Crunchy Hair 1985 Written 1995 Kiddie sailors are a strange bunch, and scummy as they can be! June 17, 1995
While in formation on the flight deck before quarters, as she raised her hat to put her hand under it, a little girl of a sailor asked me "Why is my hair always crunchy?" I shook my head and asked "What?" Her reply came with additional information as she said "When I go out with them my hair is crunchy in the morning." I suspected the worst. A quick discussion after quarters confirmed it. She was barely out of high school. Her trusted shipmates were expected to look out for this naive 18 year old girl. Instead, those barf boys were doing something awful to her and I wanted to know what it was. Mary's story included the fact that her barf boy friends were buying her beer until she passed out. The last she remembered, from numerous times, was the barf boys putting her in the back seat of a car to sleep it off. Each time she woke up in her bunk in female berthing, with no memory of getting there.
Over the next few days I casually mentioned Mary to those barf boys in sailor suits. I used crude language to describe her, trying to get far enough into their little clique to gain their trust. It didn't work. I was a second class petty officer with a reputation they knew. They would never trust me with their filthy secret. I told the story to three non-rates in the shop. They worked well together and I was certain they could find out what the barf boys were doing to Mary.
Days passed without progress. They hadn't taken it seriously. I asked again for their help, then introduced them to Mary. It worked once they knew the girl, they felt sympathy and put a plan into action.
A few more days passed before I got their report. The three barf boys and two more that I didn't know about, were taking Mary to the EM club and buying her more beer than she could swill. When she was near passing out they took her to the backseat of one boys car. Each of them took their turn masturbating into her hair. Her hair was crunchy with the seamen of five barf boys.
The work center supervisors of those five barf boys were given the details. There was no way to prove it at Captain's Mast. Instead, those idiots spent a vast amount of time doing the most miserable and most filthy tasks possible. They even spent time in the CHT tanks (sewage tanks) of other ships. Each time I saw one of them I reminded him that he was garbage.
I considered carefully before deciding to tell Mary. It seemed the only way for her to learn about the world and the only way to get her clear of the barf boys. ALL barf boys, for the rest of her life. She was far too naive to survive the Navy without finding a clue. Mary was heartbroken. She thought they were her friends. With this betrayal, Mary lost all hope of having friends on the ship. Over the next few weeks I became her friend, the only person she trusted because I was the one who told her the truth. She kept coming to me, lonely and crying and asking for guidance.
I introduced Mary to BB. The four of us hit the town about once a week, for several months. It was an imposition because BB and I had to act like casual friends around Mary. She was too young and inexperienced to trust with our secret love. Eventually Mary drifted off, making friends her own age who weren't barf boys. Whenever I saw her she called me "Dad" for my last year in the Navy. I was only ten years older than her.
I got a phone call from her last night which is what caused me to write this memory. It's been ten years since we met. Nine years since the last time I saw her. I've hardly given her a thought in those nine years.
She called to tell me that I was her savior, the person who set the course of her life. She just wanted to thank me and wanted me to know how important I am to her life.
Mary reenlisted for four more years, after her first six years. She was recently discharged after ten years in the Navy. It took the full ten years, but she got a college degree and was hired for her dream job today. At 28 years old she gives me credit for all the success in her life.
I wish BB were here. I can't believe they're dead. I didn't tell Mary they were dead. BB spent three years as Mary's closest and most trusted friends, big sisters really. I don't know what I'm going to do without them for the rest of my life. Fuck! I don't know what I'm going to do without them tomorrow. Fuck the rest of my life.
Note added about eight years later:
I wrote this entry two months and two days after BB were murdered by a subhuman piece of garbage claiming to be a truck driver. I still don't know what I'm going to do without them tomorrow and yes, FUCK the rest of my life.
Note 1-4-2021
I've tried so hard to have a positive outlook, but I've lived my last 42 years missing Tami and 38 years missing Vicki and 25 years dying for BB. I've spent the last five months messing with a new web site while imagining that Tami would one day read it. She never saw anything else I wrote to her and she'll never see this. I never got the only thing I needed out of life. Endless time with a woman I love. So "FUCK the rest of my life" just like all the years past.
