Dostie - Formation: a womans memoir of stepping out of line

Certain names and identifying details of characters in the book have been changed to protect the privacy of the individuals involved.

Copyright 2019 by Ryan Leigh Dostie

Cover design by Elizabeth Connor. Cover image by Brian Levy.
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First Edition: June 2019

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ISBNs: 978-1-5387-3153-6 (hardcover), 978-1-5387-3151-2 (ebook)

E3-20190502-DA-NF-ORI
E3-20190401-DA-NF-ORI
E3-20190103-DA-NF-ORI

To my daughter, Adeline Sophia:

You are the wild that always calls me back home.

To my sons, Elias Jacob and Kilian Alexander:

I wish you were here to be wild with her.

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A few hours before I am raped, two officers in a bar try to corner me and steal my panties. Locke and I are hovering by a standing table when they approach, standing so close that I have to crane my head back to see their faces. Despite my heels, theyre taller than me.

Want a drink? asks the one closer to me. His dark hair is so neatly shorn that his skin looks blue. It gives him away. I point to his head.

Enlisted or officer?

He grins, all teeth, and leans forward, splashing me with the scent of whiskey sour mix. Hes uneasy on his feet, leaning to one side, a meaty hand resting on the table for balance. Officers. You military?

Lockes jaw works impatiently and she ignores the men, instead looking around the bar for something better to do. She doesnt suffer boredom well and she likes her men prettier than this. Enlisted.

Aww, pouts the other, trying to get Lockes attention.

Youre too pretty to be in the Army, says the officer nearer to me, and I cant help but smile. I never quite understand the phrase, whether its meant to be a compliment or insult, but I like being called pretty, even if the praise is buried in subtext. I dont have Lockes tall, toned body or her steely confidence. I still blush and preen under male approval. He likes the reaction and moves closer. He presses his shoulder against mine. Lets get a drink.

The two men are older than us by at least a decade, and the age gap feels significant somehow. I shift my weight to the other foot to buy myself some space. I dont know. I feel like thats fraternization. I laugh to lighten the rejection.

I wont tell if you dont. He winks one watery eye. For as much experience as Ive had keeping men at bay, I suddenly dont know how to untangle myself from this situation. Locke looks bored but shrugs. She wont turn down a free drink but I prefer to buy my own. Too many unspoken obligations tie a girl to a bought drink.

I know. I perk up. How about a bet? If I can take a shot better than you can, then you pay for our drinks. Locke grins. She knows this party trick and Im damn good at it.

The officer snorts. You think you can handle your liquor better than me?

For one shot I can.

And if I win? he asks. Hes grinning. He thinks hes already won.

You leave us alone, Locke shoots and Im both uncomfortable and relieved by her brusqueness. I long for that kind of grit.

The officer shakes his head. Thats not a reward. How about I get your panties.

My what?

Your underwear. If I win, you have to give me your panties.

Locke looks aghast and I wear a similar expression. Why would you want my underwear?

Locke lays a hand on my shoulder and shakes her head. Her whiskey shots are kicking in. Dont ask questions you dont want the answer to. Fine. Deal. Whatever. Get us some shots. Please dont gamble with my underwear, I want to say, but I know they cant be serious.

Im certainly not serious. It wasnt a real bet, just something said in jest.

The officer jabs his friend with his elbow. Go get us some whiskey.

Dont be a bitch, I counter, gathering my confidence because, though I only started drinking a few months ago when I turned twenty-one, good Christian girl turned a little bad by legality, this I know how to do. Everclear, I add, naming my 190-proof corn spirit of choice. If you want a shot to knock someone back on their heels, Everclear is the only way to do it.

The officer grimaces, which is the exact reaction I was hoping for, but he doesnt back down. When the Everclear arrives, it glistens in a tall, plastic cup. Its a double shot.

You first. Lockes hand hovers by her own drinkwhiskey already purchased by one of the officers.

The officer stares tentatively at the drink, the cup dwarfed in his palm. I hope he backs down. He doesnt. He throws the drink back, swallows in one gulp, careful to keep his face composed. He blinks rapidly but doesnt cough or grimace. He carefully places the cup on the table before clearing his throat. Your turn. The other officer slaps him on the back and congratulates his fortitude.

I scowl in annoyance. I usually win this game before I even take the shot. I hold the glass out, careful not to get a whiff of its potent stench, then breathe in and hold it. I down the drink, feeling it burn its way down my throat and pound its way into my stomach, and breathe out slowly, careful to keep my nose closed off so I cant taste the alcohol. I grin as the last of my breath escapes between tightly clamped teeth. Easy peasy.

The two officers narrow their eyes, staring, waiting for me to shiver, cough, and gag. I tip the glass victoriously before returning it to the table.

We win, Locke says, then downs her shot, throws the cup onto the table, and grabs my arm. Bye bye. She tugs me away from the table.

I dont think so. The smaller officers hand shoots out and captures my wrist. We win. He did better.

Did not, I protest, but the corn ethanol is working its way through my system. My feet are suddenly large and cumbersome. I grip Lockes elbow tighter.

Yeah, I was way better. The officer makes a come-hither gesture with his hand. Give up the panties.

Nope. Locke pulls me hard enough that my wrist slides out of his grasp.

Hey! A bets a bet! he yells after us as we make our retreat through the crowd.

Freaks, Locke says, pushing me up against the bar. The air is suddenly hot. I tug at my dresss collar.

Is it hot in here?

Here. She pushes a vodka shot into my hand.