No Dominion The Walker Papers - By CE Murphy Page 0,45
at me, studying a clipboarded playsheet instead. “Sorry about that foul, Muldoon. You know how some of these referees get if you suggest they’ve made a mistake. Wild horses couldn’t change their minds.”
“Don’t matter. Ain’t a life-defining moment.”
He did look at me then, a grin flashing across his face. “That’s what I like about you, Gary. You get your fight up when you need it, but everything else you take in stride. It makes you a good player. I’d like to see you as a co-captain next year.”
“Yeah, me too.” I shoved my hands into my pockets with a sigh. “But it ain’t gonna happen, Coach. That’s why I gotta talk to you. I’m dropping out of school at the end of the semester and enlisting.”
Coach quit walking like he’d hit a wall. He’d fought in the first war, and I could see all of those memories rise up and whiten his face before he got ‘em under control an’ looked like he was tryin’ ta sound reasonable: “What in hell would you do that for?”
I shrugged. Hands in my pockets meant I couldn’t wave ‘em around like I was asking for forgiveness. “The GI bill, Coach. It’s the only way I can figure payin’ for the rest of college.”
“We can find you a scholarship—”
“Nah, Coach.” I kept my voice quiet, remembering this conversation from most of a lifetime ago. “I got the grades for ‘em, but it’s late in the year, and other guys have snatched ‘em up.”
“There are private avenues, people I can talk to—”
“Coach.” This one wasn’t worth arguing. If I didn’t join the Army, I’d never go to that USO dance and I’d never meet Annie. No way I was risking that big of a change to my life. “I don’t need the special treatment, Coach. This is what I’m gonna do.”
“They’ll send you to war, Gary. You’ll go to Korea.” There was a tremor in Coach’s voice I hadn’t been able to hear fifty years ago, when I was young and dumb an’ full of fire. The way most of me was right now, ‘cause the kid was in charge an’ the old man was only a voice of experience along for the ride. I wanted to make that kid say I know, Coach. I know what it’s like, I know about the sleepless nights you get for a lifetime after. I know about the faces that don’t go away. I understand, and I wanna thank you for looking out for me. But this is what I gotta do anyway.
I couldn’t, a’course, not anymore than I could have when I was twenty years old and feeling a little smug about my prospects and not a bit afraid getting sent to war. Best I could do was try not to sound condescending, like I thought I knew what I was talking about, when all I said was, “I know, Coach. I’ll send a postcard from Seoul, all right?”
Saunders got a tight pinched smile an’ patted my shoulder. “All right, son. I wish I could talk you out of it, but if your mind’s made up…”
“It is, Coach.”
“Then you send me that postcard, and I’ll put it with the rest.” He shook my hand and we walked away, my heart bangin’ with a young man’s excitement and an old man’s dread.
Next step I took was into the recruiter’s station, though real memory told me weeks had passed, that I’d said g’bye to all my buddies, gone out drinking more than I shoulda and kissed a few girls who weren’t mine to kiss. I stood up an’ got measured, six foot two, two hundred ten pounds, good vision, no asthma, strong heart, all of it ticked off on boxes like I was a piece of meat being processed until I was pronounced fit for duty. Another step and I was in uniform, in Basic, turning back to give a fellow recruit a helping hand, an’ the drill sergeant was in my face givin’ me hell for doin’ it. I said, “Sir, yes sir!” and “Sir, no sir!” like I was supposed ta, and next time gave the guy a hand again. Little skinny black fella named Andy, he told me that time. Andy from Alabama. Him and me would stay friends the rest of our lives, all the way into the next century. I wanted to say somethin’ to him when I gave him a hand the third time, maybe this is the beginning of a beautiful friendship,