Fifth Annual Wild Violet Writing Contest Winners (2007)
Fiction
— First Place
Barbara Purbaugh has a Masters of Fine Arts degree in creative writing from Naropa University. Her first novel, Tracks, was optioned for a movie, and she was previously represented by The Coppage Agency in Hollywood. Her work has been published in Pittsburgh Quarterly Online.
X
and Q
By Barbara Purbaugh
During and after the war, Miriam McDonald worked for the Army. She worked
in an office with three other girls. When soldiers came home from the
front, they came here to the little brown office in the gray brick building
next to the courthouse in Greenville, Maryland.
The
first girl they met when they entered the office was Diane, a chipper
redhead with bright blue eyes and an easy smile. Her job was to type their
name, rank, serial number, and personal information on the little brown
work cards.
Then,
they brought the card to Miriam. Her job was to type "Q" for
"qualified to work" and "X" for "not qualified."
The
last girl was Bernadette, sad meek Bernadette with the brown, stringy
hair and the uneven teeth. Her job was to tell them about job training,
job openings, and the meager benefits available to them from the government.
But
the toughest job was Miriam's. The Army had given her a 200-page manual
on how to determine who was qualified, and who was not, and she had read
it. It was easy to type the "X" when there was an obvious disability
like missing limbs or blindness.
Sometimes
it wasn't easy, and it was never dignified. That "X" was a mark
of dishonor on some honorable men. Sometimes, it was hard to look them
in the eye when they were begging for the "Q" that would enable
them to feed their families, the "Q" that would bring them dignity.
Miriam could feel their pain pushing into her chest and crushing her heart.
But,
Miriam had developed a test to ease her conscience. If a man who looked
sickly or broken could lift the 10-pound bag of feed that sat in the corner
next to her desk, he could get the "Q," but if he couldn't,
there was nothing she could do.
The
hardest ones were the ones whose minds had left them. Some poor family
member would drag them down to her office, and they would sit in front
of Miriam with their faces and eyes blank and hollow. These were the ones
that made her sick to her stomach.
She
had thought about quitting, but who would take her place? She couldn't
let some poor innocent girl face those empty stares, so she held on until
the end, and now the war was over, and fewer soldiers came to the office,
so the military decided to close it.
Sergeant Burrows had stopped in to tell them about the closing a week
ago. The remaining soldiers could get help in the capitol, he said.
"You
girls have been a huge help to the war effort," he bellowed. "Why
don't you keep those typewriters? One less thing for me to haul out of
here."
Miriam
stared down at hers. The "Q" and "X" were faded. She
didn't want the damn thing.
Today
was their last day. Bernadette and Diane were busy straightening up the
files and cleaning out their desks when a truck pulled in front of the
office. They knew it was a truck because trucks always rattled the windows.
"Just
the Army," Miriam muttered to the others.
But,
when the door opened, it wasn't the Army. It was the three Getty brothers.
It was a shock to see them. No one knew where they had been. A lot of
rumors floated around that they'd been killed or were in a military prison,
but here they were. The Gettys had a horrible reputation in town. Before
the war, they were petty thieves and troublemakers, loud and wild.
Diane
began to shake, and Miriam knew she needed rescued, so she walked to Diane's
desk.
"We're
here for the work qualification cards, ma'am," Paul Getty said. He
was still tall and strikingly handsome. He was the oldest brother. He
had his hands shoved in the pockets of an oversized jacket, and he seemed
subdued. In fact, they all seemed subdued. These were not the grinning,
loud boys Miriam remembered. Their faces looked lean and pulled tight.
Miriam stared at them one by one. It was clear that Adam Getty was blind.
