-thirty. There were some midshipmen hanging around, working out, and they started watching me when I got going, then they started cheering for me, rooting me on, “come on, kid, keep going,” they were yelling, counting the laps, one would join me for a lap and then he’d drop out and another one would take a lap with me. A whole bunch of them came over to watch, it was like a big party, they were laughing and yelling and really having a good time. I was, too.

Later on they took me over to Bancroft Hall and let me eat with them. It was really neat, they have good food there and plenty of it. Actually, it was one of the best days of my life. Probably the best day.

The sun came out while I was running. It looked like a slice of lemon, real pale yellow. It didn’t get any warmer, though, actually it got colder, because the snow stopped falling. The day was really clear like it gets sometimes after it stops snowing, this kind of real hard, pale, metal-blue-looking kind of sky. All the big soft clouds drifted off, leaving these little finger clouds, real high in the sky.

Five times is about average for me. I could always come back and run more if I felt like it. I had sweated clear through my T-shirt and sweatshirt both; I was warm now, comfortable even without my jacket. My shirts were sticking to my chest so I plucked them away from my skin, the steam from my sweat rising up over my body, like it does after you take a real hot shower, the kind where the needles sting real good and your body gets as red as a lobster. I walked over to a patch of clean snow and fell straight back, keeping stiff so as not to spoil it, and then I moved my arms and legs to make an angel.

I just lay there for a while. Way off in the distance the bells of the Academy started chiming church carols. They do that every Sunday, it’s really beautiful. I like getting up here early to hear them. I don’t actually like going to church but I like hearing the bells. If you listen carefully you can hear the bells coming from town as well, they’ve got churches all over Annapolis, it’s a really old town, the oldest state capital in the U.S., I learned that from the encyclopedia, too. In sixth-grade geography class we studied Maryland state history, I used to be able to name every county in Maryland. There’s twenty-three of them. I know just about everything there is about Annapolis and the Naval Academy, I can be really smart when something interests me, I could be the smartest kid in my class if I felt like it.

I don’t remember all twenty-three counties by heart anymore. If I need to know them again I’ll look them up.

I was sitting under Tecumseh, a famous old statue of an Indian chief which is like a symbol of the Academy. It’s outside Bancroft Hall, the main building where all the midshipmen live and eat. They can serve four thousand people at the same time, it’s the biggest dining room I’ve ever seen—probably one of the biggest ones in the whole country, I’ll bet.

The midshipmen were coming by in groups on their way to breakfast. On Sundays they can come to meals when they want. The rest of the week they march to meals in formation, the whole brigade. It’s one of the coolest things you can see, all of them marching like one man, ramrod-straight in uniform.

One thing I love about the Academy is the uniforms. They’re really neat-looking, summer and winter both. What’s good is that they’re all wearing the same thing. You don’t have to worry about whether you’re a cool dresser or not, or if you have enough money to buy all the right clothes or not. Some kids, just because they can’t afford new clothes, are treated like shit. There’s some kids in my class who’ve probably never had new clothes in their life, not even shoes. They have to wear their older brothers’ or sisters’ hand-me-downs. One girl in elementary school had to wear her older brother’s clothes, even his shoes, which were big black brogans—clodhoppers, they’re called. I really felt sorry for that girl, Clara Wilson. Her parents were sharecroppers and when the farm they shared on got sold they had to move. She was a nice girl, too, pretty and smart both, but all the other girls treated her like a leper. It wasn’t her fault her folks were poor. If she was still around I’d probably be wanting to take her out. She really was pretty, even in fifth grade.

I was hungry as hell. You get hungry running the obstacle course as many times as I did. I could’ve gone into town and bought some breakfast, but I wanted to eat here, with all these guys. Sometimes I pretend I’m somebody’s kid brother, visiting for the weekend. The problem is I don’t have a brother, and if I did he sure wouldn’t be here, not the way my family operates. That’s another reason I want to get out when I’m old enough, because if the people here ever found out what kind of family I’ve got I could kiss my chances of getting in goodbye.

“Had your breakfast yet?”

I jumped up and fell in step with this midshipman. He was second-year, what they call a youngster, walking along all by his lonesome. I could tell his rank by the stripes on his uniform, I know all that shit, I’ve memorized it.

“Breakfast,” I repeated. “Had yours yet?”

“On my way,” he answered, glancing over at me.

“Take me in with you, will you?” I asked, trying to keep the whine out of my voice. Sometimes when I want something real bad my voice goes up so I sound like I’m about ten years old. I hate it when that happens. “You can bring guests in on the weekend,” I told him, in case he didn’t know.

“Only family.” He knew.

“So tell ’em I’m your brother.” He was walking fast, the way they do, but I kept up, matching him step for step.

“Don’t have a brother,” he told me.

“Bet you always wanted one.”

“Not today, kid. Take off.”

I waited near the entrance, biding my time. You’ve got to be patient when you’re trying something like this. A few minutes later three first-classmen headed towards me. They had officers’ epaulets on their uniforms, which meant they were very big deals. They were laughing and talking, real confident laughs and booming voices, like they owned the world.

I stopped one as he passed by me. He was a big guy, pleasant-looking, kind of like a hick with a coat of polish on him. A lot of these guys are just hicks from the sticks when they come here, but they’re men of the world when they leave. This one looked like a pretty easy mark, one of those nice big guys who’s everybody’s friend.

“Don’t I know you from somewhere?” I asked him, talking fast.

He looked at me for a second.

“You talking to me, kid?”

“You’re on the football team, right? I saw you play against Maryland last year, didn’t I?”

You always ask a big guy if he’s on the football team. Even if he isn’t it makes him feel good, like he’s this big stud jock.

“No,” he answered, like the question embarrassed him almost. Maybe he’d tried out and hadn’t made it.

“You look like a football player to me,” I told him. “A good one.” A little flattery never hurts, I learned that early on.

“I play lacrosse,” he said, trying to come on real modest-like.

“Bet you’re good, too,” I said.

“Good enough. I start.”

He was smiling. Everybody likes to brag on himself.

“I knew it,” I crowed triumphantly. “I saw you play against Hopkins last year, didn’t I? You probably scored a mess of goals.”

Wrong move. His face clouded up right away.

“I missed the Hopkins game,” he said. I could hear the anger rising in his voice. “Lousy demerits. Cost me my letter.”

“Hey, you’ll get it this year, no sweat,” I told him. I was getting nervous—we were almost at the front door.

“Shake it, Maguire,” one of the other ones said to my mark, “the bus for the Colts game leaves in half an hour.”

“Take me in with you,” I pressed, hearing the begging tone in my voice. Maybe he’d take pity on me, as long as he got me inside I didn’t give a shit how.

“No.” He walked faster, trying to get away.

“Listen, I’m not kidding, it’s simple, just tell the checker at the door I’m your brother, I do it all the time, nobody cares.”

“Forget it.” He pushed me away as he walked through the door.

It was that damn Hopkins game. I’ve got to learn to keep my stupid mouth shut once I’m ahead.

“Fuck off, lardass,” I yelled after him, “the only team you’ll ever get a letter from is the beat-your-meat team.”

He spun on his heel like he was going to chase me, but I was already gone. He couldn’t have caught me if he’d chased me clear to Baltimore. He really did have a fat ass, he was probably called lardass all the time, he didn’t want some kid reminding his friends about it.

The morning was slipping by. I should’ve gone into town and eaten, but I wanted to eat here, it was like something inside of me had to have it. I could smell the hot cakes and bacon and sausage aromas drifting out from inside. I was so hungry I could’ve eaten a horse, tail and all.

Then I saw him—the mark of all time, this skinny little guy wearing glasses that looked like Coke-bottle bottoms, they were so thick. I didn’t know you could get into the Naval Academy if your eyes were that bad. Maybe they hadn’t been as bad when he came, maybe they got bad from all the studying you have to do. You have to work your ass off to get through four years here. You’ve got to work your ass off and really be smart at the same time.

He was a complete wet-shit, that’s the only honest description you could give him. No way this pussy was a jock. The only sport he’d be good for would be tiddlywinks. I could run rings around him on the obstacle course, I knew that for sure. This poor guy probably didn’t have a friend in the world. He’d be happy to have company for breakfast.

I strolled up to him, synchronized my steps with his.

“Today’s take-a-buddy-to-breakfast day, okay?” I told him in a low voice, talking fast out of the side of my mouth.

He looked at me kind of strangely but didn’t say anything; he probably hadn’t ever had anyone want to eat breakfast with him before. I was going to do him a favor, to tell you the truth.

“Just tell the guy checking the door I’m your brother,” I explained, “they don’t give a shit on Sundays, I’ll shine your brass for you if you bring me in, that’s a good deal.”

The guy cracked a smile. I had him, I knew it. I fell in lock-step with him as we hit the door together.

“I’m your brother, got it?” I instructed him under my breath. You’ve got to be patient with these guys sometimes, they’ve got their heads way up in the clouds, all the studying they do.

We passed through the door into King’s Hall, which is the actual dining room. This asshole nodded to the checker without saying a word, he just kept going. The checker leaned over and grabbed me by the collar.

“I’m his brother!” I called to the dumb bastard’s back: “Hey, tell him!”

The checker was this stout, happy-go-lucky-looking plebe. He smiled kind of sympathetically to me.

“Sorry, kid.” He pushed me away.

I looked inside. The mark was standing in the hallway, talking to another midshipman, another loser from the looks of him. They must’ve been charter members in the Annapolis loser’s club.

“Asshole,” I muttered under my breath. I was pissed off, no way I was going to let him get away with treating me like that, so I grabbed a handful of snow, made a hard ball out of it, and threw a Johnny Unitas spiral into the doorway, right at his scalped head.

“Hey!” he yelled, startled and angry.

I took off, running across the quad. He was a wet shit but he was still bigger and stronger than me. Stupid asshole—served him right. Like another order of pancakes and sausage would hurt anyone. When I’m a midshipman I’ll take in any kid that asks. I’ll go
find
kids and bring them in. I’ll be the best friend here a kid could ever have.

The Severn River was choppy, big dark-green waves slamming against the breakwater. There was another storm coming in tonight, I can tell when the weather’s going to turn shitty, it’s usually when I’m out on the road. I’d have to make sure I hit the highway early enough to hitch a ride while it was still light out, otherwise I could be standing there with my thumb hanging out all night long.

I walked along the embankment, hunched over against the wind. My jacket isn’t all that warm, it’s just a car coat for the fall, I don’t have a real winter jacket. The one I lost was a good one, but my old man didn’t feel like throwing good money away after bad, was how he saw it, meaning I’d lose another one. That’s one of the things I really like about my old man, how much he believes in me.

The boats on the river were drifting in the water, their mooring lines straining tight against the piers, the masts bare. It was quiet—the only sounds were the windblown whitecaps moving across the water, slapping against the sides of the hulls. One halyard had got unfastened, snapping back and forth against itself like a bullwhip.

I bought a couple of hot dogs off a stand down by where the Academy keeps their racing sailboats: high-masted yawls, brought up out of the water, dry-docked for the winter. The rolls were stale—the vendor must’ve been hanging onto them since last weekend, waiting for some hungry sucker like me to take them off his hands. I ate the hot dogs and threw most of the rolls away for the seagulls.

The sun finally came out around midafternoon, but the clouds were still hovering. The snow was half-melted, turning to slush. I hate it when snow melts like that. Somehow all the dog shit in the world surfaces under the slush, it’s like one big carpet of dog crap. I drifted around the campus, looking at the families that had come down to be with their sons. Some of the families had kids my age. They always look like they belong here, like they fit in. I think that’s part of my problem—I don’t look like I fit in.

For a while I played in a pickup basketball game with some boys my age. They didn’t want me to, I could tell, but they were too chickenshit to keep me out. They played this finesse game, fancy dribbling and stuff like that. My style is to put my head down and go for the basket and everybody get the hell out of my way. I call a lot of fouls, too. Needless to say they weren’t real happy with my coming in and upsetting their little applecart. We played one game of twenty-one, then they picked up their ball and left. I didn’t have a ball of my own, so there wasn’t much point in sticking around there.