Adam Gerow’s Skyturtle

My father told me a perplexing story about his time in the Marines, and two rival staff sergeants in a bizarre debate.

One of the sergeants was sure the best way to numb a man’s index finger was to pinch it in an ammo clip. The other was sure that he could do a better by biting down on the finger. I’m not sure about the pratical value of this information, but they decided it was necessary to do a field test, and volunteered my father.

Holding out his hand, they tested the ammo clip. After that, the other sergeant bit down on the same finger.

“Which one worked better puke bag?” the staff sergeant asked.

My father replied, “Sir, I don’t know. My finger was numb after the ammo clip, sir.”

Beyond the brutality, the story stuck with me because I couldn’t help thinking they should’ve tested different fingers. I felt a little guilty about applying cold logic to the administration of pain.

I often pondered the answer to my follow up question too.

“Why did they pick you?”, I asked.

“I don’t know,” he said casually. “I think because they liked me.”

“Really?”

“Yep.”

My friend Jeff got a summer job in the mail room of a large office building. Jeff is good natured and friendly and an elementary school art teacher.

One day he was doing his rounds, taking mail to various floors. Being friendly, Jeff was gregarious with several large African-American secretaries he often found visiting one another. This particular day, one of the secretaries had changed her hair quite radically.

“I like your hair,” Jeff said.

“Oh, yeah?” she smiled. “Here, you can have it.”

And with that, both secretaries howled with laughter as she removed a sizeable hair weave and offered it to him.

We were driving down Cantrell Street on the edge of campus. Marie and I had been dating for about a year, but she was about to end it. I was still in love.

She reasoned with me, “You’ll be fine. It’s like that song: ‘If you can’t be with the one you love, love the one you’re with’.”

I looked over at her. “You ARE the one I’m with.”

Her eyes stayed on the road. “Not anymore,” she said.