TEN YEARS AGO
A one-man band danced around the girl's headphones as she sat atop a cafeteria stool in the aft galley, distorted pictures on a nearby TV lit up the opposite wall. She fiddled the sausage meatballs congregating in her spicy spaghetti with her plastic fork as her whole body subtly flowed with the music. At least she thought it was spaghetti. But why was it always so spicy? “Why is everything always so spicy on this ship?” she unwittingly thought out loud. The food while underway was always less tolerable, but the music mesmerizing her ears more than filled her soul.596Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡmy0rOyeCNp
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“Who Dat in your earpiece Chére?” The question came from a tiny boy of 18 wearing Navy issued coveralls and a fresh from basic nervous smile who was slouched in a stool diagonal and across the table from the girl.596Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ8CW6XTjSgV
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Wren gave the boy a look and a smile. “You wouldn't know him.”
Juzzie Smith recently became one of her favorite aural pleasures; he reminded her of home. Wren had picked up the busker's CD while walking on a Morale, Wellfare, and Recreation tour in Australia during liberty of the previous port call.
The boy was still smiling, mesmerized by the one-girl party happening between the headphones. The girl stole a glance and smirked playfully, miming that she couldn't hear him over the enthralling music.
During one of the tours the last time the ship hit port, Wren's group had stopped at one of the tourist traps designed to have cookie cutter Australian memorabilia. As Wren and her liberty buddies were thumbing through snow globes and kangaroo shirts, her ear caught a familiar sound. The faint notes of a blues harp and what sounded like a cajon traversed down the adjacent alley. It pulled Wren like a magnet, as if it were a cherry pie on a windowsill and she was Garfield. Her liberty buddies caught a glance of her meandering up the alley towards the music and decided to break away from the tour group to follow her with hopes of wrestling her back. The three liberty buddies followed Wren as she wound through Brisbane, turning down one backstreet and alley at a time. They caught the wayward sailor just before the music and roar of the crowd became the loudest.
Turning the corner they found themselves running into the backs of more people than they cared to count. She started to hear more than just the harmonica and box drum. There was singing, a guitar, and even a didgeridoo, which caused her to jump on a park bench to get a better view....
Juzzie Smith was electrifying. He sat on his cajon and slid his fingers across his box guitar while simultaneously tapping a steel tambourine with his right foot, a base drum pedal hooked up to the wooden box drum with his left, and he completed the one-man musical circus by alternating between a harmonica and a voice changing microphone strapped to his face delivering a candid, raw, and unforgettable performance from which Wren could not pull herself away. Wren remembered the feeling of the day vividly; like a kid experiencing a roller coaster for the first time. She was enthralled, mesmerized, and wanted more.
At the time of her latest rendezvous with spicey spaghetti, it had been almost four and a half weeks of twelve or more hour work days since the USS Crescent City last ported. The Australian music tickling her ears was one of the only things keeping her together. There were no weekends or federal holidays to look forward to. Just thirty-two days of straight groundhog Mondays so far… with no end in sight.
The sailor felt a pair of small hands cover her eyes. And there was the other. The hands were soft, cold, and smelled of vanilla with remnants of engine grease as only an Aviation Structural Mechanic Airman's hands could. "Have you had coffee yet?" The sterling-voiced Airman sat in the stool beside her friend. Wren shook her head, still half-captivated by the hypnotic tones swirling around in her head.
"Now DC3, you know you get cranky without your evening cup of coffee." The short airmen pointed out to her friend.
"How bout a nice cup of shut the fuck up." Wren quipped back with a grin and a fake antebellum draw as she shed the headphones from her ears. John Stewart could now be heard in the background figuratively setting fire to a network news show in front of the two Sailors while a cross-shouldered stare down ensued. The boy looked shell-shocked, his innocence ravaged by the exchange between the two sailors.
"Wren..." The airman broke the silence.
"Rowe..."
Laughter erupted in the aft galley causing frozen tongues and stares of discontent. The giggly Sailors turned to icebergs looking left and right with only their eyes. AMAN Macy Rowe and DC3 Auriana Wren waited for the usual calamity of the mess decks to resume before they spoke or even moved again.
"I'm getting a cuppa, would you like a spot of tea instead, dear?" Rowe asked with her best fake cockney accent.
"Yes please, that sounds quaint." Wren returned with her version of rich Aussie. It sounded more like a poor Kiwi, but that's the closest she could get to cockney.596Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡwdzl6EU8MW
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“One for me too please,” the boy interjected but fell on deaf ears, smile still plastered on his face, seemingly the only one happy to be eating the spiciest spaghetti ever made.
Rowe spun around on the stool with a smile and zoomed off leaving Wren to her giggles and constantly overwhelming thoughts jingling about in her head.
In the interlude, she looked back on Rowe's first day on the ship, the same day they first met. Rowe was green when she arrived about four months ago. She arrived on the boat in the middle of the Pacific a month after the start of the deployment. She caught a COD flight out of Japan and flew on to the boat during a maelstrom of tumultuous seas and slashing rain. She showed her green in more ways than one after slamming to a stop on the flight deck of the USS Crescent City. 'We're gonna have to clean the COD,' Wren imagined the air crew saying over the radio.
There were no bunks left in the berthing assigned to the female sailors belonging to the Aircraft Intermediate Maintenance Department, so she was moved into the overflow berthing one deck down of which DC3 Wren happened to be in charge. The other females in that berthing all acted like orphans with alpha personalities and did not like sharing the space with a new sailor. Especially one straight out of "A" School.
Wren recognized the tension immediately and took her under her wing. The scene played out similar to a reunion show on TV hitting it off like sisters seeing each other for the first time in years. The name tags on the shirts helped sell the illusion.
"Rowe, It's been so long!"
"Wren, how's the fam?" Rowe responded with on the slightest of a pause.
The two hugged like they hadn't seen each other since the last family reunion, and with that, Rowe was protected. Later, they discovered they were born in the same area of St. Louis and even went to the same elementary and middle schools before Wren abruptly had to move away.
"They were all out of sugar cubes and honey," Rowe stated with a high class southern accent. This was a game they played out of necessity to keep the homicidal urges at bay. "I got you one of the pinkie packets instead, hope that suits ya." Wren giggled in approval.
"Thank you." Wren took a sip. "Mmm, heaven," she whispered.
"I don't see how you drink that over coffee, Wren."
"I guess I just don't have the appreciation you have for the black tar, mi cherie."
"I will have that coffee shop one day." Rowe filled her head with dreams of her coffee shop that also sold flowers and books.
"Macy, I have to get to that walkthru soon, but I'm worried about you, champ."
"You're talking about last night, huh?" Macy's eyes were fixed on a crusty piece of a sausage ball cemented to the top of the table.
"He's clingy... and obsessive... and it's unhealthy." Wren had turned more serious than Macy wanted. The turn of the conversation had brought back the events of the last few days. "You know I stay outta people's shit, but that boat boo... he’s gots to go." Rowe feigned a smile and was shaking her head slowly just about to speak.
"Rowe. Rowe!" The familiar voice belonging to AO3 Vincent ... startled both girls. AO3 was a fellow SEAOPDET personnel from the same Fleet Readiness Center out of California as Macy. Two other juvenile detention alum trailed behind him.
Rowe whispered to Wren hurriedly: "I broke it off with him this morning in a letter."
"I guess he's not taking it well," said Wren as she slowly set her coffee down.
"Airman Rowe, let's go!" The booming voice from the Aviation Ordnance Petty Officer Third Class echoed through the galley. "We're talking... NOW!" Most people didn't even glance; it was a long deployment already with at least three more months to go. Drama was a natural everyday occurrence, the laughter from earlier was more the thing that stood out.
Wren instinctively jumped up to defend her fledgling, only to be grasped by an unusually strong hand on her shoulder forcing her back down. The smile faded from the boy across the table from the skirmish.596Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡUQMDUIzElQ
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"I told you not to take advi-." Vincent started in an aggressive tone, but before he could utter the end of the sentence, Wren had taken full advantage of his forward momentum. Grabbing his wrist with both her hands and twisting his arm behind his back forcing his head to the table with a commanding thump. She thrust her left steel toe boot into the back of his left knee and landed on his left ankle pinning it to the deck.596Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡaCR9Ngpplp
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The two Jugheads who had originally hung back, woke up at the unexpected move and charged toward the girl. Within a blink of an eye the boy had volleyed himself over the table like he was pole vaulting a pummel horse and landed two size thirteen steel-toed boots in the biggest Jughead’s sternum. The smaller of the two joined his compatriot on the floor with a bruised larynx after being throat chopped by the wiry boy. He had hid his height and talents well.
The voice that came out of Wren next was one of fortitude and seriousness, not playful or put on like before. "You are not welcome here Vince. She has told you how she feels now let it go and be gone. Do we have an understanding?" The whispers irritated his ear.
"Fuck you! Let me go, now!"
Wren twisted his elbow into his back harder. The wylie boy stood Guard behind her. The galley was now on full alert and salivating.
"Wren, I'll talk to him." Came the quiet utterance from Rowe.
"He's not worth it Macy." But Wren knew Macy couldn't stand seeing anyone in pain.
"I will talk to him." Wren slowly released her grip on his arm.
"Damn straight she will, we have al-" Wren palmed his head slamming it to the table again driving a thumb into his left temple and wrenching his ankle with her boot.
"You will be good. You will be respectful, or I know a DC1 that wouldn't think twice about locking himself up with you in the foc'sle."
After a short pause, he conceded, "Fine, I'll behave." Wren allowed him to get up and reassemble himself. "For now." He muttered with a scornful stare in Wren's direction.
Wren took a step toward him.
"You should go to your walkthru, Wren."
Wren stopped and shifted her contemptuous glare from the assailant to the victim. The glare transformed to wide-eyed shock by the time her eyes met Macy's. In the moments of cacophonous silence, the 1MC roared to life: "SET THE SPECIAL SEA DETAIL FOR NIGHTTIME REFUELING ON THE STARBOARD SIDE. THE SMOKING LAMP IS OUT." 596Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡLm0lXhNz5B
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No words were exchanged between the two, but in reading Macy's face, Wren saw that she was no longer just a fledgling. Macy looked confident and determined and ready to fly.
Wren nodded her head with approval and replaced her demeanor with one of understanding. She turned and saw the boy, this time wearing a mischievous smile, standing between her and the two knuckleheads having a tough time finding their sea legs. She paused as the galley begrudgingly went back to their meals. “it was Juzzie Smith,” She said with a thankful grin as she started to turn to walk away.596Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡ3WQj1oxIYD
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“Train Ride is my favorite.” Malik said to an astonished Wren.596Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡm3Ekv9KEGx
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Wren stopped and paused for a second . “You know nobody can pronounce your name right.” She mentioned over her shoulder. The navy in their infinite wisdom doesn't believe in hyphens, periods or spaces. Wren headed for the exit.596Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡimIWY5bRUM
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“just call me Sticker.”596Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡw9TuHuCk1K
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“But it's St. Cyr, and I like that better.” Wren's words trailed after her as she disappeared off the mess deck into the first down ladder to the decks below.
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One deck below the mess decks, fifteen pairs of eyes watched wearily as DC1 Evans explained how shoring works on the ship. The walkthru was one of many necessary to obtain the ESWS pin. This warfare device was worn proudly on the recipient's chest exemplifying the tireless hours of studying and learning the many different facets of shipboard operations. Having the Petty Officer that literally wrote the DC Manual for the ship facilitate the class was a rare treat.
On the table in front of DC1 Evans and DC3 Wren were examples of damage control materials, specifically tools used for shoring.
"Now this is the DC toolbox. It is well-equipped with t-" The voice of DC1 Evans faded off in her mind while thoughts of Macy took over. DC3 Wren managed to keep scanning the room of hungry eyes feigning her attentiveness, all the while wrestling with AO3 Vincent and his mules and comforting Macy at the same time. She was becoming overwhelmed. The anger was boiling again.
"Which brings us to the K type shoring apparatus. DC3, please enlighten us on how this contraption works." As if on wife, even though she was in mid thought plotting revenge on AO3 if anything happened to Macy: "The shoring apparatus displayed here is used to...." She could give this speech in her sleep. If anything, DC1's walkthroughs were a bit predictable by design. He felt everyone should get the same quality information everyone so no one was left out. This time was no different.
DC1 and Wren transitioned the class to hands on training and letting the class handle shoring equipment. "Ok. That's pretty much it, now everybody come on up and take a closer look. And don't worry, we love it when you touch the stuff. You wouldn't want your first time touching the tools to be when you are knee deep in the water do ya? She was pleased with her performance despite the earlier conflict. She had convinced herself that Rowe was ok, impressing the participants.
"So who's ready to save the ship?" She added with a smile. The unenthusiastic crowd gave out a resoundingly mellow "surrre."
During the down time of the personal Q&A session, Wren looked around for Rowe and started to get worried. She started to look at her watch while answering questions wondering how much longer this would take. She glance over to the other side of the compartment to dC1 to see if he was wrapping up the tour. She found him in a dead stare at the down ladder, a cold face attached.
Out of the corner of her eye, Wren saw AO3 descending the down ladder. He caught Wren's eyes and stopped a few steps short of the deck, then jumped the rest of the way and made a bee-line straight toward her.
"Why couldn't you just leave us alone? Why do you always have to ruin everything you touch? You are nothing more than a cancer to Macy, to this ship." With that, Wren felt the ice of his words pierce her soul. She opened her mouth but the only words she heard were his.
"I'm not a bad guy. I mean, yeah, I've done some questionable things, but I'm not a loser. I think that's what you told her, that I'm a loser! I was the only one there to take care of my Mom and my sisters after my sperm donor father abandoned us. I would never do that to Macy, never!"
For a brief second Wren started to feel guilty for judging him, but then she regained her bravery from the initial blow to her ego.
"I know your kind little boy." She quipped. "I've seen your kind time and time again. And, your t-." Her words were cut short by AO3's open fist attempting to put a hole in the mighty Crescent City's bulkhead. He moved his outstretched accusatory finger down to the tip of her nose.
DC1, previously occupied by the last of the walk thru participants, was jarred by the assault against his bulkhead and whipped his head around.
"I would never leave Rowe." His finger melted to his side.
"Please, help me get her back." He begged. Wren shook her head slowly. A new found rage welled up inside of him and began to erupt in his eyes.
“Get. out. of. my. face.” Ao3's hand went up to strike in reprisal of this last remark.
"SHIP-mate." When that word is said like that by a well built man with a booming voice, one tends to pay attention. All action about the ship seemed to come to a stop as DC1's voice echoed through the compartment. He began to weave through the bystanders to render aid to his compatriot on the other side of the compartment.
A pained expression came upon AO3's face and he lowered his head as DC1 closed the distance between them. He looked up with a stare of death.
"You can't control her Wren... and you can't stop me from getting what I want."596Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡScbyOJgVQ8
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By the time DC1 reached the young third class, AO3 had stowed away his contemptuous glares and serious threats and made his way to the ladder from which he came.
Wren yelled after him: “You'll never be good enough for her!" The loss of military bearing in front of her superiors was a rarity for her.
He turned his feral head and muttered an in audible death wish of distant explosive sounds towards Wren's direction then stomped up the stairs slowly. Each stomp resounding louder and louder, and started to shake the ship more and more violently until, where the down ladder used to be, there was now just a gaping hole with spindles of steel and iron reaching for the sky. 596Please respect copyright.ＰＥＮＡＮＡX8FbCCfZgW
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For an instant, wren saw through closing eyelids, a lone seagull, wings aflame, escaping through a cloud of smoke. She lowered her head to her side following the smoke to the fire and witnessed flying debris from another ship that was steering into the path of the Crescent City.
Just before her eyes forced shut, she could see a Hell of sparks, blood, salt water and body parts raining down on her and the other sailors littering the accordioned deck from above. Then her conscience light was extinguished.
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