The Choice: Was It All Worth It?

I

Bill Marshal looks out the one-story building and stares at a single-engine aircraft being prepared by two mechanics. For weeks, the county has been plagued by motorists speeding recklessly on I-154. His new job is to pilot a traffic patrol plane during the early morning commuter rush. It’s a good job with regular hours and a good benefit package, too. Though, he wishes the pay was better.

He continues looking outside until a mechanic signals him to go to his plane. He opens a door and steps over the threshold, placing his boots onto the hard-packed snow and ice. He walks across the white expanse, his feet crunching the frozen surface. But, fear and apprehension stop him. He looks at the distant trees beyond the airfield.

Bill is a Vietnam veteran who has agonizing nightmares of a war where even a child could be the enemy, a war that made one wonder what one was fighting for. His body tenses, then relaxes as memories of a lurking sniper leave him. He continues toward the plane.

The early morning air marks his breath as he approaches the mechanic. The plane is idling smoothly as the men avoid the frigid prop wash of the spinning propeller. Bill makes one final check around the aircraft and settles into the cockpit to make his own preflight checks. When he is finished, he signals the mechanic to pull the chocks away from the wheels. The small aircraft moves to the runway as the engine roars to life. The plane gains speed. He is aloft. As he ascends, he adjusts the trim tabs, freeing his hands to look through a powerful set of binoculars at the moving traffic below. Patrol cars lurking in the shadows by the road wait for his message.

John! There’s a blue Thunderbird coming your way. He’s passing everybody. You see him?

I’m looking, he answers and searches the road. In a few seconds, a speeding car is seen. I got him!

The patrol car accelerates from the side of the road. Bill banks the plane and watches the pursuit. In a few minutes, the speeder is pulled over and being given a ticket. Bill looks down the road and sees a green sedan stopped on the side of the road. Its hood is up.

Wally, you hear me?

Yeh!

There’s a car stopped by exit 33.

OK, I’ll get over there.

The pilot looks at the traffic again and continues his vigil.

By nine the rush is over and the traffic has thinned out. Bill is no longer needed. He puts the binoculars away and banks the plane toward the airport. As he turns, he sees Red Creek State College a few miles away. The school’s stark gray buildings blend easily into the white, desolate landscape. A thought strikes him. Damn, I better look again! he says aloud to himself.

*     *     *

Tom Hendrickson has served with distinction for the city police department for nearly ten years. His record has earned him the easy position as a desk sergeant. But, his change of duty has come too late.

Late hours and dangerous situations have left Tom and his marriage strained and vulnerable. When Bill flies the morning run, Tom often requests that he fly over the college to spy on one of the Cape Cod houses near it.

Tom has heard from a friend who has heard from another person that his wife is secretly seeing another man. It is common knowledge in the department that the desk sergeant can be violent when provoked. Though, Bill is compelled to honor Tom’s request. He banks the plane slightly to see. The driveway is vacant. He will not lie to Tom again. He arches his back and stretches his shoulders. The tension leaves him. His mind drifts.

Bill is flying over the college now. He looks down. Curiosity and impulse cause him to briefly forget his Job. The plane makes a wide turn over a huge dormitory. He stares down at it and wonders about the alien world it represents. What’s happening down there? he thinks aloud.

II

A cold wind drives tons of snow and ice before its fury as streetlights illuminate the pageant of violence beginning another subzero day. Between gusts of wind, students labor to their classes against hornet-like specks of ice and snow that drive painfully into their faces.

Towering dormitories that litter a once pastoral field now loom above the whiteness as monuments to human comfort and security. Squares of light from windows pierce the darkness as students awake to the sounds of alarms that herald the approach of a new day. On the seventh floor of Kay Hall, the early morning cold creeps through the huge single-pane window. Condensed moisture has frozen into crystals of ice. Clicking and soft gurgling sounds are heard from a nearby radiator as hot water courses its way through the copper pipes. Another sound is heard. Its persistent ringing, though muffled under a pile of soiled clothes, continues. A sleeping body stirs, then gropes for the phone.

Hello, who’s this? a young woman asks.

Hi beautiful, guess who?

What! Lester, she moans, What the hell are you calling me for? It’s not even ten, yet!

Well, my head hurts. I can’t sleep. And, I’m wonderin’ if you want to go to breakfast?

We going downtown? she drawls. You buying?

Not really. Goin’ to use Mike Rolph’s cafeteria number again.

Again! she whines, It’s just a matter of time before you get caught.

I thought of that. But, we’ll just sneak in with the morning mob. No one will notice.

If you say so, she says, her voice fading to a whisper.

Good, it’s settled, then. I’ll meet you at eight in the dorm lobby.

Les hangs up the wall phone at the end of the hall and hurries back to his room. His roommate, Bob Shirer, is sleeping off a hangover. The fraternity brothers had a mixer with a local sorority the night before. But, weekday parties were usually a nuisance. Often, a zealous professor will give an unannounced quiz the next morning. But, today will be different. Les has an appointment with his advisor, Dr. Borklin. They’re going to discuss the first chapter of Les’s thesis.

That’ll be a pain in the ass, he anguishes. The old fart will rip apart my spelling again.

Les looks out the window and sees a gray-blue sky. Another cold day, he muses. But, what else is new? We’re in upstate New York, aren’t we? He decides to walk to the campus rather than start his aged Chevy II.

The entrance to the dining hall is a few feet above the sidewalk. And newly fallen snow is nearly level with the first floor to the building. Les follows a narrow path up the steps and stops.

Damn! I’m supposed to be at her dorm!

He spins around, almost colliding with another student following him and sprints to Kay Hall.

Minutes later, he trudges up another set of steps. Jill is waiting for him by the door. She looks upset.

Where were you! she demands.

Went to the dining hall first by mistake. Sorry for the delay.

Well, let’s hurry up, or we’ll miss the morning rush. We don’t want any trouble!

When they arrive at the dining hall, they hurry inside the low flat building and go directly to the serving line. Jill is leading the way, maintaining a constant conversation with Les.

Les, what’re you doing today?

What! She should know that, he thinks to himself. But he calmly replies, I have to meet with Borklin today to discus my first chapter.

Oh, that’s right.

I’ve been trying not to think about it, myself, he says. Sometimes, I think this thesis thing is just a lot of crap!

But, don’t you want a master’s degree?

What for? he asks. Will it make me a better teacher?

Sure it will.

Says who?

Oh, I don’t know, she counters. Just will, that’s all.

Jill leads the way, putting her breakfast onto a plastic tray. When she arrives at the checkout counter, the cashier asks for her meal number. Jill spits out a set of numbers and goes to an empty table by a far wall.

Les pushes his tray to the end of the counter where the cashier is waiting for him. He stops by her register. She rings up the cost of his meal.

Excuse me, Les mumbles, but I have a number.

The cashier levels a penetrating stare at him. Are you a student here?

Yes.

You live on campus?

Yes, I do.

What’s your meal number?

601, he stammers.

The cashier thumbs through a pile of papers until she comes to the list she is looking for. Her head tilts up. Her eyes menace him again. Your name Mike Rolph?

His tongue forms an N in his mouth. But, he catches himself, Yes.

The cashier wonders as doubt contorts her face. A student at the end of the line complains. Others join in. She looks at the impatient students and then back at Les and waves him through.

Jill watches him sit down and whispers, That was close!

I know.

They eat in silence until a freshman at another table belches. Les turns his head. Bored, Jill’s fork darts into a sausage on Les’s tray.

What’re you doing! he barks. His fork stabs the greasy meat.

I’m contributing to your long life and good health by not letting you eat this crap!

Les stuffs the meat into his mouth and mumbles, I like cholesterol.

What time is your appointment? Jill asks, changing the subject.

Ten.

You nervous?

Embarrassed, he looks down at his tray and nods his head.

Why?

He takes a long breath and answers, Oh, I don’t like writing. I’ve lost interest in my thesis. Fact is, it’s a complete waste of time!

His answer disappoints her, and she looks at the wall clock. It’s well past nine. You better get going, she says. I’ll see you out.

The couple rises, takes their trays to the dishwasher, and leaves the cafeteria walking past the cashier. She fails to notice them as she scrutinizes other students going through the line.

Outside, the air is still cold. The wind is coming off Lake Ontario. The weather is damp and uncomfortable.

Les, it’s cold!

You’re not kidding! he answers and watches his breath in front of him. Let’s split up now. I’ll see you in the Union in a few hours.

Jill walks to the Student Union to meet her friends before going to her first class. Les continues to Borklin’s office past the old section of the campus where the passing of the seasons has left its brutal mark on the old brick buildings. He walks past Waldon Hall and sees the statue of the founder of the college, Elia Waldon. He stops and looks at the impressive monument and smiles.

Les remembers freshman year when Jack Wilkes urinated on the statue. He was drunk and did not care, though, and Jack did many bizarre things whether drunk or sober. But, we all did. It sure was a great place to live, he muses.

Les approaches the entrance to the old building and stops, grabs a massive brass door handle and pulls it. The heavy oak barrier swings open, and he walks inside. He hurries down a corridor to Borklin’s office and stops at another oak door and knocks.

Yes, come in! a voice says.

He opens the door to see a gray-haired man in his late sixties seated behind a massive maple desk and casually waving Les to a nearby chair. The graduate student sits down cautiously. Dr. Borklin makes no effort to talk, however. He continues to stare at the young man. Les wants to yell at him, but he does not. Finally, the professor clears his throat. I’ve just read the first chapter of your thesis.

Les feels a knot wrench his stomach. He labors for a breath and speaks. I hoped you would.

You have stated your ideas in a very concise manner, and you have done it well, this time. But, how are you going to get the necessary information to prove your point?

I didn’t think of that! Les thinks and answers, Well, I can get a lot of information from the prison libraries.

Have you considered talking to the people at the Hearthstone Correctional Facility?

Yes, I have, but, they’re reluctant to let me in there. A few inmates took some ladders down so the workmen couldn’t get off a roof, Les explains. They thought there would be more trouble.

Even so, they can really help you prove your point.

Les is confused and frustrated. A despondent look is on his face. Dr. Borklin, can I ask you something?

The professor is irritated by his question. What now? he wonders to himself.

I mean, I don’t see how my thesis is going to help me when I’m teaching high school kids, Les explains. It just seems like I’m doing a lot of work for nothing! So, why do I have to write this thing?

The veteran educator seems unsure of himself. He ponders the question. It is one that he has often dismissed. Les is staring at him. At first, Dr. Borklin is indignant, even angry at Les. He gropes for an answer as he aimlessly stares out the window into a parking lot. By a car that looks familiar to him, he imagines Dr. Van Alstine laboring across the parking lot. He must be eighty years old, and he’s still here! he muses. Doing the same thing he did forty years ago. And, so am I! He looks at Les and pauses. Son, you have to write a thesis because, . . . I… had to.

Really! . . . Well, I was expecting a different kind of answer, Les admits.

Like, how your thesis will give you greater insights into your field?

Les nods his head and replies, Something like that.

You really want to know what the real reason is, when you come right down to it?

What? the student pleads as the older man’s eyes bore into him.

Les, it can be summed up in one word, ‘Tradition’.

The men look at each other, each man consumed by his own thoughts. The student is moved by the revelation. The professor is stunned at having made it. Les clears his throat. Not many people would admit that.

Well, I did! Dr. Borklin concedes.

That’s a hell of a reason! Les thinks, though he avoids speaking it.

Instead, he says, Cripes, do I have a lot to think about!

In that case, why don’t we end our session so you can think about continuing your thesis.

The professor is pensive now. He watches the student walk out of his office and returns his gaze to the window as students pass his office on the way to their next class. Outside, others are congregating by some cars. He stares into the parking lot where signs are being distributed.

There’s going to be another antiwar demonstration today, he muses. Dr. Borklin draws the shades closed and prepares for his next class.

Les walks back to the Union and waits for Jill to return from her class. He sits on an imitation leather chair. More students enter the Union carrying banners and placards.

Another protest, he ponders as the marchers assemble by an exit door. One walks past him. Les calls out. Where you going today?

To the Legion!

The anxious student disappears into the swelling crowd by the exit door. Les continues to sit and watch the students. Eventually, he becomes restless and wants to do something. It is almost the end of the semester and final exams are approaching. Perhaps, I’ll go to the library and study? But, he abandons the idea when a new chorus of yelling and shouting is heard above the normal roar of the Union.

Struggling and pushing their way through the area is a mob of students coming from nearby dining halls. All are dressed in raingear. Each person is covered with food. Slimy pickles and slippery red catsup, hamburger chunks, gravy and countless other bits of their last meal fall on the floor as they enter the room. Pandemonium builds as other students slip on the debris smearing the floor. Amidst the confusion, Les spots Jill wiping mustard off her dress. He bolts from his chair and hurries to her. She seems irritated.

How am I going to get this crap off my dress? she complains. Les looks on.

You considered scissors? he jokes.

Ah, shut up!

Sorry, just kidding, he consoles her. Let’s go to your dorm, so you can change.

The two weave their way through the chaos until they reach a set of doors leading out of the building. The weather is warmer; the thermometer has risen to twenty. But, a damp wind chills them as they hurry to Jill’s dorm. When they arrive, she disappears into an elevator. Les stands motionless in the lobby, then walks to a window. He looks at the clouds moving in from the lake. We in for more snow? he wonders. He continues standing before the huge expanse of glass. His mind wanders. The scene before him fades as he dwells on college.

Is life really one term paper after another, or a succession of food fights and protests? he wonders. I want more than this!

He feels a gentle pressure on his shoulder. The winter scene beyond the window reappears. He looks around and sees Jill.

Lets go downtown and see the new head-shop? she asks, though her query seems like an order, too.

Sounds good to me, he answers, adding, This campus is getting to me anyway.

They leave the dorm and drive to the new store that sells drug accouterments.

*     *     *

Les stops the car in front of a tiny storefront. Above the front door is a sign with carefully painted letters, Jim’s Variety. Inside, they are greeted by an old acquaintance, Jim Dole, who approaches the pair while they are looking at cigarette wrappers. The twinkle in his eyes gives him a mischievous look that leads many to believe they can buy much more than that which is seen on the shelves.

Well, look who’s here! Jim bellows. His outburst startles the pair, and they are mute for a time. Jill regains her composure first and speaks.

We didn’t know you owned this store.

Yeh, where’d you get the money for all this stuff? Les adds. He stares at the proprietor. Jim’s eyes are bloodshot. The soft tissues in his nose are inflamed and red, too.

Had some stuffed away, Jim answers vaguely.

This is quite a shop, Les says. Must be the only one in town.

Sure is! I’m doing a great business, too, Jim says. He leans towards Les and whispers, Every pothead and junkie comes here.

Well, you always knew where the money was, Les remarks.

Jim is feeling uncomfortable. He looks around and changes the subject. What brings you here?

Their conversation is embarrassing Jill. She feels implicated, and her tone is defensive when she answers, Just curious about a new store, that’s all.

We really don’t need this stuff, Les adds. He picks up a clay pipe.

Most people don’t. By the way, that’s five dollars.

That’s OK. I can’t afford it even if I wanted it, Les says. Embarrassed, he adds,

Guess I have to get a job.

Jim looks hard at Les before speaking. Brooklyn was here this morning. He told me he didn’t make his interview yesterday, something about being too sick.

The grad student stares at the shopkeeper and remembers the wild, uninhibited youth who shared the same hall in his freshmen dorm.

Hung over or high? Les wonders to himself. But, he is curious and asks, Where’s the interview?

A place called ‘Union Central.

The door opens, and a gust of wind blows inside. The men look up and see a bearded man entering the shop. Bored, Jim turns his attention away from Les. He looks at the new arrival and remembers, A good customer. He looks back at Jill and Les. Jill looks hard at her boyfriend.

Les, we have to go now!

The couple bids the shopkeeper farewell and leaves. Jim saunters over to the bearded man.

The students drive back to the college. They are quiet. Each considers what Jim has told them. Jill absently stares at a sign reading, Breck’s Candy. She looks at Les. Do you want it?

He turns his head and offers her a wicked smile. He answers, I always want it!

Not that, you horny ‘Pig’! she barks. I mean the job at Union Central.

Oh, that, he murmurs. I don’t know.

Jill continues, You’ve been acting strangely. What’s wrong?

You noticed?

It’s written all over your face. What’s wrong?

Sick of school. College isn’t the same anymore since most of my friends are gone and have jobs. Les is silent and continues, Also, I’m worrying about the future- our future!

Surprise laces her voice when she demands, What! Is that some sort of proposal? Her tone is sharp and formidable.

The silence is thick as Les gropes for the right words. He sucks in a deep breath, and in a muffled voice, he answers, Well, maybe.

Jill clenches her fists, overwhelmed by her emotions. When she can talk again, she relaxes her hands. Damn it, can’t you give me a decent answer! she shrieks.

Les stands rigid on the street, too confused to move or speak. Jill looks back at him, frustrated and tightens her hands into two balls again. She pummels him about the shoulders and chest. Les absorbs her blows. But, a powerful hand grabs him from behind. He spins around and sees a policeman’s badge. His eyes become riveted on the holstered gun.

Jill looks at the burly officer and thinks, Who the hell are you? The policeman stares at them.

Get your hands off him! Jill orders.

The policeman does not move, his hand still holding onto Les.

Jill grabs Les’s free hand and yanks him. Baffled, the policeman lets go. Les and Jill shoot across the sidewalk followed by the officer.

The altercation has attracted a group of curious pedestrians. Passing cars stop, too. An aggressive co-ed pushes her way through the crowd chanting, Pig over and over. Other students join in. The policeman becomes nervous. He corrals Jill and Les into a nearby shoe store. He orders them to sit on a long padded bench as he looks for a phone.

The shopkeeper appears from a back room. Attracted by the noise outside his store, he tells the officer he has already called the police station. The policeman looks out another window and stares at the swelling crowd of pedestrians and stranded motorists as they compete to peek into the store’s windows. The growing crowd of college students continues to chant, Pig. The sound of car horns is heard from the traffic jam forming outside the store. The officer stares at the two nervous college students sitting on the bench.

What a mess you guys made out there! he says, his tone is bitter and disgusted.

Jill shoots back, What do you mean, US GUYS? If you hadn’t grabbed Les and kept your hands to yourself, this mess wouldn’t have happened in the first place!

Les remains quiet, but he feels angry.

While Jill and the policeman argue, two more officers quietly walk into the store through a back door. They converse for a short time with the burly policeman. Another policeman takes out his handcuffs and fastens them to Les. The other patrolman restrains Jill, too. The students are escorted to an unmarked patrol car behind the store.

The students sit still on the back seat. Although they see the policemen in the front seat, their vision is diminished by a heavy metal mesh divider. The restraints feel strange and heavy on their wrists.

The patrol car arrives at the parking lot next to the police station, where another policeman is waiting for them. They stop, and the policemen step outside. The other man approaches the vehicle and opens Les’s door.

The three policemen talk briefly. By their formal manner and guarded tones, it is apparent to the students that the one waiting for them is in charge. The students stare at his shield, which says Officer Brennon.

So, these are the two that caused all the fuss on Main Street, he says to the others.

Les is quiet. He looks at Jill hoping she can control her temper. Officer Brennon steps aside and signs the students to leave the car. Meanwhile, it has begun to snow.

I wish I were skiing instead of being here, Les mumbles to himself.

Inside the station, Officer Brennon leads the students to a small dark room with a single overhead light hanging from the ceiling. The other policemen follow.

Oh, get real, the third degree! Jill thinks. Brennon motions the pair to sit on two stools beneath the light.

There is a long silence until Officer Brennon moves in back of the students. They can hear his breathing close behind them. Jill moves uneasily in her chair.

What happened, people?

There is no answer.

What happened? Officer Brennon repeats louder.

There is more silence. Jill turns and looks hard at Les. Embarrassed, he turns away, his face reddening.

Jill, feeling uneasy and guilty, also, looks at the policeman and speaks, I was trying to get a decent answer to a question. Then, a cop on the street grabs him!

Is that why you were hitting him?

Kind of.

Kind of? he asks and looks hard at her and drawls, You’ll have to give me a better answer then that!

A chair shoots back. Les jumps up and shakes a restrained finger at Officer Brennon. Leave her alone! It’s not her fault, you damn idiot!

Startled, the police and Jill stare at Les, who continues talking and tells them about his conversation with Jill. His voice trails to a whisper. The others strain to hear him. So, he concludes, I was trying to propose.

The policemen stare at each other. Jill is embarrassed and her face flushes.

God, couldn’t he ask when we were alone? she mumbles.

Officer Brennon grimaces at the thought, What if the papers find out?

But, I wanted him to propose! Jill whispers as her expression softens.

Officer Brennon turns to the other policemen and dismisses them. The students watch the men leave. They look back at Officer Brennon, who is sweating. Les, Jill, there’s been a terrible misunderstanding! And, I want to apologize for that policeman’s behavior. He’s just a rookie, you know.

They stare at him. He stares back, mute and embarrassed. Then, he clears his throat. I guess you two can go now.

Les feels a wave of relief pass over him. He smiles when a thought occurs. Does this mean you’ll take the cuffs off us?

Oh, I had forgotten about them! Officer Brennon darts forward, pulls a master key from his pocket and removes the restraints. He is obviously embarrassed, mumbles an apology, and leaves the room.

Les smiles and tries to stand. But, a firm hand holds him down.

Just a minute, I want you to answer me a question! Jill demands. She moves behind Les and speaks again, What did you mean, when you said, ‘Well, maybe’?

Well, maybe? he drawls.

You know, on Main Street!

Oh, that’s right! I remember now, he says and pauses. Impatient, Jill balls up her fists again. What I wanted to say is I need a job so we can get married!

Jill circles him and sits on his lap. Heedless of the muffled sounds by the doorway, she throws her arms around his neck and gives him a passionate kiss. The intimacy of the moment is shattered by a chorus of laughter and raucous applause. The startled couple look up and see three smiling policemen in the doorway. The pair is stunned. Expressions of surprise and anger contort their faces. Suddenly they hear Officer Brennon roar, What the hell is wrong with you guys! Haven’t they gone through enough today!

Giggling and poking each other, the couple scurry out of the police station.

III

Jill and Les stroll back to the car joking and laughing, gradually shifting their conversation towards the job opening at Union Central and, perhaps, their future. Jill’s words become strained as she forms plans for his future, though the coed is careful not to reveal her design.

Les?

What?

Were you serious in the police station?

He seems annoyed. But, his expression is a ruse to gain time before answering. After a long silence, he continues, Jill, of course I am.

And get married?

Yes, of course!

Jill is quiet as she considers her future and options. And if things don’t work out, we can divorce. Couples do that all the time, she concludes, then looks at Les. You think it’ll be easy?

"I’d like to say ‘yes’. But probably not. We’ll have a lot of adjusting to do. And,

I’m not sure about teaching."

Why? she asks, disappointed that he is changing the subject.

Oh, I don’t know. Seems like all I’ve every done is go to school. First, it was kindergarten and grade school, then junior high and high school, and now college. It seems like I’ve never done anything different.

But, what about me? she prods.

Her words alarm him. She seems almost child-like, and he wants to change the subject. Les sees his Chevy II and quickens their pace to the car. Jill follows, lapsing into a brooding silence.

Within the hour they arrive at the Union. They enter the large building and walk into the lounge. Scattered on the thick pile carpet are couches and stuffed chairs. They wander to a secluded couch and fall onto its softness, remaining silent. Jill notices