The Lesson Page 2

  While they ate they talked. She was surprised to learn how much they had in common. He had graduated from Del Mar High School in San Jose two years before she had graduated from Buchser High in Santa Clara. Their schools were barely six miles apart.

  “So what’s a Del Mar Don?” Gina said, referring to his alma mater’s mascot.

  “Oh, I dunno. The Spanish Don mystique, I suppose, rooted in California history. Back in the late 1950s having your school associated with a Spanish count must have made reading, writing, and arithmetic seem cosmopolitan. Though personally, I find it difficult to emulate anyone who runs around in a canary yellow vest with a doofus black hat tied under his chin. It’s weird what educators think will motivate young people. My parents always used bribes. And what about the Bruin? What’s that supposed to mean?”

  “Buchser Bruins. Bears.” Gina, feeling a little more relaxed now, pounded on her chest like a gorilla. “You’re supposed to think big, hairy, tough guys. Must be a sports thing.” She felt silly pounding on her chest, but there was no one around, so it didn’t matter. She took a bite of egg. She had scrambled them perfectly, well blended, not tough or laced with brown. If all she had to serve a guest was scrambled egg, at least it was good scrambled egg. “I hear there’s a high school down South somewhere that has a horned toad for a mascot. What do you think that inspires?”

  Kevin cupped his chin in exaggerated concentration, leaned in toward her flirtatiously and batted his eyes, camel-like. “Another horned toad.”

  Gina pushed her tongue against her lower teeth to keep from laughing. He was ridiculous, but she wouldn’t be baited. Why bother? This was the first and last evening they’d ever spend together. The simplest way out was to change the subject. “Tell me about growing up in San Jose,” she said.

  "Well, when I was little my family and I lived in the Quito District."

  Gina knew that area. It was just minutes down Lawrence Expressway from her family home near Homestead Road and Pomeroy Avenue, so as children they had practically been neighbors.

  In the next few minutes while they finished their eggs he told her his life story. He had an older brother who had fought in Viet Nam and a younger sister who was married and lived in San Francisco. Gina was the second of four girls, so they were both second-borns. His older brother and her older sister shared a birthday. His parents had divorced when he was about ten. Both their fathers had fought in World War II; her father had also fought in the Korean War. Their fathers were the same ages, so were their mothers. His father owned a one-man pest control business, his mother was a nurse. Her father delivered mail, her mother was a secretary. Kevin had joined the Navy right after high school and had two years left on his enlistment. He was currently serving aboard the USS Flint, an ammunitions ship, though he had once served on the USS Shasta and had sailed to the Philippines, Taiwan, and Japan. Gina also learned that Kevin, like her, loved to read. But what interested her most of all is that he wanted to join the FBI.

  “Why become an agent?” Gina had never known anyone who aspired to a life behind a badge.

  “It’s important work. Fight crime. Sneak around and follow people.”

  “Oh I bet you’d be good at that,” said Gina, smiling at her attempt to be funny.

  He returned the smile.

  “But don’t you need a degree to become an agent?”

  “Yes, you do," said Kevin. "I took a few classes at the University of Hawaii when I was on Midway Island, at a satellite school. But I plan to enroll full-time as soon as I get out of the Navy.”

  “Why not become a firefighter like your dad?”

  “Actually I tried that when I first enlisted. Rode a big red truck on Midway Island.”

  “Where’s Midway Island?” Gina had heard of it but had never thought about its location.

  “It’s in the Pacific. Halfway between the U.S. and Asia. That’s how it got its name. A strategic battle was fought there in World War II. Not much happening there now, though. It’s just a few little islands thrown together in the middle of the ocean. The only excitement there for sailors now is Mail Call. The Navy sent me there when I was eighteen. It was my first time away from home. I nearly died of boredom.” He paused and looked down at his plate as if remembering the pain. “And loneliness.”

  That was a sad thought. Kevin, so far from home, so alone, and so young too. Gina had not known the acute pain of loneliness until just recently when Michael left. Now she understood why they called it pain. Hearing of Kevin’s experience instantly fanned the smoldering coals of her own burning loss into a hot flame within. She tried to cool them by getting control of her thoughts. Tonight’s events were weird enough without her falling apart over Michael in front of a stranger. Again. She had to pull herself together. Thoughts led to memories which led to pain which led to tears. Stop it! She must discipline herself to think only forward, to dream only of the future, to imagine someone wonderful. It was masochistic to keep reliving painful memories from the past. She could be happy again. There was someone perfect out there, somewhere. She must be patient. She must have faith.

  “Wasn’t there a town or something there for you to visit?” said Gina.

  “No, no town. Just a few civilians employed by the military. They lived in these old, 1940s style homes. Everything we needed to live, including entertainment, was shipped in by the Navy. The highlight of our week was a new-release movie. And of course, mail from home. But I didn’t get much mail. And when there wasn’t a new movie, we chased gooney birds.”

  “What’s a gooney bird?” Gina had finished her eggs. She pushed her plate toward the center of the gray Formica table and leaned in with her elbows to listen.

  “It’s this big, floppy, black-and-white bird. They’re everywhere on Midway. It’s an albatross, actually, Laysan Albatross. There are lots of other birds on Midway, but nothing like this clown. It’s about a foot-and-a-half high.” Kevin held one hand above the table. “I think the Navy imported them years ago to distract the sailors from the fact that there is nothing to do and no girls on the island.”

  “How so?”

  Gina forgot, at least for a moment, the polyester pants and too-clingy sweater as she concentrated on his storytelling. Kevin told a wonderful story, with lots of animation and perfectly timed facial expressions. And she was no longer nervous about his being there, though she certainly should have been more circumspect, considering she hardly knew him and he had brashly tailed her car from Cupertino to Santa Clara to learn where she lived. Her mother had opinions on scallywags who committed such scandalous acts. Gina had a good idea of what those were. She tried not to think about them.

  “You’d have to see them in action to believe it. When they’re courting, they sort of sound like cows. One will throw its head all the way back, like this.”

  Gina was incredulous but amused as Kevin, utterly unself-conscious, leaned his head back so that he was facing the ceiling, and as proof of his many hours on Midway with nothing to do other than play voyeur to the mating dance of unsuspecting seabirds, mooed in like fashion.

  “Then they click-clack their beaks against each other, sort of like swords in the movies.” Kevin used his fingers to imitate, most persuasively, clinking swords, with the addition of expert sound effects. “They do this sword thing with their beaks for several seconds. Then the other one, the one that didn’t moo, opens its beak and makes this sound kind of like a heavy, creaking door. Re-ee-ee-ee-k.”

  Gina was aghast but laughed nonetheless.

  “Then the mooing again,” he continued. “And baby oh baby—you’ve heard of ugly babies? You’ve never seen an ugly baby until you’ve seen a gooney bird baby. Big, soft feathers, but they stick out all over the place, sort of a finger-in-the-electric-socket look, but cute. Ugly sort of cute. And …” He slowed down at this point and dramatically leaned into her face, “… gooney birds mate for life.”

  From the impish sparkle in his eyes, Gina knew he had said this to get a rise out of her.
She willed herself not to laugh anymore. It was a bad idea to encourage him. “You’re making this up,” she said. “You’re just pulling my leg.”

  “No, I’m not. Such a thought would never occur to me.” Then, incredibly, he winked at her.

  Forward. Gina was flabbergasted. His comment would have been provocative coming from a different kind of guy, but she could already tell that Kevin was nothing but a clown with his own peculiar brand of charm. He was harmless. Nevertheless it seemed the opportune moment, once again, to change the subject. “You never said why you decided not to become a firefighter like your dad.”

  “I didn’t like it so much.” He shifted in his chair.

  “Why not?”

  “I didn’t join the Navy to spend my time polishing things.”

  “Of course.”

  “Or painting things. You know, if it moves, salute it. If it doesn’t move, paint it. And when we weren’t polishing something brass or repainting something gray or mopping salt water off the deck for the umpteenth time, we had to hose each other down—but not often enough to make the Navy a worthwhile career.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Kevin pushed his empty plate to the center of the table near hers. “Race riot. When I first got to Midway there was a race riot. It was the most exciting thing I ever got to do with the fire department, much more adrenaline involved than stamping out brush fires. Ride on the back of the truck, blasting people with high-power hoses. It was great fun.”

  “You actually hosed people? Blacks or whites?”

  “Both. I was an equal-opportunity hoser.”

  Gina privately marveled that anyone could speak so casually about race, riots, and hoses in the same breath, and worse, enjoy it. She and her sisters may have pulled hair and slapped faces from time to time as children, but proper young ladies did not make jokes about uncivilized behavior and they certainly never enjoyed it.

  Or at least they didn’t admit it.

  “So what do you do in the Navy now?” she said.

  “I’m a hull tech, second class.”

  “Which means what?” Gina hated looking ignorant, but she felt comfortable asking questions of Kevin because he answered simply and naturally. The sense of embarrassment she felt when he first entered her apartment was ebbing away, replaced by easy rapport. It helped that he seemed delighted to answer her questions about the Navy.

  “It means I’m the guy they call when the commanding officer’s head quits working.”

  Gina screwed up her face.

  “Head. It’s Navy for toilet,” explained Kevin.

  “Oh.” Gina laughed. She wasn’t used to a guy who so easily made fun of himself. What kind of protocol did it demand? “And second class? That doesn’t sound too good.”

  “It’s not like it sounds. It’s a very important role in the Navy. Very critical to ship operations. It means petty officer second class. It’s a rank somewhere between rear admiral and seaman.”

  “I see.”

  “Closer to rear admiral,” added Kevin.

  His grin told her he was teasing again, but she didn’t want him to know exactly how ignorant she was of Navy ranks, so she asked nothing more. Gina's father was retired Army, but he had left the military when she was in second grade. She had paid no attention to such matters since then.

  “My dad’s place is only about two and a half miles from here,” he said, suddenly brightening. “That’s where I stay on weekends.”

  “You don’t stay at Mare Island, on the ship?”

  “I do, five days a week. Sometimes the ship ties up in Vallejo, at Concord Naval Weapons Station, and I stay there too. But a ship is dreary enough five nights a week. I sleep there seven nights only if I have to, like when we’re out to sea. I like my shipmates okay, but not enough to want to spend every weekend with them. Besides,” and he winked again, “the girls are on shore.”

  Gina smiled and looked down at her hands but said nothing. Kevin was too much. Santa Clara guys were just as forward, but they had beer for an excuse. Kevin was as sober as a final exam, which meant he had staying power. She didn’t want to encourage any such banter, partly because they were alone in her apartment, but mostly because Kevin, sweet boy as he was, was not the kind to make Gina’s heart flutter. The worst thing she could do was encourage him.

  “On weekends I stay with my dad. His place is on Boston Avenue, just a few minutes from here. I doubt if it’s even three miles.”

  He said this a little too jauntily. Until this moment, Gina had been comfortable with the situation, because she figured that tonight’s rendezvous was an aberration. His ship was docked seventy-five miles away at Mare Island Naval Shipyard—a safe distance. And the Menzies’ Wednesday evening Bible study in Cupertino was such a long drive from her Santa Clara apartment that, with her full schedule of classes and part-time job, she wasn’t certain she wanted to continue making the weekly trip. Likely they would never see each other again at the Bible study. Now it was obvious to her that he thought it just super that her apartment was only minutes from his dad’s place. She was disturbed. Not only did he know where she lived, but on weekends he would be close by.

  It seemed a good time to call it an evening. Gina intentionally looked down at her watch. One-thirty. She was amazed that they had been sitting in her kitchen talking and telling jokes for three hours. Time had flown.

  “I have an eight o’clock class, Kevin,” she said.

  He looked down at the doorknob as she showed him the door. “Who else has a key to your apartment?” he said.

  What a nervy guy. Nice but nervy. He had followed her all the way home from Cupertino, he was a shameless flirt, he didn’t know how to dress, and now, with no attempt at discretion, he was prying. They’d had a nice visit, he was sweet, and he certainly told funny stories and corny jokes, but she shouldn’t have let him into her apartment. It sent the wrong message. What’s more, it was late and she was tired.

  “Why do you want to know?” She tried not to show her irritation but it was difficult. The evening had been fun. She preferred it end on that note.

  “You don’t have a deadbolt. Whoever lived here before you can get in if they still have a key. Did you change the lock when you moved in?”

  She hadn’t. It hadn’t occurred to her. She was embarrassed to tell him that, but she did.

  “You’d be safer if you had a deadbolt. Let me install one for you.”

  “No thanks, Kevin. That’s very nice of you, but I’ll be fine.”

  She turned the doorknob. Kevin stood directly next to her behind the door and watched her remove the safety chain. When she turned to say good-night he slipped on his cherry red, wool Midway Island Crash & Fire ball cap as if he was about to leave, but then he paused.

  “Why were you standing on a chair in the dark when I drove up?”

  “Oh.” She smiled sheepishly. “That. I was looking for some instant coffee.”

  “In the dark?”

  “I keep the lights off at night so people can’t see into the kitchen. I can’t afford curtains.”

  “People can see in,” said Kevin, in his most serious tone of the evening. “I did. You should ask your parents to get you some.”

  She shook her head wearily. “Good night, Kevin.”

  #

  Gina closed the door behind him, pulled the chain, checked the lock, and then quickly moved to the kitchen and flipped off the light. After a minute she heard a car pull away from the curb. She recognized the familiar, tinny grinding of a Volkswagen beetle engine.

  Long after the grinding had faded to silence, she stood in the dark gazing through the wavy glass panes into the still night sky. The moon had set hours ago. She was alone with the stars and pale shadow of streetlight that shone weakly through the panes, creating ghostly broken shadows across the kitchen cabinets and small porcelain counter. Outside the world was bathed in silver silence.

  As usual, in every moment of reflection, her mind drifted to Michael. For a pa
inful few seconds she allowed her thoughts to linger on his face, an indulgence she had been trying more and more, albeit halfheartedly, to avoid. Was Michael, at that very minute, contemplating that same velvet starscape that stretched across the bay to his Berkeley apartment? Was he, right now, looking at those shimmering lights and longing to hold her? Was he sorry he had broken off their engagement? Was he just too proud to call? Too angry?

  Oh, phooey, who cares? Even if he was gazing at the stars at the same time as she was, two lovers looking at the stars at the same time from two different spots in the universe did not a connection make. Such is the stuff of romance novels, but her life was certainly no romance novel. A real connection would be a phone call or flowers or a postcard. But she’d had none of these, not one contact from him in the six months since he had told her good-bye.

  With a heart weighed down by unrelenting pain, she closed her eyes tightly, determined not to let a single tear slip out. Then, as if licking the last swipe of chocolate off the wrapper to get every bit of the goodness, she lingered in the kitchen another minute, luxuriating in the delicious pathos of self-pity, when suddenly the kitchen felt chilly. The cold on her arms made her snap out of it. It was crazy to stand there, missing sleep. She had an early class for crying out loud. Why did she do this to herself, over and over again? Tonight was not supposed to end like this.

  She’d had keen expectations for tonight, and she’d certainly taken pains to dress for them. After hiding for months—camouflaging her curves in shapeless bib overalls and sloppy shirts, going out every day with no makeup and no attention to her hair so that guys would leave her alone to mope in private—she’d learned that nothing she did to her outside improved how she felt on the inside. She was just as lonely and depressed after wearing ugly clothes all these months as she had been right after Michael left.

  So tonight, before she had driven to the Menzies, she had said Enough! of the ugly girl routine. She’d put on her killer red dress, a well-fitting flared number that made her waist appear narrow and her bust appear full, that fell just above the knee, with long sleeves. Jewel red perfectly complemented her shoulder length, coffee brown hair. She knew she looked striking in it. She’d played up her eyes with extra dark makeup and set her hair in large rollers to make it look bigger. She’d even worn black patent heels, though everyone else at the meeting was in jeans and sneakers. Okay, so she had been overdressed for a weeknight get-together. She didn’t care. She was sick of mourning for Michael and sick of wearing farmer’s clothes. She wanted to go out of the house looking gorgeous for a change. All that gorgeousness, however, hadn’t translated into excitement; the only thing killed was her hope. She hadn’t attracted the man of her dreams, or any man for that matter. Kevin was a boy, not a man. He didn’t count.