The Colonel’s mantra: If you’re not ten minutes early, you’re ten minutes late. Catherine was very late.

Her father waited for his eldest daughter on the steps of Army Headquarters, briefcase and cigarette in hand, silver eagle epaulets shimmering in the sun. His smoke drifted up toward the American flag, which hung limp against its pole, no match for the humid stasis of August. A WW II Cannon stood at the base of the flag.

Catherine pulled into the half-circle drive, put the gearshift in park and released her sticky thighs from the seat. She turned down the mirror and ran her fingers through her light brown pixie-cut. Be cool. Blame red cheeks on sun. Her father ground his cigarette on the curb with one spit-shined shoe and opened the door.

“Twenty minutes late.” He removed his cap before he slid into the passenger seat of the dark blue Camaro. He allowed Catherine to have his car as long as she dropped him at six am, and picked him up at four thirty pm, sharp.

“Sorry.” Catherine reached for her t-shirt on the back seat and pulled it over her faded one-piece bathing suit. She had worn a bikini once. Her family had been new to the base. Blue with tiny cornflowers, she wore it to the Officer’s Club pool. The day after, her father nixed it. Said he didn’t want his men looking at her. Her mother said she simply looked “too good” for fourteen. Catherine knew it was all about her breasts, the arrival of which had been out of her control. Now seventeen, she still wore a one-piece. 

She put the car in gear and turned left toward home.

“So, why were you late”

“Lost track of time.”

Time was hard to track when she was with Mitch. He had been waiting for her when she left the pool. Tall, fresh buzz cut, he leaned against the hood of her father’s car with arms crossed.

“Nice ride.” He bent to kiss her.

“No PDA, Mitch. Rules.”

“Quick swim?” 

“Can’t, have to pick up my Dad.” Catherine threw her towel in the car.

“Give me one minute, I want to show you something.”

It was his eyes, dark gray like an impending storm.

“Okay, one minute.”

She slipped her hand in his and followed him through the opening in a tall trimmed hedge that ran along the stucco building of the Officer’s Club.

“If you can’t keep track of time Catherine, then no car.”

She pressed the accelerator.

“Hey, slow down,” he said, “I know what you’re trying to do. It’s too late.”

The dashboard clock read four fifty eight.

“We have two minutes.” Catherine bit down on her lip. She tasted Mitch’s salty kiss, a mixture of peanut butter and Coppertone. What would her father do if he found out about her and the General’s son?

“They better not detonate that thing early.”

“Or what?” her father said as he lit another cigarette.

Catherine turned right at the Officer’s Club. She averted her eyes from the hedge, but she had no control over the hot pull of muscle she felt in her belly. Remnants of the latent fuse ignited when Mitch pressed his flesh against hers. Kissing and grinding like the mortar and pestle in their chemistry class.

One mile and they’d be out of range. Two miles and they’d be home, Quarters 1123, where Mom would have dinner ready. Wednesday’s were Catherine’s favorite, meatloaf and mashed potatoes. Another reason not to be detained.

She heard the explosion before she felt the concussion from the cannon’s blast rattle the contents of her skull. Adrenaline made her shout.

“God! They’re early.”

“Don’t use the Lord’s name in vain.”

“Civilian kids never have to do this. Ever.”

“Catherine, you know the rules.”

“Yes Sir,” Catherine gave a floppy salute, “If you’re within earshot of that stupid cannon, you gotta stop and watch the flag.”

“Cut the sarcasm. Pull over.” He sighed and picked up his cap.

Catherine did as she was told.

“I’m not getting called into the General’s office because my daughter doesn’t follow rules.”

They stepped out of the car and stood at attention, her father in a stiff salute, eyes focused on the lowering flag. A lone bugler played Taps through the loud speakers. Catherine’s light brown eyes searched until she found the row of green hedges beyond the hill, then she placed her hand over her heart.

# # #

Ellyn Gelman began writing at Westport Writer’s Workshop. She went on to earn an MFA in creative writing from Fairfield University. In 2017 she completed an editorial internship at Brain, Child Magazine. Her work has appeared in Adoptive Families Magazine, Brain, Child Magazine, and NPR’s, This I Believe.

Photo: Patrick Brinksma