Light Years (3 page)

“This is so great. You don’t know how long I’ve waited to meet you!”

I smiled.

“I mean, it’s so important who your roommate is, you know? You hear such awful stories sometimes, but I just know we’ll get along great. It’ll be so cool. I’m just going to finish putting some of these clothes away and then my parents want to take us out to dinner.”

“You don’t have to do that.”

“Don’t be silly. They want to get to know you, plus we live really close by. Only twenty, well, I guess closer to thirty minutes away, so it’s no trouble at all. I think it’s hard on them that I’m leaving. I’m the baby of the family. Two older brothers.” She rolled her eyes. “At least I’m going to UVA, my brothers both got as far away from here as they could.” She laughed.

I nodded, hardly able to keep up with her chatter.

“How about you? How are your parents taking this?”

“They’re fine,” I said. “They’re used to me not living at home. But they didn’t expect for me to go so far away.”

“Where do you live?”

“Haifa, in Israel.”

“Jeez, that’s really far away. I don’t think your packet says you’re an international student.”

Didn’t she notice my accent? Did she think it was polite to ignore it?

“International students are supposed to live in a different dorm, I think. With other international students, but I’m glad you’re here.”

I was silent, not sure what to say.

“Much more interesting, I think. It’s cool you’re from Israel. Is it really dangerous there? I always hear about it on the news.”

I was quiet.

She hesitated for a moment, finally hearing the words that gushed out. She turned back to her closet and straightened a row of folded shirts. “I think it’s great,” she said firmly as if I had contradicted her. “My parents are excited to meet you.”

I wasn’t sure about that.

She was like a puppy. Jumping from topic to topic, flitting around the room, cramming her clothes into already-packed shelves, hanging dress after dress, glancing back at me every so often to make sure I was still there.

“Daddy!” she said when a paunchy, silver-haired man stood at our door. “This is Maya, my new roommate.”

“Hey, honey.” He kissed her on the forehead. “I see you’ve been busy while I was gone.”

Payton smiled. The room looked like her closet had exploded. She was developing a “system,” she had explained, and wanted each article of clothing in its proper spot.

“It’s nice to meet you, Maya,” Payton’s father said,
extending a hand. We shook, my hand nearly swallowed up in his. “Payton’s been looking forward to meeting you all summer.”

He had a nice voice, slow and deep. And an accent mild enough that I understood most of what he said.

“Me too,” I said. I hadn’t given half a thought to my roommate or who she was. “It’s nice to finally meet her, and you.” I bit my lip.

“My wife and I were hoping you will join us for dinner.”

“I don’t know—”

“Come on, Maya,” Payton said. “Just come.”

“Thank you,” I said. I didn’t have anything else to do and the dorm would be packed and impossible to get away from. “That’s very nice of you.”

“Nonsense. Come on, girls, Payton’s mom is in the car waiting for us.”

Payton’s parents were well bred, well mannered, and well off. Exactly what I expected. Her father (“Robert, but please call me Bob”) was a lawyer, working at the same firm his father worked at, his grandfather had worked at, and his greatgrandfather had founded. Her mother (who told me to call her Sissy, but didn’t really seem to mean it) was extremely busy with something called the Junya League, the Republican Party, and their church. Of Payton’s two brothers, one attended Stanford, then UVA law school, and was now cutting his teeth at the firm’s Richmond office. Her oldest brother, a bit of a nonconformist, went to the University of Chicago (“A Yankee school in a Yankee city,” to his parents’ horror), was an
investment banker, and currently lived in Hong Kong with his Chinese girlfriend (“lovely girl, very sweet”).

We spoke about Charlottesville—they told me funny stories about ghosts in the hallways and a cow that had been lifted on top of the Rotunda, a practical joke at the turn of the century.

“Charlottesville and the university in particular are just lovely areas,” Payton’s mother said. “But you shouldn’t forget that it can be dangerous. Especially for girls like you.”

She must have seen the disbelief that crossed my face.

“I know it looks calm and staid, but last year two students were brutally beaten. They were in the hospital for weeks.” She leaned in. “The police never caught the man who did it. They said it was a fraternity hazing gone wrong, but I don’t believe that for a second. Whoever did it is still out there.”

I made a suitably concerned face. These people might as well have been from Mars.

“Now, Sissy, don’t go giving the girl nightmares.”

I tried to imagine what kind of person would develop nightmares from a story like that. I just couldn’t picture it.

“I just think you need to be aware,” she said carefully. “Both of you. Try to stick together.”

That evening, as Payton and I settled in for our first night together, Payton sighed and stretched.

“I think this year is going to be great,” she said. “I was really scared before I came here, but now I’m finally getting excited
about all this.” She stretched and sighed. “Yeah, this year is going to be great.”

I smiled at her in the dark but didn’t say anything.

I didn’t think this year could be any worse than the last, but you never knew for sure, did you?

My high school buddies and I were at our favorite hangout, a café and bar on the beach. Our usual table on the deck was full of our empty glasses and wet napkins. It was only a few weeks before we were scheduled to begin basic training. We tried to be cool and nonchalant, legs sprawled, arms casually folded.

“You know, it’s up to us now,” Alon said. “We’re the great Israeli hope. Saddam and Arafat won’t know what hit them once we sign up.”

We all laughed loudly.

“Yeah, they’ll be like, why is that tank pointing the wrong way, right?” Daphna said.

“Oh yeah,” David said. “Heck, yeah. They’ll be like—why is that redheaded soldier holding his rifle upside down?” He high-fived Alon, who was infamous at the arcade for shooting aliens, robbers, and vampires holding his gun upside down.

We whooped and cheered. We clinked our Diet Cokes.

Life was good. I was excited.

The day I packed for boot camp, my brother Adam leaned against the doorframe of my bedroom and watched me for a while.

“I still can’t believe you’re going,” he said, shaking his head.

“I know.” I flashed him a quick grin.

“Are you nervous?”

“Naw.”

“Bullshit.”

I laughed. “All right, then,” I said. “I guess you know best.”

“I can’t wait to go,” he said fiercely. At fifteen, he hadn’t hit his growth spurt. It bothered him, made him feel he had to prove how tough he was.

“Your time will come,” I said. “Everyone goes.” I sat back on my heels, looking at the piles of T-shirts, shorts, and socks around me. “And you’ll give Mom a heart attack and Dad an ulcer by volunteering for some crazy combat unit.”

He grinned at me and looked so young I felt my heart squeeze.

“I’m going to miss you,” I said.

“Yeah, Maya, me too.” His voice was a bit husky, a hint of things to come. “Don’t be scared. You’ll be okay.”

I stopped and looked at him. His hair was gelled in spikes and he was wearing baggy jeans and high-top sneakers scribbled with Magic Marker. Skater cool.

“Thanks, Adam,” I said quietly.

“Any time.” Then a look crossed his face that I knew so well.

“What? What evil thought did you just have?”

He had that smug tilt to his smile.

“What?” I asked again.

“Well, I was just going to say I hope you become a bad-ass soldier.…”

“Yeah?”

“Not a big-ass soldier.”

It was common knowledge that many girls gained weight during their military service. They’d fill out their assigned uniforms until the seams stretched near bursting. I threw my pillow at him and missed. It went sailing over his shoulder. He laughed at me and ran out, suddenly a kid again.

That night, my mother cooked my favorite meal, noodles with meat sauce. Kipi, our dog, sat near me and I slipped her the big chunks of meat from my sauce. My parents disliked it when I fed her at the table, but this time they pretended not to notice. They kept looking at me and sighing.

“Come on, guys,” I said. “You’re making me crazy.”

“Yeah,” Adam said. “It’s not like she’s going to a combat unit. They’ll probably have her answering phones in a week.”

I leaned over to smack him on the back of the head.

“You’re going to be a secretary,” he taunted, leaping back from his seat as I lunged after him. “Maya’s a secretary, Maya’s a secretary,” he sang.

I took off and chased him around the apartment. Kipi ran after us, barking and jumping to nip my heels.

Before I went to sleep that night, my parents came to my room to say good night.

“I can’t believe you won’t be here tomorrow night,” my mother said. “My little
pashoshi
, my baby chick is all grown up.”

“You’re going to have a great time,” my father said. “Some things will be really awful, like the food. But you’ll make great friends and you’ll grow up.”

I had heard this speech before.

“The military is a great experience,” he continued. “It teaches you about discipline and order. Focus. Teamwork.”

“
Abba
, I know. You’ve told me.”

“Have I?” he asked. “Well that’s good advice I gave you.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Of course you will,” my mother said briskly. “Look at us here, acting like something awful’s about to happen. Maya, you’ll do great, you’ll have fun. I had a great time during my basic training. I’ll have you know I was a crack shot.”

I burst out laughing.

“What? What’s funny about that?”

“Oh,
Ima,
” I said, snorting. “A crack shot?”

My mother was round, like an apple, and would shriek like a car alarm at the sight of a cockroach.

“That’s right,” she said with dignity. “I always hit my mark.”

“
Leila tov,
” my father said. “Good night.”

“Good night,” I called out. I could hear my mother protesting as they walked away. “What’s so funny about being a crack shot? You know I was.”

I lay in bed that night, memorizing my room, wondering how much I might miss it. I couldn’t stop thinking about how I’d look wearing a uniform. Some girls looked so awful in them, and there was nothing you could do about it.

I went over my packing list again, trying to think if I forgot anything. My mom and I had gone out and bought several packages of white T-shirts and white socks, and I could only wear brown or black hair bands and barrettes. I packed workout clothes, running shoes, shampoo and conditioner, a hairbrush, nail clippers, tampons, but there was that nagging feeling that maybe I’d forgotten something and I’d be stuck without it. I didn’t sleep well that night. I kept waking up, thinking it was morning already.

In the morning my mom drove me to the central pickup point for Haifa, where all the girls leaving for boot camp assembled. With so many families seeing their girls off, it was hard to get to where I needed to go. At first I wasn’t even sure where I was supposed to be; it almost felt like a party. Parents took pictures, kissed and hugged, and tucked in extra sandwiches for their girls to eat or to share. I looked at my mom and she smiled and hugged me.

The buses drove us to Tel Hashomer, where everyone started out on the first day of their military service. Buses with girls from all the other pick-up centers kept arriving, one after another. It was amazing the number of girls, like me, milling around, chatting, trying to look like they knew what was happening, but failing. After we got off the bus, there were soldiers with clipboards, reading names off a list. Within an hour, we were separated into squads and formed the “soldier necklace.” We followed one another, like beads strung on a necklace, each picking up an empty kit bag and then walking from station
to station, collecting equipment. You entered the necklace a civilian and you left it a soldier.

I signed for two types of uniforms: training and formal; two belts: one for each type of uniform; sandals, skirt, hat, a first-aid kit, and dog tags with my name and personal number. When I finished with my service, I’d have to return most of the stuff.

I rolled up my sleeve and a nurse with a gunlike injector shot a triple cocktail of vaccines into the meat of my left shoulder.

After everyone was done with the necklace, we assembled in squads and stood at attention.

“Heads up!” a drill sergeant shouted the first time we stood in formation. “Shoulders back!” My chin practically pointed at the sky. I was arched back so far I felt like I might fall over. It seemed a bit silly, standing there in my new uniform, my shoulder blades nearly touching.

The drill sergeant inspected each girl, tugging at uniforms, nudging chins. When she had us arranged to her liking, she stood in front of us, her legs shoulder-width apart, elbows bent, hands behind her back.

“Welcome to boot camp,” she said coldly. “Don’t expect a vacation. You will work hard and study hard. I expect you to pass your classes and your physical training. Failure to follow orders will result in unpleasant consequences.” She stressed the word unpleasant. “If you follow orders, if you are disciplined, if you are not lazy, fat, or slovenly, then I think we will get along fine. If you are spoiled, if you are lazy, if you are
disobedient, then I think”—she paused for a second, then smiled—“then I think we will have a very interesting three weeks.”

We were herded onto buses again. These drove us to where the actual boot-camp training took place. I wasn’t the only one who hadn’t slept the night before. As soon as the bus pulled away and that humming purr of the engine settled into its highway lullaby, I saw heads nod forward or tilt at odd angles as nearly everyone fell asleep.