Liberty Goat

A sailor's journey into night, into darkness. [A bit more Naval fiction]

Liberty Goat

            The sea can be a contemptuous woman who tears a man down to his destruction. While watching the sun rise up from among the descending waves of the Atlantic tide, standing on the bridge of an Aegis cruiser as officer of the deck after a long deployment, thinking about home - of one’s wife - normally amounted to happiness and romantic anticipation. Yet operational requirements of the watch, administrative details of ship’s personnel, and details of navigation on a chilly January morning dispelled any remaining notions for Lieutenant Sean Crawford’s mind as the ship lingered beyond the initial point off Cape Henry prior to making its last leg into port after almost seven months away from his homeport of Norfolk, Virginia.

            Sean saw his share of what “Dear John” letters and how being dumped while at sea by a disloyal wife or sadistic girlfriends does to a man who can’t respond to being abandoned while enduring the imprisonment of being at sea on a modern warship. Some guys swallowed down the inevitable situation along with the coffee. Others closed their eyes, turned their heads, focusing on anything they could to ignore what was happening on the other side of the world. While there were still those fellows who could not deal with the loss, pushing their faces into the haze grey paint of the bulkhead in silent agony. As he signed the daily operations report, the words that his wife sent to him on the stationary he himself provided her streamed in front of his eyes among the lines and paragraphs and numbers containing the ship’s position, weather forecast, and schedule of events. The hazy yet effeminate letters of Jennifer’s signature harried his thoughts as he handed the clipboard back to the messenger of the watch to be delivered to the captain.

            Jennifer was neither detailed nor sympathetic in her letter. The time had come for a change in her life, for the veil to drop so that she could be true to her new love and to herself; time for Sean to know the truth and get on with the rest of his life as well. As Jennifer was finished moving out of their modest apartment, all Sean had to do was drop by the apartment manager’s office to collect the security deposit, making due for what was owed in Jennifer’s endeavors to vacate. She was free, so was he, and the rising sun marked the time when the ship was finally going to be pulling in pier-side.

            Oh joy, yippee!

            Sean allowed himself to smile as the Bos’n mate of the Watch piped reveille at zero-six-hundred. Fifteen minutes later Lieutenant Commander Sykes relieved Lieutenant Crawford as Officer of the Deck, as per the Ship’s Log. Sean struck below to change into his service dress whites and collect Jennifer’s remaining letters so they could be flung from the fantail before the ship pulled in. Like the proper sailor Sean tried to be, he endured the perfumed pill of the letters with a swallow of black coffee. The morning breeze took hold of the crumpled up pages and sent them out onto the ship’s bubbly wake to slowly dissolve into the dark, dirty waters of the Chesapeake Bay in tandem to any aspirations Sean had left in the early morning chill. Dumping the remnants of his coffee cup into the breeze as well (by the grace of God the breeze did not blow it back onto Sean’s uniform to mark his stained existence), he took his place alongside the gathering formation of the ship’s company on the traditional return from a successful Naval deployment: Man the Rails.

            The pomp and circumstance was up to standards of the US Navy with banners and flags, the customary Navy band and ceremony, and there were the Navy wives and families that showered many of the crewmembers with a welcome home hug and kiss. There were also the customary number of men whom stood and watched, waiting for the opportunity to flee the confines of the ship, the dock, the haze grey standard everyone on board lived in, were imprisoned by, both inport and at sea. At that point Sean merely climbed the ladder to the ‘oh-two’ deck, entered Officer’s Country from the port side hatch, retiring to his stateroom to change into khakis and prepare for inport duty; he agreed to take the Ops Boss’s duty shortly after Jennifer’s gift of freedom arrived with the mail three weeks prior. He would be Command Duty Officer until zero-seven-hundred the next day. No watches, no explicit duties to speak of, but complete responsibility that everyone else onboard’s watches and duties were uniformly completed in an efficient, military manner; piece of cake.

            Reports straggled into the Wardroom one at a time for the rest of the morning. Weapons Report, Engineering Report, Combat Systems and Deck Report, Medical Report, and finally the Personnel Report arrived shortly after lunch. Everything was meticulously setup for no obstruction of liberty call for the weekend. Sean gathered all the reports into a folder, donned his combination cover, and took the forward ladder to the ‘oh-four’ level, lightly knocking on the captain’s door. Captain Michael Carter was an African American man with thick arms, a thick and dark complexion, and a very thick Brooklyn accent. When the captain opened the door to his stateroom, he was still in his whites yet there was the negligible odor of scotch drifting from his lips as he spoke.

            “Hello Sean.” Captain Carter said softly as he perused the reports. “Everything alright?”

            “Uh, yes sir.” Sean replied. “We’re on a roving patrol above skeleton crew, as stipulated. We’ll be taking on fuel after light’s out, and Cheng has A-gang beginning preliminary refit inspections Tuesday morning.” ‘Cheng’ was the chief engineer.

            “Mmmf.” The captain responded through his pouting lips. “Good. Thank God we don’t have to deal with any restricted men this time around.”

            “Yes sir.” Sean’s duty day was significantly unimpeded with not having to muster anyone on disciplinary restriction four times a day with the Master at Arms. After liberty in Naples, Captain Carter ordered a command piss test that resulted in four men popping positive for cocaine. The result was the end of military careers for all four and at sea restriction that included extra duty on the mess decks and rigid musters for the men six times a day. Unfortunately one of the four was an officer. Ensign Leo was a mustang, a good engineer, and was airlifted from the ship prior to arriving to Norfolk.

            The Captain closed the reports into the folder and tossed it onto one of the file cabinets near his small couch. He pulled his shirttails from his pants and sat down at his desk.

            “Have a seat, Mister Crawford.” Said the captain, as he opened one of the drawers from his desk and producing a bottle of Johnny Walker Black. “Please.”

            “Sir.” Sean replied, seating himself on the couch near the file cabinets.

            “We’re going to be inport for the next two months.” The captain continued. “Do you have any plans?”

            Sean cleared his throat and blinked his eyes. The aroma of Jennifer’s letter fluttered in his mind.

            “Well not really sir.” He said after a few seconds. “It seems I’m not going to be a real liberty hound anymore. My Jenny’s left me and it seems that home in now down in ‘Oh’ country for a while.” Sean referred to officers’ country.

            “I tell ya’ Sean, I’ve taken a round turn on that situation myself a few times.” Captain Carter said, pouring a liberal measure of scotch into his black coffee. “Life’s a b***h, then you marry one, shipmate. Do you have any family or someplace you can get yourself some R and R?”

            Rest and relaxation; two words that Jennifer always provided with relish and style. Sean’s mom lived down in Arkansas, and his brother was working in Wyoming somewhere. Neither place seemed like anywhere Sean wanted to go.

            “Yes sir. I was thinking of heading up to the DC area, or maybe down to the Carolinas.” Sean answered. “I don’t know man.

            “Life’s a b***h then you marry one, huh?” Sean smiled. “That’s a good one, Captain.”

            “Yeah.” Captain Carter smiled, slipping Johnny Walker back into his desk drawer. “Then there’s that petty officer Stevens and his domestic dilemmas. Hell of an OS, but that squid sure gets his wires crossed with all those broads.”

            Sean’s smile broadened. OS2 Stevens had blue eyes, a mustache, and what seemed like a common-law wife in every port, which tended to make his life complicated in what was already a very complex operational environment of an Aegis class Combat Information Center. Sean remembered watching the young sailor getting whisked away by a real beauty as liberty commenced for the crew earlier.

            “Well, one can only surmise what that one’s up to today, sir.” Sean was thinking about asking Stevens for advice on women, even though he was just an enlisted man. “Anyway, captain, would you like to run any drills for the duty section? Or is there anything you want to happen over the weekend?”

            “Oh Sean, hell no.” the captain replied over his coffee cup. “Give the ship a good sweep down and max liberty to the crew. Let’s just not let our standards down just because we’re not at sea, eh?”

            “Yes sir.” Sean answered.

            “You just came off the mid-ride, Mister Crawford.” the captain continued, setting his cup on his desk and standing up, approaching Sean with an outstretched hand. “Once things calm down, you make sure to get some rack time. And d****t, get out of here tomorrow. Get that woman out of your head by getting another one into your arms, buddy. Life’s too short, and liberty goes by way too fast, bubba.”

            “Why do you think I’m heading to DC or the Carolinas, sir?” Sean took Captain Carter’s meaty hand, shaking it solidly and looking into the captain’s pleasant brown eyes. “Jenny’s got my furniture and my television, but she doesn’t have my Mustang and she can’t take away my purty’ smile.”

            “Nor your meat and potatoes, bubba.” The captain grunted as Sean stepped out of the captain’s sea cabin. “I’m headin’ for Brooklyn, myself. I’ll be back Thursday. You call me if anything comes up.”

            “Aye sir.” Sean replied as he descended the ladder on his way to his own stateroom. “Check’s in the mail.” It was as good as done though not yet begun.

            Sean shared his stateroom with Lieutenant Keith Styles, the Fire Control Officer, who was a good friend. Keith was among the first off the dock with his wife and kids when the ship pulled alongside. So having the stateroom to himself, Sean sat at his desk next to his bunk, turned on his computer and went online. Once upon a time there was always E-mail from Jenny in some expression of affection or devotion, but once again not today. He scrutinized the various news stories and gimmicks on his home page, eventually ending up at a singles website he was looking at a few days prior. Finally he ended up in a new dilemma online known as a chat room, this particular one called “Singles over 30,” where he saw a message from some lady that caught his attention. The message was short, cryptic.

 

“Don’t you just hate liars?”

 

He responded to the message asking who she was and shut down the laptop as his eyelids started to close in his weariness.

            Removing his shirt and his shoes, Sean sat down on his bunk just as word the word was passed that the captain was departing on the 1-MC, the ship’s announcing system. Sean called the quarterdeck and ordered the inport officer of the deck to inform him of anything amiss, but requesting a wake up call for supper. Laying back on his bunk and closing his eyes, the last thing that went through Sean’s mind before he went to sleep was that odor of Jenny’s letters before the morning breeze took them to the briny deep of the morning dawn.

 

            The next morning the duty section turned over at zero-seven-fifteen in khaki and dungarees. Lieutenant Commander Scott Browne, the Combat Systems Officer, assumed Command Duty Officer; section two of four took the ship. After quarters Sean completed the turnover with CSO in the wardroom the rest of the morning. Verifying reports, engineering status, Combat Systems, personnel, and security at every detail imaginable, and finally Scott stated “I relieve you sir.” and Sean was free to depart. Instead Sean headed back to his stateroom and hit his rack, sleeping soundly until taps was passed on the 1-MC; taps is passed at ten o’clock every night, a traditional nightie-night to the crew.

            Sean got up from his bunk, showered and shaved, and sat down in front of his computer. He went to the chat room again and there was a message from the girl who messaged him about ‘liars.’ Her name was Naomi, but she called herself ‘Doozie.’ Her profile showed that she had green eyes and a kind face with long flowing hair. Doozie was twenty-six, had a cute body, and worked as a nurse’s aid. She had an Associate’s degree and had several books and movies listed in her homepage. In her return message, she stated she was the daughter of a close friend of Sean’s mother. Sean remembered a three-year-old child that hid behind Roberta Chandler’s skirts, a woman who worked for Sean’s mom at a restaurant the family once ran near Tampa twenty years prior.

The message said that she was getting over a bad break up from an abusive boyfriend, asking what Sean was up to. Sean replied with a brief description of his Navy career, stating his ship was inport and that he had time on his hands. He sent the message, logged off, and got ready to go out. Stepping off of the brow and walking down the pier, it took a while but he finally located his Mustang. Before getting underway, several months prior, Sean disconnected the car’s battery. Using a flashlight, he reconnected the battery and thankfully the engine roared into life. After filling up with gas and checking the oil, the Mustang found its way to the apartment complex Sean once called home. The apartment was on the second floor, and unlocking the door and opening it, the apartment was barren of furniture or pictures. There was an envelope on the kitchen counter, a short letter from Jenny.

Direct, abrupt, it asked Sean not to try to contact her "ever." There was no explanation, no excuse, no reason or farewell. She didn’t even sign the damned thing. He tore the letter in half and deposited it in a trashcan near the complex office as he drove away. Sean got to a liquor store just before it closed, purchasing a sixer of tall boys and a fifth of Johnny Walker Black. He spent the rest of the weekend in a motel room with an induced haze of booze and blues and sleep. He went back to the apartment complex office Monday afternoon to collect the security deposit. Monday evening he revisited the chat room and was surprised at the messages he received from Doozie.

Doozie said a lot of things. She wanted to get out of Tampa. She wanted to ‘further’ distance herself from her crack-smoking friends. She wanted to find somebody with which to make a connection. These three indications of duplicity should’ve raised a red flag about her from the get-go, but Sean was in such a state of loneliness and disconnection from the norm he ignored Doozie’s negatives, staring at her picture and seeing an attractive woman who could fill the void that Jenny thoroughly deposited into him.

Sean responded to Doozie’s messages with descriptions of himself, an account of his job as CIC Officer, and the kinds of music he liked and that he enjoyed dancing to. The next day he had duty, CDO again, and he received her responses in the form of admiration, her love for Country and Western; overt "affection," at least in print. The next morning Sean applied for a week’s leave starting Friday. That afternoon Sean responded to Doozie with a description of his car and with his phone number. The phone calls commenced. Doozie’s voice was musical, enchanting. It became a chore to contain his desires. Thursday night’s phone call was magical, and Sean asked Doozie if she would like him to drive down to Tampa-town for the weekend, if she’d like to go out with him.

“That would be awesome.” she answered. “You mean you’ll come tomorrow?”

“Yeah.” he replied, again struggling to contain his anticipation. “I suppose if I leave early I can make Tampa by - say - eight o’clock.”

“That would be so great!” Doozie’s voice seemed to fill with joy. “What kind of car did you say you have?”

“Mustang, only two years old.” Sean was forgetting to keep things simple at first, to not go too far too fast. “Do you like receiving flowers?”

“Oh I absolutely love flowers.” she answered.

“Okay, what’s your address so I can have some sent?” Sean asked.

“Oh, well, …” Doozie’s bright joy dimmed. “That’s kind of a problem.”

“How’s that?” Sean asked. “Can’t you give out your address?”

“Well, I’m kind of not in a position to … umm… receiving anything.” she answered. Sean could almost see her eyes shift over the phone. “You see, it’s … those people I was telling you about, and … um” and Sean heard her sniff.

For a commissioned officer in the US Navy to have to endure being dumped by his wife while at sea, which meant no usual romantic welcome home, no apartment to return home to, was difficult. The situation was foreign to Sean, although he’d seen it happen to a lot of men in the past, and it didn’t appear that it would ever happen to him. When it did, it put his mind in a vulnerable state, into latent desperation that he couldn’t recognize within himself. On the other hand, Doozie apparently saw into Sean’s state of mind, especially when the red flags she raised flew by with no apprehension on his part, and she spread her spell in thick chunks of buttery deceit.

The next morning Sean checked out on leave, jumped into his car, and raced away from the ship, from the Navy, from the empty apartment he no longer lived in, from the arduous sea; from Norfolk toward Tampa, to Doozie and her supposed loving arms. The anticipation raced through the gas lines to the carburetor and the engine roared the Mustang down Highway 95, south to a new life, a new love, to a woman of whom he did not know anything about except what she saw fit to reveal to him. Ridiculous as it was, he felt free for the first time in ages.

He passed through North Carolina without stopping, not even for coffee, let alone for some of the belles whom might make a better fit for a sailor on his return home. South Carolina was a blur of cars and road signs, of flashing white lines on the stone river of the highway and caravans of eighteen-wheelers that he passed. His radio filled his time with music and invasive commercials. Georgia is where he stopped for gas as the sun began to set: coffee, supper, and a call to Doozie to keep her abreast of his journey. She didn’t answer the phone as it rang and rang and rang, another red flag.

Savannah’s lights were coming on and Sean knew that it was a great and beautiful town with lovely women and honored traditions of hospitality and grace. But he wasn’t quite ready to dive into a social pool of people he didn’t know or hadn’t been introduced to. His being was still in an operational underway mode where he was uncomfortable offering personal pleasantries and romantic pursuits to strangers. Sean was no Don Juan like Petty Officer Stevens who seemed to have a way of drawing women to him with no real effort; an abstract ability that Sean could hardly grasp. Besides, Doozie was now Sean’s target of affection whose voice echoed in his mind and sparkling eyes flashed erotically in his imagination from his remembered computer screen. He purchased a large coffee to go and strapped himself into the mustang, leaving 95 at Richmond and tearing down 84 toward Valdosta to get to the Gulf Coast as the chill of night settled in.

As the lights of the city faded behind him the Mustang pushed into the darkness of the road. The sky became overcast, the temperature dropped, and fog raised out from the surrounding countryside as the minutes passed with the stream of country songs on the radio. The music was new to Sean. The lyrics were romantic and the rhythms modern, engaging.

Sean passed from Wayne County into Pierce, and the temperature dropped even more as mist increased on the road. Traffic lapsed and the Mustang swam through the profound darkness of the road as the sky threatened rain. The air around the Mustang enhanced in a dark, thick swell that absorbed the rays of the headlights, swallowing visibility. The road became a swirling wake of the destroyer Sean tossed Jennifer’s letters into that chilly morning the ship pulled back into port. The headlights merely lingered just long enough for Sean to navigate the front end of the Mustang forward at seventy miles an hour. He plowed through the blackness, a sleek submarine that swam through the watery Georgian night. The gloomy air saturated cloudy, heavy wetness above him, the gloomy landscape of Dixie ghosts and ghouls and forested farms silently howled alongside and behind as the Mustang whispered down the road while country music blared from within.

Sean pressed on as a late night Blue Grass show started on the radio, the banjoes and fiddles singing to him of love and life and God’s good graces. The water-laden darkness that encapsulated the Mustang seemed to pile down from the four darkened winds in ghastly cascades of fog falling down from the heavens. The Mustang torpedoed forward as the headlights pushed through to have their light sucked down by the rapid stream of the road that rapidly swirled beneath the tires. The banjoes and fiddles transformed to guitars and mandolins, and the road inclined downward towards a black eternal maw of nothingness that lie in wait ahead of him, and the coffee went down good. An eternal century of the subaquatic plunge down to the obscure depths finally transformed to an interruption of the mandolinned guitar music by Elvis Presley’s crooning voice, singing of lonesomeness and lost love. The deep darkness on the invisible horizon erupted with colored lights and a highway sign streaked by stating Waycross was a mere seventeen miles ahead.

The rain finally started. It came down in big, splotchy drops at first. The ghastly waterfalls returned, but now in an actual torrent of heavy rain that almost obscured the road completely. Sean slowed to fifty miles an hour and the colored lights on the skyline grew to a blessed roadside motel with a welcome looking café that promised warmth and light and Southern hospitality.

Sean checked in for the night. The motel attendee was a short, dark Hindu lady with a thick accent. She smiled after Sean inquired if she had a room available for a weary traveller. The room was cold and seedy, yet it was dry at eleven-forty-five at night in the midst of a heavy downpour. Sean called Doozie’s number but there was still no answer. So he went to the diner, ate some pie, and the next time he tried to call her, Doozie finally answered after five rings.

“Hello?” she said.

“Hi, it’s Sean.” He was very tired, and there was an eerie silence on her end of the line. “How’s it going?”

“Going?” she answered. “Oh, … Sean, oh " it’s, it’s going fine. Where are you?”

“Well, I’m on my way.” Sean replied, a little relieved to be speaking to this woman he was really looking forward to meeting, yet some apprehension silently came from her end. “I’ve been on the road all day and I made it to southern Georgia. But it’s raining cats and dogs, and I think I’m going to rest the night before pressing on into Florida.”

“You’re coming to Florida?” she asked. “Tomorrow?” This was not the same girl he spoke to the night before who was happy to hear that he planned to take the journey to see her, at least she didn’t sound like it. The silent apprehension seemed to shout.

“Yeah, tomorrow.” he answered. “I know I said that I thought I could make it all the way in one day, but apparently I was wrong.”

“Tomorrow?” she asked, once again the silence was overwhelming. “Oh, … uh, great!” Her smiling voice from the night before returned, the bellowing apprehension now silenced. Sean’s eyes crossed in weariness, and he heard Doozie settle herself into a chair.

“What’ve you been up to tonight?” he asked. Like just about every woman Sean encountered, especially Jennifer, this woman was perplexing.

“Oh, nothing.” she replied. “We were just about to go get something to eat.” The strange apprehension rose back up into a roar.

“So when do you think you’ll be here?”

“Well, let me see.” Sean picked up his road atlas and turned to Florida. “If I leave here early enough, and take uh, … let’s see, 441 into Lake City, then get on 75, I should make Tampa town by say four o’clock in the afternoon.”

“Tampa?” Doozie asked. “What’s in Tampa?”

“You’re in Tampa, right?” Again, she was bewildering.

“Oh! No, not in Tampa.” Doozies smiled had faded over the phone again. “Lakeland, you need to come to Lakeland.”

“Lakeland?” he asked. “Hang on.”

Sean consulted the map and found Lakeland; it was a stone’s throw from Tampa, about thirty miles to the east.

“So I just turn south at what, Zephyr Hills?” he asked.

“No, 301.” Doozie replied in a strange voice. “Take 301 out of Ocala and it’ll take you right into Lakeland. What color did you say your Mustang was again?”

Sean perused his map again.

“Oh, okay.” he said. “301 right into Lakeland. Right, got it. It may take a little longer though.”

“Okay.” she replied. “As long as you get here before dark. What color did you say your mustang is again?”

Sean’s mind was swimming from sleepiness and from driving through the intense Georgia darkness. He yawned.

“I don’t think I did say.” he said.” It’s dark blue with a spoiler and red pin stripes.”

“Okay, great!” Doozie’s smiling voice returned, arousing Sean from his sleepiness for a bit. “Listen Steve, I mean Sean. I gotta’ go. I’ll talk to you tomorrow.”

“Oh, yeah, okay.” Sean answered.” I’ll see you tomorrow.” The only answer she gave from there was the click of her phone hanging up.

Sean opened a can of beer and drank deeply. Doozie didn’t hang up on him like that before; it was a little unnerving. But he looked forward to gazing into her pretty green eyes and maybe more. He was tired, very tired. His time was normally spent standing long watches on the bridge and in CIC, overseeing maintenance of radar systems and engineering, and standing on the main deck in his spare time, watching the ocean pitch and roll the ship that was his whole world. There weren’t any women on the ship, and the other half of his world, his soon to be ex-wife, had gaffed him off, severing that world in twain. Now he was in the same boat he was the first day he set foot on the Hattiesburg, Mississippi campus right out of high school; all by himself. One thing he could count on as he sat and sipped his beer, thinking about Doozie, that she wasn’t anything like Jennifer. It was something he could hold onto as he set the beer can on the bedside stand and close his eyes.

Sean slept soundly until his alarm clock went off just after six.

 

It took almost six hours to reach Ocala. By three that afternoon he was on 301 and traffic was getting heavy. The sun was shining; the radio now spewed out Rock n’ Roll, and the time was drawing near to finally meet Doozie. He called her number three times but Doozie refused to answer. There was a traffic jam in Coleman, probably because of an accident, so Sean pulled into a library to go online and see if she’d posted anything in the chat room.

Again, nothing; she wasn’t even listed anymore. So there he was, eight hundred miles from the ship, night closing, and the girl that agreed to meet him ignored his calls now that he was almost in her town. Sean walked back to his car and drove to McDonald’s to grab a burger and a coke.

As he sat in a booth, chomping away on a Big Mac, a young man of about 25 limped up to the counter and asked for a coke. When the young man turned and looked at Sean, it was apparent that somebody worked the guy over pretty good. He had real beauty of a shiner, a fat lip, and his nose bled slightly. The young man sat in a booth across from where Sean sat, put his coke down on the table, along with his elbows, and buried his face into his hands. Sean sat and chewed on his burger, and as he finished the Big Mac the young man looked up at Sean with dazed eyes, almost like he was about to burst into tears.

“You alright, buddy?” Sean asked. “Looks like it’s not your day.”

The dazed look lit up into a strained smile, and the young man’s hand went up to run through his semi long hair.

“No, man.” he replied. “This ain’t my friggin’ year.”

“What happened to you?” Sean was cleaning up the remnants of his meal.

“I got mugged by a bunch of junkies, dude.” the guy replied. “I was trying to hook up with this chick I met on the Internet in a bar in Lakeland. When she didn’t show I figured no big deal, so I waited for her almost two hours in that damned bar. When I went out to get into my car, I got blind-sided and two guys kicked the s**t outa’ me right in the parking lot.

“Son’s a’ b*****s stole my wallet and my car. Lucky I left my checkbook at home.”

The red flag started waving back and forth in Sean’s mind. The internet, eh?

“Damn.” Sean said, wiping his mouth with a napkin. “The internet? You mean like on a chat room?”

“Yeah, man.” the guy continued. “She said that she hated liars and that she’s a nursing student in Tampa. Then when I told her I was driving down from Jacksonville she insisted on meeting at this place called Rookers in Lakeland.”

“No s**t.” Sean was starting to feel sick to his stomach. “This chick have a name?”

“Yeah, man. Naomi; Boosie or Doozie or I’m gonna’ make the loser woosie.” The young man’s voice trembled in his trepidation. “My little Chevy ain’t much, but it’s the only car I have.”

“Did you say ‘Doozie’? Are you shittin’ me buddy?” Sean asked, his own face taking on a similar dazed look.

“Yeah, but her nickname hasn’t got anything to do with how she obviously set me up for this big black a*****e and his hippie buddy that jumped me and double teamed me like something out of ‘All Star Wrestling.’ “ The young man took a long sip on his coke.

Sean stood up and walked over to the young man’s booth. Sitting down across from him, Sean extended his hand.

“My name’s Sean.” he said. “I seem to be on my way to Lakeland to get blind-sided by the same chick. She told me she’s a nurse and is having issues with her crack smoking friends.”

“You’re f*****g kidding me, dude.” The young man took Sean’s hand and shook his head. “The cops gave me a lift to the bus station and this one horse town was all the further I could get with what little money I had in my pocket. They didn’t even seem to care about catching those people.”

“You’re from Jacksonville?” Sean asked. It seemed that he might be heading that way instead of continuing on to Lakeland. The young man looked into Sean’s eyes and nodded; a small trickle of blood was starting in one of his nostrils. “What’s your name, buddy?”

“Oh, I’m sorry.” the young man replied. “My name’s Edward. And I live near Jacksonville, a little town called Middleburg.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Edward.”

That was an understatement. A huge sense of relief flowed over Sean’s being, seeing that he may have dodged a nasty bullet coming from Doozie and her alleged henchmen in Lakeland. Sean thought about how this whole journey had started with a knee jerk reaction to another female’s attention over such a superficial media as the Internet, thrown him into the Georgia darkness of gloom and doom, only to emerge from the seedy motel where Doozie ignored him completely. It was Jennifer’s vaguely worded ‘dear John’ letter all over again, except instead of being stuck out in the middle of nowhere, trapped on a metal weapons system that floated from port to port with weeks of time in between, it was in the heart of Dixie, in the land of the home and the brave. Not to mention the potential that Doozie’s goons could’ve done a lot more to Sean, who was a Naval officer with more than the money in his wallet and the value of his Mustang. Perhaps Sean was now ready to try the social scenes of Charleston, Savannah, and Washington DC. At least he wouldn’t have some paradigm to contend with like crack smoking friends of a faceless, conniving liar like Doozie.

“You too, Sean.” Edward replied. “You wouldn’t be headed towards Jacksonville way by any chance, would ya’?”

Not only was Sean now headed back towards Georgia, but he got Edward a quarter pounder with cheese to go to boot. On the drive to Middleburg the two had quite a conversation about Doozie and her ruse, speculations on the mystery of the opposite sex, and Sean managed to convince Edward that there were worse places a fellow could end up than in the military; like getting stuck in towns like Lakeland, mugged, broke, and without a car. Edward provided Sean a powerful lesson of what the worst that could happen was, other than tactics and rules of engagement that was the essence of Sean’s career. Sean gave Edward a lift to his front door and a shining example of who he could become in the military. The young man ultimately ended up enlisting in the Coast Guard.

The next morning Sean woke up after sleeping late in his suite at the Holiday Inn in Jacksonville. Gone were the feelings of loneliness and remorse, sadness of having lost at love while misplaced in his calling at sea. And a new sense of hope and happiness grew in him that he was home, that he was on leave, and that people like Jennifer were out of his life. Plus he had a new found perspective of potential people like Doozie that made his ex-wife appear downright wholesome and respectable. That in itself was a concept that made his ears buzz in its conceptualization.

The rest of Sean’s leave, three and a half days, were expensive yet rewarding. He had fun, got some righteous rest and relaxation, and he actually got laid; she was a southern beauty who was painting the town of Florence red, recently divorced. When he returned to the ship that Thursday night with a liberty goat on his chin he had his car, he had his laptop, and he had his wallet. Plus he had a phone number of a Miss Eloise who told him to call “anytime.” Needless to say he never heard from “Doozie” again.

As Lieutenant Sean Crawford stepped across the brow he was checked off of leave in the ship’s log by none other than OS2 Russell Stevens, Petty Officer of the watch. The next day Sean was clean shaven and topside after quarters, inspecting the main decks for turnover of the duty section. He saw OS2 Stevens smoking a long, nasty cigarette and joking with a few deck apes; Sean never smoked a cigarette in his life. He motioned to Petty 0fficer Stevens to speak with him in private. The young sailor tossed his smoke into a butt kit and walked up to Mister Crawford with a little smile on his face.

“How was your leave, sir?” Stevens asked.

“Eventful buddy, eventful.” Sean replied. “I’m curious Stevens.”

“What’s that?” Steven asked inquisitively.

“What’s your secret?” Sean continued.

“Oh!” Stevens smile broadened. “You mean the women?”

“Yeah, man.” Sean was starting to share Stevens’ contagious smile.

“Oh hell, that’s easy Lieutenant.” Stevens replied. “My parents are rich as s**t, and I’m worth millions. I just couldn’t live my life any other way than serving my country on the finest destroyer in the world. Money is the secret to women’s hearts shipmate; lots of f*****g money, man.”

“Now why didn’t I think of that?” Sean replied, grinning.

OS2 Stevens gave Lieutenant Crawford a crisp salute with his big smile, and he struck down below to change into civilian clothes for liberty call. 

SR Urie

Reviews

[Dan Hiland]

It took a while to read through- especially in that thick font- but it was worth it. Lots of great description and interesting details about the naval life. And there's a payoff! Reminds me of a couple long distance drives I made when I was single and so lonely- only to have the girl say to me on the phone, "Oh- you're really in town? Well, uh-" I remember the crappy feeling that gave me. I understand well what you are saying in this story. Before I left town, I gave that girl my cold. (lol...)
My issue with this tale is concerned with the tone (or voice). It reads more like a documentary, in many sections. As a result, there is an emotional distance between the narrator and the events in the story that make it hard to warm up to his plight. I wonder if this would be more immediate, more touching, if it were told in first person. There is unexpressed emotion that could be mined from what you already have in place.
You put a lot of work into this and it shows. It is a rich and detailed account- all the pieces are there. In my humble opinion, it just needs to be told in a more personal way.
Thanks for sharing this strong piece of writing.

[SR Urie]

Hi Dan,
Thanks for your comments and constructive criticism, sir. I agree that Liberty Goat reads a little dry as it's in second person, and by adding more about what it felt like emotionally would give it more penasch. I will change the font, to be sure.

Thank you very much sir.
S