"The meeting of two personalities is like the contact of two chemical substances; if there is any reaction, both are transformed"- Carl Jung
Is it physically possible to hang yourself with your own shoelaces? If this idiot blabs for five more I'll be forced to look into it.
It's not like he was the first person to tell us the whole, "You are serving your country. Perhaps not on the front line, but still you must... yadda, yadda, yadda." Was it too late to pull out? How would I explain it to Sookie? "Sorry honey, but I'd rather be unemployed again."
I was with the other new recruits, in our first meeting with the big boss dude. It was our induction day on the U.S.S Carmilla. I'd be away at sea for 5 months, pretty lame seeing I was starting to have doubts.
The meeting dragged on forever. Even worse was that we had to stand all the way through it. By the end of it my legs were screaming for mercy. When that was done we had dinner in the mess hall, surprisingly it wasn't too bad, better than Sookie's cooking any day, not that I'd admit that to her face.
After the meal we were being shown to our quarters onboard; two by two our number fell as pairs were led off into their rooms, until I was left by myself.
"Compton is it?" the guy who'd taken us round asked; he's a Senior Chief Petty Officer.
I'd put him at about 32. Medium build, 5"6, bony shoulders and an olive tan that accumulated from working outdoors.
"That's me sir." I replied.
"Sir is too official; call me Sam, unless there are superiors around." That was a pleasant first, a superior who didn't want me to call them sir. If there was one thing I hated about this whole military thing, it was that!
"Where's my room?" I asked.
"There are an odd number of new recruits; you were going to have a room to yourself." Yes! This was the only good news I'd had today. "But one of our other troops transferred, so you'll be bunking with his old roommate." My mood went downhill fast once Sam had added that.
"Where's my room?" I asked again.
"You'll like your roommate. He's definitely a character."
"Where's my room?" I asked for the third time, starting to lose my patience, Sam skirted over difficult questions worse than George Bush, and that's saying something.
"Go down that corridor, take your first left, and then your second left until you reach the..." And by that point I stopped paying attention. "... and it's the third room along the row. And remember its room L-G34, not L-G43 because that's at the other side of the ship. You ok with that? I'd take you there myself, but I've got to shoot off to work." Sam finished.
"Yeah. I'll find it." I replied. Sam shook my hand before leaving. Jesus! He had some grip on him.
I started to regret not listening about five minutes later. This ship was just a shrine to steel, wires slithered like snakes down the labyrinths of corridors. By now the majority of personnel were getting ready to sleep, so at least I didn't have to shove past dozens of people every step of the way.
After forty minutes and so many steps that I lost count I could see L-G34 in the distance, I sprinted towards it. It was actually L-G43. Shit Shit Shit!
And so I spent another half hour aimlessly wandering the corridors. If my feet weren't hurting I would've danced with joy when I finally found the room, I checked my watch; 9pm. Wasn't late for me, I usually went to sleep a lot later, but I had to be up for 4am, which was a lot earlier than I was used to! I guess I'd have to adapt a navy body clock.
Much to my disappointment, the door wasn't like one of those huge metal ones like they have on boats in action movies, you know; the ones which have little windows, and wheels to open them with. It was just an ordinary door.
I took a deep breath right before I went in. I was a little scared about who this bunkmate was going to be; Sam wasn't exactly out in the open about what this guy was like, for all I know he could be a crazed serial killer who kills all of his bunkmates with his bare hands and uses their bones to make furniture.
I went into the room and shut the door behind me. I scanned the room; neutral walls and floor, a small window. I've seen rooms bigger in a doll's house. I had to hunch because the ceiling was so low! No bone furniture; that's good. No furniture of any kind; that's bad. The focus of the room was two single beds only about half a foot apart, and only another half a foot away from the walls. Now I would know what it's like to sleep in a coffin! A man was lying on one of the beds, an open book obscuring his face.
"New bunk buddy huh?" A man said. I noticed a slight European tinge to his American accent; maybe Danish.
"Yep." I replied, not knowing what else to say.
The man dropped the book and stood up, holding out his hand.
"Eric North." He said.
"Bill Compton." I stammered, avoiding eye contact by looking at his forehead, I'm terrible at meeting new people. We shook hands.
"Take a seat. It's not like this room is big enough for us to stand up." He said, sitting back down on his bed. I sat on the other bed.
I had to admit that Eric was Abercrombie handsome; about 9 notches above regular handsome. Tall. Square jawed and broad shouldered (was I the only person on this ship that wasn't broad?). Dark blonde hair, the most extraordinary blue eyes. Chiselled cheekbones like some hero of Greek mythology. Muscles bursting through his tight white T-shirt.
Right now I was feeling a mixture of relief and jealousy.
"What brought you on this fine vessel then?" Eric asked with a grin, exposing his gleaming white teeth.
"I'm a mechanic by trade; the pay was really good, that was until I was let go during this recession. My girlfriend and I were starting to struggle financially so I enlisted in the Navy as a mechanical engineer."
"How's she feeling with all of this?"
"Sookie was upset at first; she's only a waitress so she doesn't earn much, so she understood so it was either enlist, or get our apartment repossessed." I replied. "What about you?"
"Tried to get to college to study Anthropology but my grades weren't good enough. So I joined the navy instead." Was he kidding? Then again, he looked deadly serious.
We continued our ice breaker. Turns out Eric and I had a lot of things in common; we're both 24, vegetarians and Democrats. Not to mention we both support the Dallas Cowboys, love old Westerns and played baseball in high school.
As for what made us different; I'm from a little town in Louisiana with parents as Southern as they come, he grew up in New York, son of Swedish immigrants. My idea of literature is Stephen King; his is Nabokov, Tolstoy, Eliot and a bunch of random 19th century European philosophers! Not to mention he's 6"4 and I'm only just 5"10 (on my tip toes anyway).
"We'd best get to sleep, you'll be like a soaked lettuce in the morning." Eric advised. I agreed.
My stuff was already here, but I didn't bother to unpack yet, it's not like it's a fashion show or anything. I stripped down to my underwear and climbed into bed. It wasn't as uncomfortable as I thought it would be. Granted I would've preferred my own bed, but this was sleepable. The blanket awful though, some really cheap and synthetic fabric, it itched against my bare skin.
"You'll get used to the blankets... eventually." Eric said as he climbed into bed. As I expected he had abs that normal human beings couldn't get unless they sold their soul to the devil. He turned the light off as soon as he got comfortable.
"These beds are so close together we can high five without moving." Eric said. We tried, we actually could.
"Night buddy." I said. Eric said something similar back.
I was lying in a dark box, which I was sharing with a guy I'd only met an hour ago, thousands of miles away from my girlfriend. Yet somehow, I slept like a baby.
The next morning I was at work before I was properly awake. I rushed through a breakfast of cereal and toast which I regretted as soon as the mega heartburn kicked in.
I was working in the engine room; it was drenched in humid steam and the stench of motor oil. A constant cluttering and spluttering of machinery drilled through my eardrums, and the taste of sweat glided down my brow and onto my lips. I spent most of the time lying on my stomach in nooks, squinting through the near darkness as I tightened any loose machinery. All of this meant I wasn't particularly overwhelmed with excitement when my superiors told me that this was what I'd be doing every other day. Fun.
After a quick break for lunch, I had an appointment with Dr Ravencroft. I was told it was part of the induction routine for all new staff. She's the ship psychologist, although you wouldn't have guessed that from the way she behaved. She was easily the most fashionable person I'd met on the ship! She took pride in the fact that she always kept makeup down her bra in case of emergency. Yeah, she told me this about five minutes after I'd first met her! She wasn't backwards in coming forwards. Think of a cross between Melanie Griffith and Madonna; tall, honey hair tied into a cute ponytail, wire glasses, clear complexion, eyes a dull sapphire.
"What you think so far? The food? The shifts?" Wicked grin still glued to her face as she bombarded me with questions.
"Food's bearable. But the shifts are killing me!" I replied.
"What about co-workers?"
"They seem nice, except for some blonde who fires questions down your throat like missiles." I joked. She knocked the cap of my head.
"Who's your roommate?" She asked.
"Eric North." On cue she exhaled in glee and collapsed dramatically into my arms, raising her hand to her head.
"What I wouldn't give to be his roommate." I laughed, then realised that she was serious. "He posed for the ship's calendar, and boy does he have a body. And some brains to go with it. He went to that fancy boys school in New York; I forget what it's called."
I would've loved to have procrastinated the day away with her, but sadly I had work to return to. Another five hours of toil. Fun. I'm hardly an unfit person, but my heart was bouncing around like a tennis ball. I coughed uncontrollably, my lungs heavy like concrete. I swear I must be asthmatic or something! I gagged loudly, my throat tightened. Gurgling, I opened my mouth, vomit poured out like porridge, my lunch fermenting in bile.
The next few hours were a blur at best. I was taken by some strangers into the infirmary; I lay in bed, awake but immobile for an unknown period of time. A nurse intermittently gave me pills. Eventually I had a visitor, it was Sam; he sat on a chair next to my bed.
"How you feeling?" He asked.
"Been better." I said.
"Doctors say you had a severe anxiety attack." Sam said. I didn't reply so he continued. "Dr Ravencroft is concerned about your mental state; she thinks you'll benefit from counselling. She also asked for you to switch departments, the engine room isn't a place that does wonders for your mental health."
Two things orbited round in my mind; relief that I wouldn't have to work in that horrible engine room again but also a gaping chasm of fear, which I dangled over on a fine wire.
"It's just so much to take in." I replied.
"I'll talk another time then. Get well soon kid." Sam tousled my hair as if I was his son. He sure had some funny ways about him.
"Thanks Sam."
He left before I could salute.
I slumped back into the bed, my temples pulsating. Anxiety attack? Wasn't that what hormonal teenage girls had? My parents are conservative; the archetypal God fearing, gun loving, gay hating Republicans (I still hadn't told them that I voted Democrat, and decided that I never would!) They would just tell me to "man up!" and get on with it. To them depression was just being sad, and an anxiety attack was just being over-excitable.
I chuckled to myself. I was pretty sure I'd have a breakdown someday. Probably because I was a sickly kid. I had as many fevers as I had toys! Allergies, bugs, rashes, viruses, chest infections, headaches; all the colours of the unhealthy rainbow. I had chronic Bronchitis for nearly a year; my parents didn't let me leave the house and told me to pray to God to make me better. Thank God when they finally listened to the doctors and got me medication, otherwise I wouldn't have pulled through. When I reached 14 my fragile composure improved, I filled out, my immune system grew stronger. My parents said it was a miracle of God, I knew it was a miracle of a kind puberty and supplements.
My mind refused to work anymore; my muscles grew heavy and sank down into the mattress. I fell into a benzodiazepine induced sleep.
I awoke an unknown time later to find Eric and a nurse at my bedside.
"When he's up to it, he can leave." The nurse ignored me awaking. Eric smiled at her; she blushed and walked off, shaking her ass in a provocative way.
"You had me scared." Eric sounded genuinely concerned. An unknown warmth tingled down my chest. The nurse walked past, without warning he switched from concerned to wisecracking. "I didn't want to be searching for another roommate."
"Nice to see you care about my wellbeing." I joked.
"There's a swinging brick where my heart should be."
"You wouldn't have came to see me if you were that heartless."
"It makes me look good." Eric whispered, as if it was just between me and him.
Eric hooked his arm under mine and eased me up. The nurse offered me a wheelchair, but I could walk just fine. Or so I thought. My body buckled under my weight. I didn't realise that I'd been asleep for almost a day! My muscles awoke fairly quickly. Thankfully it wasn't a long walk from the infirmary to our room.
"Thanks." I hugged Eric. He shivered in revulsion, pushing me away from him. A sharp pang prodded my stomach. My heart stung, I felt like an idiot. His face went red.
"Sorry. I'm not a real touchy feely person. And it was nothing." He apologised, struggling to make eye contact. That was a little hypocritical, especially seeing he was the one who always seemed to put his arm around me, and he high fived at any excuse.
I looked to the walls, trying to change the topic "Some photos or posters would be nice." I said, thinking that was a pretty decent attempt.
"It'll make the room look even smaller." Eric answered.
"But it already looks like a prison cell."
"That's navy life for you." Eric laughed. Perhaps nervously, perhaps forced. He laughed off any question that he struggled to answer, and it worked.
"Do you have a life besides navy life then?" I asked. He laughed; surprise surprise. "Serious now." I kept on.
He took a deep breath, as if about to recite a passage from memory.
"Single since I can remember. No kids. Only child. Parents I barely see."
"Where do you go when you're on leave?" I asked.
"I stay in the apartment my parents bought me on the Upper East Side. And just drink, eat and sleep a lot."
Upper East Side! Jesus they must've had some money!
"Your parents must be rich?"
"They own Skagaared"
Was he joking! That was a huge Swedish telecom company.
"No kidding, they do. When I told them I didn't have any interest in joining the family business they demanded that I change my name to something else. Because fighting for your country is so embarrassing ain't it?" This was the most painfully honest I'd seen Eric in the brief time I'd known him; I could see his true face; his smile sunk, eyes drained of life. His voice faltered as if he was halfway to crying. Choking on the emotions he tried to smother under laughs.
It hurt me to see him like this. I wanted to reach out and comfort him, but I knew he'd freak out again.
"You went to that private school didn't you, what was it like?" I asked. He rolled his eyes.
"The most repellent place I've ever been in my life. I stuck out like a nun in a Metallica concert; all the other boys were from families where they had inherited wealth and the pretensions that came with it! My parents were self made, they always made me appreciate the value of money and hard work, the other boys only knew the former. That's all folks."
Eric played ball in all fairness so I didn't grill him on it anymore. I told him about Bon Temps High School (where I went). I'm not the most academic person, but I worked hard and got good enough grades. And I had friends. But school wasn't at all a completely happy time; I got bullied a lot. I was an easy target; shy, insecure, short and fragile. It was years before it stopped. My parents never asked me why I had a black eye or torn clothes, and I hated them for that.
"Kids are cruel fuckers." Eric stated. The F-bomb seemed alien from someone so articulate.
We talked more about our childhoods before we hit the hay. I lay on my back, staring at the ceiling, into the abyss. The unexplored maze of repression and yearning inside me had finally awoken. I opened my mouth, air escaped instead of words.
"Did you say something?" Eric whispered through the darkness.
"It was nothing"
Author's Note: Hello. I hope you enjoyed this so far.
This isn't the territory I usually write into, so I'm wrote this story as a challenge to improve my writing skills. Each to their own, but personally this type of story doesn't appeal to me as (with some notable exceptions) they tend to become an excuse for gratuitous sex, and little else. So it's my mission to try and keep this story thoughtful and character driven.
I'd love to know what you think of it, I'm a perfectionist so I'm always open to suggestions about how to improve.
:)