If you had asked me to write the perfect scenario of what should happen while Lenny was in the navy, it would be as follows:
1. Lenny would breeze through boot camp, build himself up, put on weight, get physically and emotionally stronger.
2. He would get sent to a school where he would learn a skill that would give him a terrific career.
3. He would be stationed close enough to New York so we could see each other often.
4. Our relationship would continue to grow until we could get married either while he was still in the navy or right after he got out.
5. We would live happily ever after.
In the beginning it seemed as if this might actually come to pass. Lenny’s letters described basic training as difficult, but he admitted that the discipline was something he probably needed at this time of his life.
His first letter started out: “Dedicated to the Girl I Love.” (I had to smile at that.)
“To say it’s a blast here would be quite ridiculous. You wake up at four-thirty to the sound of a stick beating on an ashcan. Believe me, it’s a lousy way to get up.”
He went on to describe in detail what boot camp was like—daily cleaning and work parties, shoveling snow in twenty below zero cold, galley duty cutting eyes out of sixteen hundred pounds of potatoes, night watches of two to four hours. He told me about the personal inspections, where they were scrutinized for proper uniform and cleanliness, and to see if their beds were perfectly made.
That struck me as funny. Lenny, who probably never had made his bed more than once or twice in his life, now having to do so to exacting specifications! I had a hard time picturing him marching, as he described, in columns of three, waiting in line for his food, sitting through classes in military procedures and seamanship, and doing daily exercises.
“You’ve got to keep in line here and avoid any fooling around,” he wrote. “Any goofing off and it could mean you’ve got to start training all over, no matter how far you’ve progressed.”
Starting all over. The thought of it was frightening. Nothing like that had better happen to Lenny. It was so hard for me without him. Even though I was trying to fill my days with school and tutoring and seeing my friends as much as possible, there was always this aching emptiness inside of me. I knew it would never go away until we could be together again.
* * *
In late January, Lenny wrote with some good news. Because he had scored so high on his general classification tests, he was appointed first platoon leader. That made him third in command in the barracks, in charge of seventy-five men. Not only did he love being able to give orders, but he got out of watches and some of the other hard jobs as well. And he had passed his swimming test, something he had been worried about. He was doing great.
“Lenny sounds better than he has for ages,” I reported to Sheldon and Jessie when I ran into them in the street the day I received that letter. “It looks as if joining the navy was the right move for him. He’s really growing up.”
“Don’t talk too soon,” said Jessie. “He hasn’t been in the navy that long. There are still plenty of things that can go wrong. If I know Lenny, he’ll find some way to mess up.”
“Well, thanks a lot, Jessie. That’s just what I needed to hear,” I said, hurt by her words. Jessie really got to me sometimes. She was the type of person who liked to build herself up by tearing others down.
“That’s a typical dumb remark for you to make, Jessie,” Sheldon said. “Lenny’s my friend, and I know he’s going to do fine in the navy. And that’s more than I can say for you in school—you stupid dummy!”
Jessie’s face went white. She hated when anyone called her stupid, especially Sheldon.
“What happened, Jessie?” I asked. “I thought our tutoring was going well.”
“It was. I did much better in math and English, the two subjects we’d worked on. But I did lousy in everything else. So my mother is carrying through her threat. She’s taking me out of Washington and sending me to that stuffy private school, whether I want to go there or not!”
Now I understood why Jessie was in such a rotten mood. She was feeling lousy about herself because of school, and Sheldon’s attitude was only making things worse.
“Maybe private school won’t be as bad as you think,” I said, trying to comfort her. “There will be smaller classes and more individual attention. If we start in with your tutoring right from the beginning, you can do really well. Think of it as a fresh start.”
“Oh, it’s easy for you to talk, Linda.” Jessie was still annoyed. “You’ve probably got an average over ninety again, and super SAT scores to boot.”
I didn’t say anything. Jessie was right, and I didn’t want to rub it in.
But Sheldon didn’t let the matter rest. “What did you get on your SATs, anyhow? You should have heard by now.”
“I just did,” I admitted uncomfortably. “My scores were pretty good.”
“What’s pretty good with you?” demanded Jessie. “Twelve hundred? Thirteen hundred?”
“A little better than that,” I said. “Fourteen twenty.”
“Fourteen twenty!” Jessie groaned. “With scores like that, I don’t know why you’re even thinking about Lenny. You could apply to some top-notch school and meet someone great and rich and with a terrific future.”
“I’m going to school for my own education and career—not to meet anyone,” I told her emphatically. “I already have someone great, and that’s Lenny. He could still have a terrific future if he shapes up in the navy, you know, and whether he’s rich or not isn’t important. What matters is that I love him more than I could ever love anyone else.”
Jessie shook her head. “Boy, are you hopeless, Linda. And I guess you aren’t as smart as I thought you were. Otherwise, you’d be putting in your applications for the best schools right now.”
* * *
Jessie’s words echoed the advice I seemed to be getting from everyone once my SAT scores became known. The city colleges were not as good as they once had been; I could get into a good out-of-town college if I tried, where the education and the social life would be better. No one seemed to care that I preferred the city colleges, especially not my parents, who pressured me daily to apply out of town.
Surprisingly, it was Lenny who came up with the solution during our next telephone conversation. “You don’t have to make a decision yet. For the time being apply to the city colleges for yourself and to the state schools to satisfy your parents. And don’t forget there are some good private colleges in the city—apply to those, too. You’ve got nothing to lose but the cost of the application.”
“And the time it takes to fill them out,’ I grumbled. “Some of them are absolutely brutal—essays on stuff like ‘why such and such college is the place for me,’ or ‘the one event that changed my life the most.’”
“That’s easy,” Lenny said, laughing. “Meeting me, of course!”
“Lenny! Somehow I don’t think that’s the kind of thing the colleges want to hear from their prospective students!” But I couldn’t help laughing, too. Lenny had a way of making light of situations that I always took too seriously.
And I realized he was right. By applying to schools in different categories, I would leave my options open. I hoped, when the time came to make my decision, I would know which school would be right for me.
* * *
The following Saturday afternoon Roz invited Fran and me to a special talent show and art exhibit at her school, Fine Arts. “I’m glad you’re being flexible about which college to go to,” she said when I told her what I had decided. “Of course, I’d really want you to come to the State University at Buffalo, with me,” she admitted. “But as long as you’re keeping an open mind, that’s what counts.”
“Yes, you should keep an open mind in all areas,” said Fran. She exchanged a knowing look with Roz, which gave me this strange feeling they were up to something.
This feeling was reinforced when we arrived at Fine Arts. “Let’s go in the side door,” said Roz. “It’s—uh—less crowded that way.”
Unsuspectingly, I followed after her and Fran. No sooner did we get inside the entrance than we ran into three boys who looked familiar. When Roz introduced them, I remembered they were the ones we had met once before at the Metropolitan. The one called Brian kept gazing at me intently as we stood around talking.
“Hey, the talent show will be starting soon,” he said. “Why don’t we all sit together?”
“Good idea!” Roz replied quickly. “Okay with you girls?” Without waiting for me to answer, she and Fran headed to the auditorium entrance. The boys followed, and I had no choice but to do the same.
The way it turned out, I wound up sitting next to Brian. He kept up a string of comments all through the performance on everything from the ballerina’s toe technique to the choreographer’s staging of the modern dance routine.
After the muscial events were over, we all went to see the art show together. Roz and Fran walked with the other two boys, and by this time Brian seemed to take it for granted that he was paired off with me. He didn’t leave my side. Nor did he leave off the commentary—he had an opinion and a criticism for every piece of work we saw, and most of them were negative.
Brian sounded as if he knew what he was talking about. He obviously was very bright and well versed in the arts. But he was so overbearing that I couldn’t relax long enough to enjoy anything on my own. It made me uncomfortable to be with him.
I was hoping that after we had seen the art exhibit, I could pry Roz and Fran away from the boys, but it didn’t work out that way. As soon as we left Fine Arts, the boys suggested we go for some pizza in this restaurant across the street from the school. Before I could think of an excuse not to, Roz and Fran eagerly accepted the invitation.
I sat there uncomfortably between Roz and Brian, only half-listening to the discussion, which was now focused on the merits of modern versus representational art. I picked at my slice of pizza, thinking about how great it had been to do little nothing things with Lenny, like finish his pizza crust.
How I missed Lenny right then! How I wished I could be with him instead of with these boys who thought they knew so much about what everyone else should like that they made it impossible to enjoy anything!
“With the advent of photography, representational art became obsolete,” Brian stated flatly. “One can simply snap a picture of a particular scene instead of bothering to paint it. But an abstract work evokes feelings and emotions that can never be obsolete. It’s truly the only type of art worthy of consideration in the twentieth century.”
This remark rubbed me the wrong way. It was bad enough to listen to Brian criticizing all the student work and performance we had seen today. But for him to set himself up as judge of what art was valid in the twentieth century made me choke on my pizza!
I was about to make a remark to let pompous Brian know exactly what I thought of his presumptuousness when I noticed the awed looks with which both Roz and Fran were regarding him. That stopped me from saying anything. If Roz and Fran were so impressed with his intellectualizing, they would probably interpret my criticism of him as criticism of them as well.
That wasn’t what I wanted to happen. Roz and Fran had been my best friends for a long time. They had meant well by this “accidental” fix-up with Brian, even though there was no way it was going to amount to anything. I guess I couldn’t expect them to understand how I felt about Lenny when they had no one they felt that way about themselves.
My friends didn’t understand me, and my parents didn’t understand me. And Lenny was so far away I could hardly picture his face, much less remember what it had been like to have him hold me in his arms.
I felt so all alone.