The Cubicle Next Door Read Online Free PDF Page A

no doubt that by August it would read “10,” courtesy of the entering class of freshmen.
    We twisted and turned, following the topography of the foothills. Black-eyed Susans were growing wild along the roadway. Out in the air in front of us, parachutists made colorful bubbles in the summer sky.
    A car rounded the corner in the opposite direction and flashed his lights at us.
    I touched Joe’s arm. “That’s the Academy signal for—”
    “Deer. I know.” He stepped on the brake as we turned the corner. And there, in the grasses along the road, were a doe and her fawn. The fawn was grazing, balanced on slender legs. In a maternal gesture of sacrifice, the doe placed herself between the road and her baby, unwilling to let danger approach the fawn unless it touched her first. We saw her head rise. She stared at us, ears tipped in our direction.
    Joe stepped on the gas after we had passed them. “I had a roommate once who rode a deer.”
    “How do you ride a deer?”
    “First, you have to be drunk. Then you have to be able to sneak up behind one. He was a basketball player, so he had a great vertical jump.”
    “He just jumped on the back of a deer?”
    “Basically. He tried to hold on, arms wrapped around its neck, but the deer bucked him off and kicked him in the head. Broke his jaw.”
    At the bottom of the hill, Joe turned left. He gunned the motor to get his SUV up the hill.
    “There’s usually a cop around here somewhere.”
    He lifted his foot from the accelerator and we lurched back into gear.
    We crested the hill in-between the commissary grocery store and the Base Exchange department store, drove past, and then went in the far entrance of the Community Center. We patrolled the parking lot looking for an empty space and did a U-turn as the road bent around by the library.
    “You’re not going to find anything. We might as well take one back by the road.”
    “Something will open up.”
    Joe closed the loop we’d made around the parking lot and started another. And as he came even with the first breezeway entrance into the quadrangle of buildings, a car backed out right in front of us. He grinned at me.
    I scowled at him.
    “You want to stay here? I’ll leave the AC on.”
    “I’ll come with you.” No need to waste the gas. We were experiencing one of Colorado’s scorching summer heat waves. I didn’t think I’d last in the car for five minutes, even with the air conditioner on. And I’d never been in the uniform store before. In fact, I’d never even been to the Community Center before. The base was full of services for the military and their dependents: the commissary, the BX, the gas station, the recreation center with ski rentals and discount tickets to places like Elitch’s up in Denver and the Disney theme parks. But for civilians, there was nothing. Next to nothing.
    We were allowed to use the base gym.
    We turned left from the breezeway and walked up a short flight of steps. Joe held the door to the store open for me. Then he made a beeline toward the right wall, leaving me to wander.
    I’m not sure what I expected in a uniform store, but this wasn’t it. There were military books. Calendars. There were racks filled with blue uniforms: baby blue shirts, dark blue pants and jackets. There were Air Force Academy souvenirs. There was a section in the back for shoes: lace-up oxfords, low conservative heels, flats, and combat boots. There were purses and attache cases. There were three or four aisles of shelves holding nothing but clothing: undershirts, socks, gloves, stocking caps, battle dress uniform pants, and camouflage blouses (even for the guys). There were toiletry kits and shirt garters. I picked up a package of the garters, interested to know how they worked, how they attached themselves to both your socks and the hem of your shirt. That’s where Joe found me.
    “Do you actually wear these?”
    “When I wear blues.”
    I started laughing. Tried to picture him. But something