Connecticut - Part One

For the entire story, click the Connecticut topic at the end of this post, in the sidebar to your right, or just click here.

One of my roommates in the military was a guy named Connecticut.  We shared a small barracks room – bunk beds, a single dresser, and two wall lockers. 

I never really got to know Connecticut well as a person, because we clashed so badly right from the start. His real name wasn't Connecticut, but once while some of us were drinking Rum in the day room, he came in and started bragging about being in a gang back home.  Pete, a six-six Puerto Rican from Queens asked if upper middle class kids in Connecticut thought that a gang was six white boys who met at the mall.  From then on, we called him Connecticut.

He was typically upper middle class and he should have just gone on to college, but he joined the military instead.  Fortunately for him, he got assigned as an orderly.  That means that he was the commander's secretary – filling out forms, running errands, posting notices.  His shoes were perpetually shined and he almost never wore fatigues, instead he was in dress blues all the time.  This fit his personality since he spent more time in front of a mirror than anyone I ever roomed with, including Dwayne (we'll get to him sometime in the future). 

Despite being a gang-banger, he was quite the passive aggressive boy.  Instead of talking to me about stuff in our room, he'd leave me post-it notes.   We worked different shifts, so perhaps he thought I'd appreciate post-its.

• Don't use my stereo.

• Don't drink in the room.

• You scuffed my shoes when you kicked your boots off

• Your friends are too loud at night

Stuff like that.  He didn't like talking to me because I wasn't an officer.  He wasn't an officer either, but since he was the secretary and worked around officers he figured he was the next best thing.

Connecticut had a girlfriend.  We'll call her Lynda.  He called her bitch.  I know that's what he called her because he talked to her on the hall phone and would tell her she was a stupid bitch, a messy bitch, an annoying bitch, and an ungrateful bitch.  I asked him why he'd go out with her if he hated her so much.  It wasn't any of my business, he snapped. 

One day I saw her in her car in the parking lot.  She waved me over and when I got there I saw that she'd been crying.  She wanted to know where Connecticut was, but I didn't know.  I knew he wasn't in the room, he wasn't at the gym, and he wasn't at the chow hall.  Those are the only places I'd been.

Lynda was a pretty.  She was a compact girl, five-foot one with full hips and large breasts.  Not large at all, but muscular and well proportioned.  Despite her height and the fact that she was still a teenager, she looked like a woman, not a girl.  Her hair was long and brown, but she bunched it up on her head with those large hair clips that look like rows of teeth ready to take a finger. 

I asked her why she went out with a guy who treated her so badly.  That's never a good question, but I was young and didn't know any better.  Instead of an answer I got a lot of excuses as to why Connecticut was actually such a good guy.  I was his roommate so I knew better and I told her so. 

“He'd really be mad if he heard you saying that.” 

Yeah, another post-it tirade, I'm sure. I left her to her Connecticut search and got ready for work. 

That night when I got off my shift, Connecticut was waiting up for me.  This is after midnight so it must have been important or he wouldn't be interrupting his beauty sleep. I stopped in the doorway, about to kick my boots off in the direction of his shoe display, “You're up?” I'm good at the obvious.

“Lynda wants you to come with us on Friday.  We're going roller skating.”

“Couldn't you have left me a post-it?” I asked.

“I didn't know if you'd see it,” he said.  Apparently Connecticut wasn't the only master of the ancient art of Passive Aggressive in the room.

“Nah, I don't think it'd be that much fun,” I said.  “Besides, I'm having enough trouble just being your roommate.  I don't think hanging out would do either of us any good.”  See, I knew no good could come of this.  Sometimes I'm a smart guy.

“She's got a friend she wants to introduce you too.”

“Is she hot?”  Intelligence vanishes as my upper brain shuts off.

The two of us, Connecticut and I, hopped into his Oldsmobile and went downtown to go roller skating with the girls.  My date was a nice looking girl, but we didn't really have anything in common.  We still hung out and we skated and talked and such, so it was fun, or at least it started out fun, but as the night wore on, Connecticut reverted to form and erupted on on Lynda, screaming at her, and then I had to step in.  There was no violence but he stormed out of the roller skating rink just like a true New England gang banger ought to. 

Leaving me without a ride back to the base.  Leaving me as upset as Connecticut had been.

We went out to Denny's for some late night food, and then Lynda's friend gave me a ride back to the base which was really nice of her.

When I got back to my room Connecticut was snoring.  I was tempted to wake him up and tell him what a dumbass he was, but instead I just went to the day room to lose some money in pool.

The next day there was a post-it note on my boom box.  It wasn't an apology.  It wasn't an explanation.  It simply said:

“I'm breaking up with the bitch.”

Cool, I thought.  I'll ask her out.

And that's where the real trouble began.

- rick, not thinking things through

 

Comments

[mark]

oooo, I sense a sequel!

[a rose is a rose]

we have miss porter's, we have noah webster, we have the first hamburger, we have a bridge with frogs on it, we have the first new england witch execution, we have the mark twain house and the harriet beecher stowe house, we have the wadsworth atheneum (the oldest operating museum in the us we have the underground railroad, AND we have paul newman

[Cherise]

I am laughing my ass off at the image of you roller skating with some girl.:) I also had a post-it note roommate, weirdest bitch on the planet. I can not wait to here more about Connecticut.

[Sister Mary Lisa]

Don't leave me hanging like this! I want more!!

Great story so far, Rick.

[Sister Mary Lisa]

Oh, and Connecticut sounds like a royal prick.

[Sideon]

You're a mighty fine spinner of tales.

Let the blog envy commence.

[bex]

when the hell do you find time for writing this??? Your poor brother never gets a day off, and here you are...

[CV Rick]

Rose, you're right. Connecticut has a lot of great things . . . but one thing they don't have is upper middle class, blond-haired, blue eyed Gang Bangers. But I digress - - - the story is in its infancy and much more happens between myself, Lynda, and Connecticut.

[CV Rick]

Bex, let me tell you, it isn't easy. I've been writing these vignettes before going to bed and setting them on auto-post for the AM. If I'm in the habit of writing every day, even just 500 words, it's helping me become a better writer. And, I find that I have a lot of stories about my own life that are worth telling. At least if the traffic numbers are real, they're worth telling because more of you are coming to the site every day.

Which brings me to my other request. For everyone who feels in the least gratified by my stories and who likes my writing, please pimp my blog. I'm pimping it, and I'd like you to as well.

[CV Rick]

Sideon,

There's no need for blog envy. Get over the writing doldrums and write away. As Bex has hinted at, I'm so busy right now that there should be no way for me to be writing this much in my blog . . . I haven't had a day off in weeks and I've kept my brother so busy he can't get in trouble. Looks like our next day off might be Father's Day . . . unless someone calls and wants us to work that day.

[Success Warrior]

As a matter of fact, I do have some windows that will need to be cleaned around then.

[Graeme]

Yeah, so I am totally on the edge of my seat. We need that sequel

[CV Rick]

There will be a sequel. Expect it early next week.

Tomorrow is another Growing Up Mormon post.