Commoner the Vagabond Read online

  Chapter 6

 

  Early the next morning, James hitched a ride with Staff Sergeant Warren Roquefort who was heading to Davis-Monthan AFB in Tucson, Arizona. Dressed in woodland camouflaged fatigues, Roquefort, a stout man with a relaxed demeanor, wasn’t like any of the superiors James met. Constantly joking, he sometimes kidded James for not being able to handle his liquor. The young airman swore a liquor bottle would never touch his lips again.

  “Famous last words,” Roquefort smiled.

  Driving along I-10 for 13 hours, they stopped at a few rest stops and ate at fast food restaurants in Fort Stockton, Texas and Las Cruces, New Mexico. To satisfy James’s curiosity, they took a quick tour of downtown El Paso, parking their car at Silva’s Supermarket right next to a border station.

  “Looks like we’re in Mexico already,” James noticed. “My goodness. Every business is Spanish.”

  “Look at it this way,” Roquefort explained. “At least if you ate here you’ll know the cuisine is authentic.”

  They walked over to the border station on South Stanton Street where they were promptly met by an armed Border Patrol official.

  “Can I help you gentleman?” the patrol agent asked.

  “I’ve never been to Mexico before,” James admitted. “I just wanted to catch a glimpse.”

  “Look around you,” the agent suggested. “This is Mexico, at least not in name. You guys aren’t from around here, are you?”

  “I’m headed to Cali,” James revealed.

  “Tucson,” Roquefort added pointing to himself.

  “You guys drove around El Paso yet?” the agent asked. “Can’t tell the forest from the trees.”

  “Come again, sir?” James asked.

  “It’s not important,” the patrol officer insisted.

  “You guys get a lot of los illegales here?” Roquefort inquired.

  “A lot,” the agent informed him then spit out a wad of chewing tobacco. “Not through here, though. It’s been pretty quiet. At nights, you can actually see the lights and gun flashes from Ciudad Juarez.”

  “Is that what that city is?” James asked pointing across the expansive border.

  “Yep,” the agent answered, “all that sprawling territory in its criminal-prone glory.”

  “Any of those lights aimed this way?” Roquefort asked as he also stared cross the border highway.

  “Sometimes,” the agent answered. “It never stops.”

  “No wonder people try to leave,” James offered. “I don’t blame ‘em.”

  “We actively work with their government and give assistance when we can,” the agent explained, “but you know how it is with red tape. Once, a tattered group of young girls, none of ‘em older than fourteen, came through here seeking refuge.”

  “What did you do?” James asked.

  “What can we do?” the agent shrugged. “Let every wetback in with a beef and a gun in their face? They were remanded to a holding pen near here.”

  “And then sent back?” James asked.

  “Yep,” the agent answered. “Good riddance.”

  “They probably got raped and killed immediately,” Roquefort lamented. “Runaways don’t last long.”

  “Rough job,” the agent sighed, “but somebody’s gotta do it otherwise this place will be overrun by aliens.”

  “They’re just the children of the displaced,” James surmised, “coming back home to roost.”

  “Whose side are you on, boy?” the agent asked him. “You’d better learn to honor that uniform.”

  James furrowed his eyebrows. “What?” he asked.

  Roquefort tapped his shoulder. “Let’s go,” he told him.

  They turned and started walking back towards the supermarket. The border patrol agent, however, wasn’t quite finished with them.

  “If this is the kind of soldiers we got in America,” he shouted, “we’re all doomed!” Angry, James returned briskly to the agent and stared into his doubting eyes.

  “What did you say to me?” he asked.

  “Just wanted to know which side you’re on, boy” the agent answered. “Soldier, you got to know who you’re fighting for.”

  “My name is not boy!” James expressed between gritted teeth, his face aglow with rage.

  “I think you got the wrong enemy in your sights,” the agent warned him as three other border officials came over. He then turned to Roquefort.

  “Get this kid back on base before he shoots himself in the foot.” “Thanks for your time,” Roquefort nodded as he grabbed James’s arm.

  Walking back towards their car, James’s temper finally started subsiding.

  “Be careful while you’re in that uniform,” Roquefort scolded him. “You’re representing something bigger than the both of us. Remember, people respect that uniform. It gives them something to believe in.”

  “I’m not a coward,” James stated.

  “There’s a fine line between cowardice and stupidity,” Roquefort responded. “The sooner you learn the difference the better.”

  Continuing on with his superior, James spent the night on the Davis-Monthan base. Sleep was slightly delayed as he couldn’t stop thinking about the border patrol. He could imagine him chasing down los illegales and, more than likely, denying them their human rights. But who was he to judge, he thought? He had bigger fish to catch. The next morning, he got a lift by Senior Airman Antonio Robles who was delivering schematics and visiting his brother at the base.

  “So, you’re headed to the 30th, huh?” Robles asked as they entered his vehicle.

  “The 30th?” James asked.

  “Vandenberg,” Robles explained. “The 30th Space Wing.”

  “Sorry. I’m just learning the lingo.”

  “Well, learn it fast. You fall behind and they’ll chew you up like tobacco up there.”

  Driving along I-10, they stopped in Phoenix for some grub then continued on their 10hour drive to Vandenberg. James started thinking about what life must’ve been like for the early pioneers in such an untamed and potentially brutal land. Everyone had to have been parched constantly because the area was dry and unapologetically arid. He’d read somewhere that the water from cacti was acidic but the fruit was edible. Still, with so few choices, it’s no wonder the land was just as barren today as it was back then. He sighed as they passed miles and miles of nothingness. Robles decided to give James an insight into what life is like on the expanded base.

  “It’s a whole world unto itself,” he explained. “It actually looks like any city except most of the people on the street are in military uniform. There’s a fire department, a police station, restaurants, a golf course, movie theaters, a very nice commissary. Everything’s real cheap, too. You don’t pay taxes.”

  “Why did you sign on,” James asked him.

  “Why does anybody join?” Robles asked. “I’m from Rio Rancho near Albuquerque. Me and the people I knew weren’t going anywhere. Sun up till past sun down, slaving away in those stupid kitchens, wasn’t gonna make any of us rich any time soon. Not that this job is, but you know what I mean. Really, if I was back in Rio Rancho now I’d be in jail.”

  “Why? You got in trouble all the time?”

  “We sold weed, but, you know, I dibbed and dabbed in it. You go back there and drive around and you’ll see people just sitting around doing nothing. Any hope they ever had in their life they kissed it goodbye years ago.”

  The two enlistees talked so much they didn’t realize when they crossed into California. With the Joshua Tree National Park in their rear view mirror, they stopped in Palm Springs to stretch their legs and get a bite to eat. With only three hours to go, they drove through LA, stopping once to refill the gas tank. By 8PM, they arrived at the base. Robles drove his passenger over to the 24hr check in spot, Vandenberg Lodge, Building 13005. They were met there by the dorm manager where James promptly received his assigned room in Unaccompanied Housing. Afterward, Robles drove him to Atla
s, his dormitory. He watched as James dragged his relatively light but filled duffle bag out of the car and set it in front of the wide three-story building.

  “Well,” Robles nodded, “you made it. “You’re in the A.F. now. I hope you like your time here.”

  “Thanks. How long did you sign up for?”

  “Six years. It’ll probably me longer, though. I’m not in a rush to get back to Albuquerque.”

  He checked his watch.

  “One hour till curfew. You’d better get inside.” James shook his hand. “Thanks for everything.”

  “Sure thing,” Robles acknowledge. “I’ll be seeing you around.”

  James watched as he drove off then picked up his duffle bag and walked into the building. He saw a few airmen sitting in a lounge watching TV and approached them.

  “Hey, all,” he began. “Where’s room 321?”

  All eyes suddenly fell on him. Immediately, he felt like a roast duck hanging, dripping oil in a restaurant window in Chinatown. One of the airmen walked over to him.

  “What’s your name, boy?” he asked.

  “James Thorsen,” he answered. “I didn’t mean to come here this late, but circumstances being as they are…”

  “Just got out of BMT, cherry?” the stranger asked.

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Ooh wee!” he shouted. “An FNG in my presence!”

  He then proceeded to bow in front of James like a visiting dignitary. James rolled his eyes.

  “Take the lift to the fourth,” the airman informed him pointing to the elevator

  “Thanks.”

  James, grabbing his duffle, rode the elevator to his floor and read the numbers on consecutive doors till he found his. The room, he noticed, was already open. He knocked on the door and stepped into the entrance.

  “Anyone here?” he asked.

  A face poked out from the room ahead.

  “Come in,” he uttered.

  James walked in dragging his bag. The small room, approximately 180 square feet in size, was just slightly bigger than his old room in Bright Village. All the walls were covered with neatly arranged air force, movie and rock ‘n roll posters. There was one double-decker bed and two desks in the room, one at which the young man was sitting. Against a wall were shelves containing books, supplies, a radio and a small color TV. Rock music was playing on the radio. The stranger stretched out a hand to James.

  “Hey, cadet,” he greeted him, “nice to meet you. I’m Airman First Class Barstow, but you can call me Chase.”

  “James Thorsen,” the new arrival responded.

  “You’ve got the bottom bunk, if you don’t mind.”

  “It’s fine with me.”

  “They were expecting you earlier.”

  “Yeah,” James stated. “I changed drivers in Tucson. I guess things happen.”

  “Well, welcome to the 30th. The Atlas isn’t exactly the New York Hilton, but it’ll do. You’re gonna meet a lot of characters here so always keep up your guard.”

  “I already did downstairs. Hey, what’s an FNG?”

  “Fucking New Guy. That’s what you are. Don’t take it to heart. You’ll learn all these slangs in no time. Don’t fall behind though or they’ll chew you up like tobacco up here.”

  “So, I’ve heard.”

  “They used to drive my ex-roommate crazy with that stuff.”

  “What happened to him?”

  “As soon as he made Phase II he moved off campus to be with his family. Lucky devil.” James glanced at his duffle bag.

  “I’d better put these things away.”

  “You passed the closet on your way in,” Chase informed him. “Oh, can you close the door now? This place should be aired out enough.”

  James nodded and dragged his things towards the closet. After shutting the front door, he opened the closet and noticed that half the space was already made vacant and available to him. Several empty hangers dangled from the bar traversing the limited nook. Immediately, he began hanging up his clothes.

  “Where are the bathrooms?” he asked his roommate.

  “Out in the hall to the left with the showers,” Chase answered.

  “Thanks,” the newbie said.

  “Yeah,” Chase continued, “it’s a little primitive, but they’re working on it. I understand they’ll be renovating all the dorms soon, including Titan and The Modules. I don’t know when, though. Things work a little slowly around here.”

  James paused long enough to ask another question. “How long have you been here?”

  “A year and a half.”

  The new recruit continued hanging his clothes up.

  “Are you from around here?” he asked the A1C.

  “Nah. I’m from Lodge Grass, Montana. That’s a little town on the Crow Reservation.”

  “So, you’re a native?”

  “Yep. I’m Crow to the bone.”

  “Now you’re in the Air Force.”

  Chase sighed. “Better than what I did.”

  “What did you used to do?”

  The native Crow took a sip of water from a glass on his desk and danced his pen acrobatically between his fingers.

  “Are you sure you want to know?” he asked the newcomer.

  “If you don’t want to, that’s okay.”

  “No, I don’t mind. I used to be an aide in a hospital in Billings but something happened one day where I was forced to quit.”

  “Something like what?”

  “We had a patient who pretty much took care of himself. Used to go wheeling around the unit like he lived there. As a matter of fact, he did, because they were still looking for a place for him. He was a Cheyenne named Jacob Running Bear. Running Bear was a paramedic in Billings. He was in an accident one night where his head almost got severed off. Or did get severed off, I’m not sure which.”

  “And he lived?”

  “Miracle of miracles. He scooted himself around the hospital with a cowl pulled up around where his neck used to be.”

  “Running Bear had no neck?”

  “Uh, huh. They say the few people who saw him riding around exposed with space for a neck would just freak and faint.”

  “Bizarre,” James grieved. “I probably would, too. How did he eat and breathe?”

  “I believe he had a feeding pump and a ventilator, but I don’t know much about that stuff

  ‘cause I’m not a nurse.”

  The astonished airman took the shoes out of his duffle bag and showed them to Chase.

  “Where should I put these?”

  “Just leave ‘em on the floor under your bunk next to mine. I like to keep everything in one place so during inspection everything looks okay.”

  “When’s inspection?”

  “For you, once a week. But it’s cool, though. Don’t sweat it.”

  James went back to the closet and started changing into more comfortable sleeping clothes.

  “So, what about Running Bear?”

  “One day our unit was short of nurses so this RN, Madge something, floated down from another floor. She was pissed because she knew she’d have to work hard on my unit. She saw Running Bear scooting around and asked another nurse about him. The nurse told him about the accident. Madge wanted to know how his head stayed upright but the nurse said she wasn’t sure as Running Bear took care of himself. Madge, though, wasn’t satisfied. She asked another nurse and pretty much got the same answer. Nobody really saw his mishap because it was nightmare inducing. I think if I saw it I probably would have nightmares for weeks. Madge, though, thought that everyone on the unit was negligent in his care, so she gathered up some info and called the state. They promptly came down, did their little assessment, and actually found the unit was negligent in care. Some people got fired, some got reassigned. I was so fed up with all the politics I quit. I swear. There was more politics in that place than the White House.”

  “So now here you are.”

  “So now here I am
.”

  Yawning, James got into bed and under the covers.

  “Man,” he admitted. “I’m beat. I really should take a shower, but I’m so damned tired I’d pass out under the water. Just driving across the desert drains your strength.

  “May as well get your beauty sleep, Cinderella. You’ve got a big day tomorrow.”

  “Yeah. What do you study here?”

  “Nothing medical, I’ll tell you that! I’m studying Space Systems Operations, you know, tracking satellites, launching missiles, that sort of thing.”

  “Sounds good.”

  “What about you?”

  “I’d really like to be a pilot, but you have to be an officer, so I’ll start with Electronics Maintenance.”

  Chase closed the book he was reading, turned off the radio and light and climbed into the top bunk.

  “I’m beat, myself,” he admitted. “Hey, when you get your wings, don’t forget us penguins, huh?”

  Chase waited for a reply from his new roommate. Then, looking over the side of his mattress, he saw that the extremely tired traveler had already fallen asleep. Nodding, he returned to bed and did the same.

  Beginning his first full day of Phase I, James got more than a taste of tech school life. Joining other servicemen with the same rank, he was photographed, fingerprinted, marched, instructed, fed and inspected. He also began day one of three of PRT, Physical Readiness Training, consisting of pushups, sit-ups, and running. By the end of the day he was so exhausted he barely spoke to anyone. Returning to his room, he slept like a baby until 4AM the next day when it began all over again. By the end of the week, thoughts about quitting slipped in and out of his mind. Chase even asked him why he looked so down. He simply stated he wasn’t used to having everything thrown on his lap all at once but Chase, using carefully scripted language, encouraged him to be a trooper.

  In the ensuing weeks, once he entered Phase II, he seemed to fare better. Taking each class in stride, he hunkered down like his fellow airmen, completing each assignment as scheduled. When he was alone, however, the gnawing suspicion that he may have made a mistake started growing uncontrollably. Small fits of depression started seeping in slowly which he made sure to reveal to no one.

  After classes one morning, he walked with some fellow airmen to the dining facility. Standing at the counter with a full tray of food he noticed Baker sitting alone at a table across the room. Excusing himself, he walked towards his boot camp buddy.

  “Hey, pal,” James greeted him, “mind if I sit here?”

  “Hey, flyboy,” Baker announced in a subdued manner, “be my guest.”

  James took the seat opposite his friend who, apparently, was down in the dumps. He noticed Baker, playing with his spoon, barely touched the meal in front of him.

  “Why the long face?” James asked. “You’re not even eating.”

  “I don’t think I can make it,” Baker admitted. “It’s tougher than I thought.”

  “C’mon, Baker, we need each other to keep each other strong. I don’t think anyone here gets by just by themselves.”

  “I know, man. I’m thinking I should just go back home and try to get into a regular college.”

  “So, the physical regimen is getting you down, huh?”

  “The running and pushups I can handle,” Baker stated, “it’s the terror of knowing I can go through all this and still not graduate because I turned into a fucking chicken.”

  “Don’t say that too loudly,” James warned. “You want a big chicken dinner?”

  “A what?”

  “Bad conduct discharge.”

  “Oh.”

  “I know you’re just not throwing the bullshit flag, Baker,” James suggested, “so I know things will get better. I gotta get back with my troop, though. I don’t want them to think I went over the hill.”

  “I’ll see ya later.”

  James got up, grabbed his tray and looked at Baker.

  “Talk to your sergeant. Maybe you can get a break some kinda way.”

  “Fat chance of that happening.”

  “I’ve heard things.”

  As James walked back to his crew, Baker stared at his meal, pondering like a philosopher, momentarily addled while deep in thought.

  Because of the new phase he’d achieved, James took advantage of his lessened base restrictions and often signed out just to take long walks around Vandenberg on the weekends. Much of the area, he noticed, remained underdeveloped. Indeed, the base was so forested it reminded him of Discovery Park, one of the parks he frequented in Seattle. It, too, had a military background as the U.S. Army’s Fort Lawton, but by the late 60’s/early 70’s had become both Indian tribal land and a city park.

  During this summer of 1985, when “Back to the Future” ruled the cineplexes and “Live Aid” garnered millions of viewers and dollars for Ethiopia, James started noticing purplish spots the size of dots on a guitar’s fretboard on the back of his hands. Occasionally, they’d itch which scratching relieved, other times they’d drive him nutty to the point of making him scratch till he broke the skin and stain his sheets with blood. Soaking his hands in ice cold water, he soon discovered, made them go away. As he was in the midst of preparing for the exercises that would help lunge him into Phase III, he made sure he was physically ready by soaking his hands with ice cubes in water as often as possible. His fellow airmen, passing by the kitchen area in the dorm, would look at him curiously while he soaked. The few that did approach would yank his hands out of the water, but by then, the spots would have dissipated.

  Following his entry into Phase III, James grew more and more silent. His classmates and few friends he had noticed it. In the past, he would be the first person to throw up a hand in class when a question was asked by an instructor. Now, he simply sat at his desk twisting the pencil in his hand over and over. During lunch, he ate very little. On a few occasions, he declined to go to the dining facility altogether. Chase even attempted to drag him into conversations in their room, but James would either bury his nose in his books or simply sleep whenever he had the chance. Not once did he ever complain when Chase, as a joke, would turn the volume on his stereo way up. Instead, he slept through the thrashing of the loud guitars as if he were adrift alone on a cloud.

  One night around 2AM, he woke up screaming “FIRE!” Jumping out of bed, and waking Chase in the process, he ran out into the hall of his dorm and continued yelling. Several half-asleep housemates poked their heads out of their rooms trying to figure out what was going on. James then broke open the fire alarm box and pulled the lever. The entire building was now awakened because of the loud piercing sound emanating from the ceilings. Immediately, everyone grabbed their slippers, some also grabbed a robe, and rushed down the stairs and out the front door.

  Looking out across the building, they noticed there was no smoke. A staff sergeant approached James who was sitting on the sidewalk in a fetal position rocking back and forth. He asked him if there truly was a fire but the airman didn’t answer. The sergeant told his charges they couldn’t go back in till the ‘all clear’ was received and had to wait till the fire department responded. Seconds later, a small battalion of fire trucks, including a medic response unit, arrived. They asked where the fire was. The sergeant stated no one knew because the airman who pulled the alarm, Thorsen, was sitting non-verbal on the sidewalk. The firemen walked over to James and asked where the fire was, but like with his own house mates, he remained silent.

  The firemen went into the building and checked out the rooms, including pantry area. According to the responder code box near the kitchen area, they saw a red light flashing on the panel indicating the 3rd floor. When they checked the floor, they received no hints of smoke or fire. After resetting the alarm from the basement, they went back outside and told everyone the building was safe. The airmen, more angry than fatigued, returned to their rooms. James remained out on the sidewalk rocking back and forth. Both Chase and the Sergeant tried to get him to stand
up but the look in James’s face was so far away, it was like he was in a trance. The fire department suggested that James should be taken to the hospital for observation. The Sergeant agreed. The medical truck backed up towards them. The EMTs then removed a stretcher from the rear compartment and rolled it over to the silent young man. Chase, the Sergeant and the two medical personnel got James up on the stretcher. He barely fought the move. The EMTs started to apply restraints but the Sergeant told them it wasn’t necessary. As all the trucks drove off, the Sergeant turned to Chase.

  “What the hell happened tonight, airman?”

  “I don’t know, sir,” Chase answered. “I was asleep like everyone else. Suddenly, he just started yelling fire.”

  The Sergeant nodded. “Sounds like he was having a nightmare.”

  “Yes, sir,” Chase said. “Then he ran through the building yelling and pulled the alarm.”

  “Have you noticed anything wrong with him lately?”

  The young airman shook his head. “No, sir.”

  “Out of the fucking blue,” the astonished sergeant asked, “he went ass up like that?” “Seems like it.”

  “Well, I’ll be a speckled pig. Okay, son. Get back to bed.” Chase saluted the sergeant.

  “Oh,” the sergeant added, “when he comes back, keep an eagle eye on him, huh? We can’t have our corpsmen flying around like jaybirds in a hurricane.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  James spent about four hours in the base ER being prodded and poked by the medical staff. Since he remained non-verbal, he couldn’t give his permission to have a cat scan or MRI done. After being seen by a psychiatrist, they decided to admit him for closer observation.

  His condition, the personnel thought, was a conundrum. There he was, a physically fit young man nearing the prime of his life, lying in his room staring constantly at the ceiling as if awaiting some kind of sign or message. The doctors agreed they’d never seen a psychotic break like his and had to even consult specialists from other hospitals. They really began to worry when he wouldn’t touch his food trays. Since he was on IV fluids, at least he would be hydrated, but if he continued refusing food, they would be forced to move to more drastic measures.

  Four days went by when, one morning, his nurse brought his breakfast tray in and left it on his overbed table.

  “Thank you,” James uttered in a low whisper.

  The surprised young nurse turned and watched as James attempted to sit up on the side of the bed.

  “Easy, James,” she warned him.

  After helping him sit up, she brought the tray with the meal over and removed the lid.

  “Sausage and eggs,” James noticed.

  “Finally talking, eh, flyboy?” she asked.

  “What day is today?” he asked groggily.

  “It’s Tuesday,” she answered.

  James’s eyebrows shot up. “Tuesday? I spent the whole weekend here?”

  “Seems like it,” she nodded. “How do you feel?”

  The recovering airman rubbed his arms and legs then rubbed his face. He then studied the dangling IV dripping clear fluid into his left arm.

  “I’m okay,” he answered. “Where am I?”

  “The hospital right here on base,” she informed him.

  “Vandenberg?”

  “Yeah,” she replied. “You really don’t remember, huh?”

  James rubbed his temples. “My head feels like a squashed melon. What happened?”

  “That’s what they’re trying to figure out,” the young medico answered. “Why don’t you eat before the food gets cold and I’ll send a doctor in to see you.”

  “Thanks…” he stated then quickly scanned the ID on her uniform. “Stanley.” He also noticed the silver bar on her uniform’s collar.

  “First Lieutenant Stanley,” he noticed correctly.

  “You can call me Michelle,” she told him. “I’ll be back later.”

  Later that morning, James met with his doctor, Major Karl Lippow.

  “What’s wrong with me?” James asked as Lippow pulled a seat up to the bed.

  “It looks like acute psychosis of unknown origin,” he explained looking at his chart.

  “Can you fix it?”

  “It’s treatable.”

  “They’re gonna kick me out of service now, aren’t they?”

  “I don’t think so,” Lippow explained. “If every serviceman who presented with some mental problem was released, we’d have no one standing on the front lines. Nobody’s perfect. Tell me something – have you ever been diagnosed with schizophrenia?”

  James knew that question would pop up eventually and dreaded the day. Since he’d omitted it from his initial boot camp questionnaire, he thought it’d look odd to admit it now.

  “Not that I know of,” he stated.

  “Well, you were obviously delusional, screaming fire so loudly it caused a commotion. I understand, just before this incident, you started spending a lot of time alone?”

  “Doctor,” James reasoned, “the whole week seemed like a blur to me.”

  “You may also have psychotic depression,” Lippow added. “I’m prescribing you amitryptyline and a low dose of Haldol for now. You’ll also be seeing a clinical psychologist once a week in the clinic on base.”

  “So, I’m being released soon?”

  “I’m signing the papers today. You should be out of here by dinnertime.” Major Lippow stood up.

  “I hope it doesn’t happen again,” James vowed.

  “Don’t worry,” the doctor stated. “Just so you know, these meds have been known to give people cramps or diarrhea. If that happens for a while just tell us.”

  “Will do,” James said saluting him.

  After eating dinner in the hospital, he walked quietly back towards the dorm wearing fatigues brought over by a housemate. Feeling as if all eyes were upon him, he quickened his step. Minutes later, he entered the Atlas and headed straight towards the elevator.

  “Not so fast!” someone shouted at him from the lounge area.

  Looking over, he saw two airmen, A1C Saunders and A1C Pike, walking over.

  “Not right now,” James pleaded. “Please, I’ve gotta lie down.”

  “I hope you’re not still dicked up,” Saunders warned. “That last stunt almost earned you a can of whoop ass from here to Dolphin Bay.”

  “That could’ve been anyone of us,” James suggested. “I’m not perfect.”

  Pike tapped Saunders’ shoulder.

  “Come on,” he told him. “Forget about it. Just let him get upstairs and hit the fart sack for now.”

  “You’re lucky this time,” Saunders informed James. “But watch your back.”

  James went upstairs, entered his room, placed the bottles of meds from his pocket on his desk and plopped right down into his bed. Chase, sitting at his desk working on math problems, put his book aside momentarily.

  “Hey, roomie,” he greeted James. “Feeling better?”

  “Yeah.”

  “What happened?”

  “That’s what I’m trying to figure out.”

  “That was some crazy night, man,” Chase averred.

  “It won’t happen again. Sorry ‘bout the wake up.”

  “That’s okay. Some of the others might not be as understanding, though.”

  “Yeah. I already found that out.”

  Chase pointed to a few books sitting on James’s desk.

  “I did you a solid and picked those up for you.”

  “What are they?”

  “Homework.”

  “Aw, shucks. You shouldn’t have.”

  “You’re welcome,” Chase maintained. “Didn’t want you to fall behind.”

  “I was worried I was gonna be a slick sleeve forever.”

  “Nah. Health issues are kinda routine,” his roommate assured him. “Just get some rest.”

  The next day, James resumed his regimen of classes and exercise. The
few days in the hospital, he soon found out, didn’t set him as far back as he thought it would. Schoolwork and assignments were met and various criteria for advancement satisfied. The relationship with his dorm mates was tenuous at best, but in time, strengthened as the weeks moved on. He started spending more time in the common lounge or joining his fellow airmen in friendly pickup games on campus. In September, he even started work on a graphic comic related to his cloud story from years before. Indeed, his mood had been greatly improved since his hospitalization.