All Aboard Andi's Dream Ch. 08

"I hear that shit," said First Lieutenant Jaquette Marie-Claude Davis, known to all as Jacqui Davis. Jacqui was into vodka tonight.

"All I ever said was be there for me, just be there to catch me... and where was he? Did I ever tell ya... we were so broke I had to go dumpster diving to feed my lil' bruver," said Paul, now slobbering. "I caught him when he dropped out of seminary... I was there when that cunt's sister gave him a doze... duz... dose... dose of LSD and he saw Satan. He says, 'how kin I pay ya back?' and all I said was, 'be there for me when I need ya." Paul took a long pull on his scotch, then continued. "And when I needed him the most was he there?"

"Hell no," said Jacqui, seeing double now.

"Hell no, he was off on his honeymoon."

"Ok, doc, I have to cut you off," said the Bartender.

"We just got this party started," said Paul and his sweeping gesture took in the entire empty O Club.

"Rules are rules, when Doctor J starts talking about dumpster diving it's time to cut him off." The bartender didn't want to enforce those rules because they were tipping so well, but the rules were put in place by Doctor Jarecki.

"Fine... fine... yer just doing yer job. My bottle in my room loves me..." he threw some crumpled bills on the bar top and Jacqui followed suit. They pulled on their parkas and walked out into the frigid North Dakota night.

"Who the fuck wants to live here?" groaned Paul.

"Yeah," said Jacqui as they walked through the frigid North Dakota winter.

"I understand them sending me back from Kadina early, who wants to see a man mourn his slut wife, but why to Grand Fucking Forks?" groaned the Major. "My first assignment was Minot, now I'm in Grand Forks... What the fuck did I do to deserve this?"

"You should talk," said Jacqui. "I got orders to Grand Forks and my goddamn husband left me. Fucking coward."

The weather was horrible; the temperature was -20° (-28°C) and the wind was blowing about 45 MPH (72 KPH) creating a wind chill of -58° (-50° C). It was dangerous just to stand outside, but alcohol plus a suicidal attitude doesn't make for intelligent planning.

They walked the half block over to BOQ (Bachelor Officer's Quarters), blinded by the blowing snow and their tears freezing on their cheeks. "I think this is the sidewalk," said Jacqui and she turned up the sidewalk to the entrance of the BOQ. She got about four paces up the walk and she slipped on black ice and fell flat on her back, striking her head on the sidewalk.

"Come on Jacqui, get up, you can die there," said Paul as he leaned over Jacqui. Suddenly Paul's feet slipped out from under him on the ice and he fell face down, landing on Jacqui. When he landed on her, she didn't groan or move, which terrified Paul. "Come on baby, let's get up, we will die out here." Paul was so drunk his head was swimming. He was losing his vision around the edges, and he knew those signs. He was going to pass out. If he did, he was going to die. At -58° death was guaranteed.

Maybe it wouldn't be so bad. He could be with Melony, and they could forget all rumors of Melony fucking around behind Paul's back and just go back to Ellicottville and start over. The tears started, and he gasped, "I'm sorry Mel... I'm sorry for hating you, and I'm sorry for becoming a drunk piece of shit..."

"Hey buddy, come on, get up."

"Huh?" someone was tugging at Paul's arm.

"Come on, get up, you'll die down there."

Paul looked up, and a fellow was standing above him. The guy was in an old parka and was wearing the hood up, and the mouth of the hood was snorkeled, nearly closed. "Come on," the guy said, and he grabbed Paul's arm and helped him up. "You ok?"

"Just a bit drunk," said Paul. He looked at Jacqui and tried to figure out how he's going to get her up. Jacqui was a big girl, easily as tall as Paul and muscular. She was a basketball player in college and was quite good. She was black and was married up until the day she arrived at Grand Forks Air Force Base as a member of the 932nd Aerial Refueling Squadron, the same squadron that Paul was a flight surgeon for.

"Is she alive?" asked the fellow. Paul looked, and through the blowing snow, he couldn't tell who he was. His voice was nondescript, but it was a man, and that was the only fact he was sure of.

"She's alive but she's not conscious."

"You get one arm and I'll get the other," said the fellow, and they hoisted Jacqui to a seated position which brought her around in a few moments. "Whaaaz happenin?" she sputtered.

"Ok, let's get her on her feet," said the fellow in the parka. Together they lifted Jacqui to her feet as she started protesting that she was ok.

"Come on baby, let's get you in my room where I can examine that nugget of yours." Paul pulled her right arm over his shoulders and the other guy got her left arm over his shoulder and she walked like a marionette between them to the door.

"My head hurts."

"It should, I think you broke the sidewalk. If it wasn't for that fellow you'd still be lying on the sidewalk."

"What fellow?"

Paul suddenly noticed that there was no one helping him with Jacqui and his blood ran cold. "What the... he must have ran off." But that wasn't likely in this weather. He got her in his room and examined her head, and she didn't break the skin, but there was a lump rising.

"Ow."

"Are you flying tomorrow?" He took a tiny flashlight and checked her pupils' response. Both were reacting equally.

"No, nobody is. The aerodrome is closed."

"What's the cube root of 27?" Paul asked as he checked her pulse rate.

"Three."

"Correct. How big is my dick?" he asked.

"I don't fucking know."

"Correct. I don't think you have a concussion, but I want to see you in my office and get a couple of x-rays."

Jacqui looked at Paul and said, "What would you have said if I told you your dick was big enough to reach the back of my throat?"

"I would have taken that as a correct answer also." He opened a locker to hang up his coat and a pair of racket ball rackets fell out. Paul used to be pretty good, and he learned to carry two rackets because he occasionally broke one or he'd meet someone who wanted to play but didn't have a racket. He slowly bent to pick up a racket and considered it for a long, long time before he handed it to Jacqui. "Tomorrow, gym. It's cheaper than tossing our paychecks at the bartender."

"You really want an ass whoopin' that bad?"

Paul thought of John and how his feeling zoom in all directions when he thinks of him. "I think I need an ass whoopin'."

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Paul and Jacqui were exactly the same height, but Jacqui was more muscular, making Paul look like a twig. "Ok, you have me alone in a locked room, should I start taking my clothes off or do you want me to struggle?" she said with a sneer.

"We can play strip racquetball if you want," said Paul and he recited the rules and he showed an example of the way he learned to hit a ball. Being an athlete, she picked up on the rules quickly and they started with a gentle volley just to get her used to using the racquet.

"How do we do scoring again?" Jacqui asked as she took a practice serve.

Paul had explained it twice, and each time his explanation came out sounding more complex than nuclear physics. Then he realized she knew. He just didn't explain it right. "Just like volleyball."

"Oh, why didn't you say so."

"Cause I hate volleyball. Game is fifteen points, set is best two out of three games, match is best two out of three sets."

"Wanna play a match?" asked Jacqui with a sharklike grin.

"We don't have the court that long. We're going to spend more time getting used to the rules today, let's just play a few games to get up to speed." They played the first game and as Paul said, it seemed to go on forever because Jacqui needed to learn not only about her shots but how to move out of the way after the shot. Eventually the air was filled with the squeaks of sneakers on the floor and the telltale sound of the racquet ball hitting the racquet.

After an hour and a half, mostly spent laughing, someone tapped on the door. "We have the court," said a fellow that Paul had seen from time to time.

"Yes chief!" said Jacqui. It was Chief Master Sergeant Harrington, the chief of maintenance for the 932nd Aerial Refueling Squadron. Lieutenant Colonel Ramirez, the commander of the 932nd, followed him in. Paul did not like Juan Ramirez, he was pressuring Paul to overlook medical conditions on his air crews.

"Saw bones!" said Juan with false cheerfulness.

"Gas passer," said Paul as he picked up his spare racquet balls and towel.

"Hey," said Juan as he held his racquet out in front of Paul to keep him from leaving. "If you think that flying a three hundred thousand pound aircraft is so easy why don't you come down to the simulator some time."

Paul gave Juan a disarming smile and said, "The day I think that hard work is flying in circles while other people bust their asses fixing that plane for a living, I'll be seeing a shrink."

Juan sputtered and said, "Our planes save lives!"

"You're lecturing a board certified cardiologist on saving lives?" Paul loomed over Juan, who was only five foot seven inches tall. "Do you want to know what hard work is? Keeping those planes of yours flying is damn hard work. When the next aircraft maintainer from the 932nd enters my office with frost bite or misses an appointment for "mission requirements," I'm going to the Inspector General." As Juan seethed, Paul pushed his racquet aside and said, "You don't save lives on rare occasion by killing your own people daily." Then Paul and Chief Harrington fist bumped as Paul left.

"Holy shit batman, you just butt fucked my commander in front of the chief of maintenance and the lowest ranking pilot in the squadron," Jacqui whispered hoarsely.

"Yeah, sometimes life is good. Did you bring a bathing suit?"

"Yep," she said.

"Is it revealing?"

"In your imagination it is."

They met in the steam room a few minutes later. "Minot has two steam rooms, one for the men and one for the women," said Paul. "That way you don't have to deal with these damn bathing suits."

"When I get orders out of here, I'm done with the Northern Tier bases," said Jacqui.

At the height of the cold war, the Strategic Air Command built bases all along the Northern Tier of the United States. From Loring AFB in Maine, through the upper edges of New York, Michigan, North Dakota, Montana and Washington bases were built. There were plenty of other bases in the SAC arsenal, but the toughest bases with the hardest men and women were the Northern Tier. The tip of the spear. Many of the bases were closed, but at the remaining bases the mission remained: if attacked, strike.

"You're going to miss the fishing," said Paul.

"I don't fish."

"Then you're not going to miss anything."

The two chattered like long time buddies, even though they only knew each other for a year. The steam room was full of men and women who were confused and tried to sort out the relationship between the surgeon and the younger black girl. But they would never figure it out because Paul and Jacqui could never figure it out themselves. They simply enjoyed it.

"I'm feeling dizzy," said Jacqui.

"Ok, come on, you're going to love this part," said Paul as he got up. "Follow me." He led her out of the steam room and down a hall that passed between the men's and women's locker rooms to the end of the hall and opened the door. "Normally I take a cool shower to lower my core body temperature, but in winter I do this..." said Paul. When the frigid North Dakota air met the warm moist air inside the gym, fog instantly formed. "Come on..."

"OUTSIDE?" Jacqui nearly shrieked.

"Doctor's orders. We go outside only until we feel the cold."

Paul led Jacqui outside, and the look of horror on her face changed to surprise. "This is awesome!" With her core body temperature so high from the steam, stepping outside was vitalising. There was no cold at all, just a brisk feeling.

"I know! It's refreshing and invigorating! I'm going to build a cabin in the woods and put in a sauna. Maybe a steam room, or both."

"I can't see you as a hermit, doc."

Paul tapped his head with his forefinger. "I'm already a hermit, in here. You're my only connection to humanity."

"I thought you had to love humanity to be a doctor."

"I do love humanity! It's the people I can't stand."

"I'm going to get that on a t-shirt. Who wrote that?" asked Jacqui.

"A guy named Charles Schultz." They went inside and changed, then headed back to the BOQ.

Back in his room, Paul checked his answering machine. There was one message. He hit the button, and he heard John's voice. "Paul this is John. Please talk to me, I love you and I miss us, please..." John sighed. "I have an interview with a tiny congregational church in..."

Paul frowned and erased the message. He couldn't bring himself to talk to John, and he didn't know why, and every time he thought about it, he wanted to die. Paul poured himself a scotch and held the glass up and thought about it again. Reaching an internal decision, he poured the scotch back into the bottle and capped the bottle. Then he turned off the lights and lit a single candle for Melony and fell asleep in his chair, dreaming of a cabin in the woods with Buzz Blecher's body nailed to a tree in a world that still contained Melony and the rumors of her infidelity were just rumors.

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Gus Didomissio stood nervously at the door of the Springville Congregational Church waiting for the applicant for the open job of pastor. Ever since Pastor Maundy told the congregation that he was diagnosed with Alzheimer's disease, they've been relying on pastors from other churches to see them through. Attendance was dwindling, and it looked like they would have to close the doors and turn this beautiful old church into a museum.

Then a battered old Ford Fiesta arrived.

John parked the car across the street and got out and looked at the church and smiled. They've been to one dozen interviews, and this was the first one that was in a church that looks like a church. It looked like a little white prairie church with a steeple and double front door. In John's eyes, it was beautiful. Everything else they've seen were monstrosities of modern Christian flavored architecture. This building came from a simpler time, a time when hymns were melodic, not hypnotic. A time when the word was spoken with honesty and strength. John worried he didn't have a strong enough spirit to preach in such an edifice to do it justice.

He walked to the passenger side of the Fiesta and opened the door and let Macy out. "What do you think?"

"It's perfect," she gushed. "Let's keep it."

"Lucky number thirteen," said John. They have had frustrations in their search for a church. They were rejected for multiple reasons: being too conservative, being not conservative enough, not having any kids, and every interview in Quebec they were rejected for John's funny American accent even though he spoke French fluently.

They looked up at the white steeple against the azure blue sky, fluffy white clouds dotting the sky. The smell of the fields and the sound of the wind in the tree called out to John. It was perfect, and with Macy at his side, it was more perfect. "There's a bell up there," whispered John.

"It probably sounds beautiful," said Macy.

They climbed the seven steps to the front door where they were met by a cheerful-looking man who had the look of a man that worked with his hands. They shook hands and John said, "Hi, I'm John Jarecki, and this is my wife, Macy. We're here about a job."

"August Didomissio, please call me Gus, everyone does. I'm a deacon on the board and we're anxious to meet you." He led them into the church and said, "I apologize, we have the money and the land to build a new building next door but attendance has been dwindling."

"Does the bell work?"

"No, sorry. The rope is broken."

"This is beautiful," said Macy as they looked around in awe at the sanctuary. It was beautiful in its simplicity, and the only electronics that could be seen were a microphone at the podium and a speaker next to the podium. Someone put a lace doily and a flower arrangement on the speaker and the speaker faded into the décor.

"No drums," whispered John, and Macy noted there were no drums, and nodded.

When Gus gave him a puzzled look, Macy said. "We hate drums. They're too loud for a small church and when someone suggests putting a box around the drums, John suggests putting a shipping label on the box and calling UPS."

When Gus stopped laughing, John said, "I have nothing against electronic drum pads, their output can be adjusted for the room you're playing in, but trap sets can't be adjusted, they are for concert halls."

"Agreed!" said Gus as he led John and Macy to the back room, which held six people sitting around a U-shaped table, and Gus joined them. They gave John a chair in the middle of the U, but John sat Macy in that chair and went and got himself another chair and sat next to her. "We're a team. If you hire me I'll do the teaching and preaching and Sunday school, marriages and funerals. Together Macy and I will do counseling and new member introductions, and Macy will be involved in all church activities including visiting the home bound and children's church. She is an ordained minister so if something happens and you have no objections she can cover for me on Sunday."

"What if we say that we don't agree with that," asked a dour-looking woman on the pastor search committee.

"Then we'll thank you for your time and answer the other responses we received," said John.

The committee actually liked that, then they asked John and Macy about their academic accomplishments and were stunned to find that John has a Th.D. (Doctor of Theology) and Macy has a Ph.D. in Theology and Psychology. They asked questions about their grounding in the Trinity and divine grace among a dozen other topics. "How about music, do you have any musical training?" asked Larry Snow, who is in charge of audio and video.

"We both sing, we both play piano, I play guitar and Macy plays violin," said John.

"Williamsville is going to be upset if we move out here," said Macy. "We practice on my mother-in-law's front porch and the neighborhood comes out to listen to us every evening."

After about an hour talking to the committee, John and Macy sat in the sanctuary sipping coffee (Folger's) and whispering softly. "I am sure they will hire you," whispered Macy.

"Us, we both are under consideration, I forced that matter. I want them to look at more than your skin color." Then he sighed, "I wish Paul were here."

Macy held John close and whispered, "Mon pauvre Jean, (my poor John) I'm sure you two will reunite."

After just a few minutes, Gus came into the sanctuary and said, "Please join us." Trembling with excitement, Macy and John followed Gus back into the back room and Lou Sagget, the head of the committee who had been silent said, "The vote was unanimous, the Holy Spirit must want you here but now being a congregational church, the congregation must vote."

"No pressure," said John with a grin as an excited Macy hugged him. "Sunday on Independence day weekend... No pressure at all..."

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John and Macy practiced their message every night until the residents of Williamsville grew tired of hearing the same song over and over. The pianist from the Springville Congregational church heard of their plans and begged to join, so practice moved to Melissa Kraft's house in Springville, and then into the church.