Beyond the Point(127)

Needless to say, we had cadets over constantly. They filled our living room with the smell of sweat and grass. They ate all of the food. And best of all, they would tell stories. (It’s possible I decided I wanted to be a writer listening to Dave Shoemaker tell the one about Naked Man streaking through cadet area.) When I was eleven years old, Matt Kapinos smeared camouflage on my face and taught me how to march, handing me a broom to use as an M16. Female cadets mentored me through an organization called Young Life. At football games, West Point’s cheerleaders, also known as Rabble Rousers, let me on the field and lifted me up in the air. In the summers, my friends and I would sunbathe at Stillwell, watching helicopters fly over with cadets in camouflage hanging out the side.

I tell people that growing up at West Point was like growing up at Hogwarts. I knew that I was witnessing magic. During those years, it was the beautiful, athletic, confident women that gathered in our living room that intrigued me the most. Could I be like them someday? Could I be that brave?

In East of Eden, John Steinbeck paints a picture of his hometown of Salinas, California—its landscapes, its smells, its sounds, its people. Once I became a writer, I grew jealous of his muse because my childhood home was never fully mine. I was a bystander, a tagalong—a “dependent” (at least that’s how the Army categorized me). Even as I contemplated writing about West Point, I hesitated, fearing that I wouldn’t do it justice. How could I write about West Point when most of my experiences were from the outside looking in? How could a girl with no class ring touch the long gray line?

And then, in 2013, a voicemail message landed on my phone that changed everything.

A friend and West Point graduate called out of the blue. She’d read some of my writing and wondered if I would be interested in writing about women at West Point. “We all have so many incredible stories to tell,” she said, and I knew she was right. I’d lived at West Point long enough to know there was plenty of material for a book, if not ten. At just the right moment, she invited me to lift the curtain and re-experience those years through the lens of female friendship. She invited me back in. I remember raising my eyes to the roof of my car—my hands too— and saying out loud, “Well then. Here we go.”

The next four years (Yes, FOUR YEARS, people!) were a slog, to say the least. It still cracks me up to think that I’d expected to knock this novel out in eighteen months, tops. But writing a novel is nothing like writing an essay for a newspaper or magazine. I started by interviewing dozens of women about their experiences at West Point and as officers, taking copious notes and recording every word. Many of those women had since gotten out of the Army, and were serving as stay-at-home moms or working in the civilian world. They were breathtakingly vulnerable about it all—the good, the bad, the ugly. Some wished to stay anonymous, others were happy to attach their name to their stories. Most had deployed at least once, if not multiple times. All of them had lost a friend, a classmate, or a spouse to the wars in Iraq and Afghanistan. More than once, as they shared their stories over the phone, I found myself in tears.

My hope is that Beyond the Point does justice to their stories in a way that is relatable to everyone, not just those “inside” the military community. I know that I’ve only scratched the surface of their experiences—like skipping a stone across a deep reservoir. But I hope through this book to help them feel a bit more understood. Unfortunately, as it stands, the majority of the stories we hear about women in the military focus on nonfiction accounts of sexual assault or the pioneering women who were “firsts.” The first female general. The first female Army rangers. And while those stories are harrowing and inspiring, they also create a sense of distance between the average American woman and the picture of that woman in uniform. Those “first” stories might inadvertently discourage younger women from serving, thinking they aren’t intense enough to join the military. But that couldn’t be further from the truth. The reality is, the Army is full of women just like you and me. Women that have hopes and dreams and friendships and relationships and chipped nail polish and an addiction to Madewell. The world deserves to see more women in uniform in pop culture.

Writing this book has changed my life. The women who made these pages possible are not just interview subjects; they are my friends. They’ve taught me what it means to go to battle together—in fact, many of them have gone to battle for me, both in my childhood, and now, in my adulthood. And I am forever grateful.





Photos and Interviews with Women of West Point


The following are taken from the author’s interviews with Mandy Psiaki (class of ’06), Charlsey Mahle (class of ’04), and Kristin Jenkins Gatti (class of ’03).

(1) How did you decide to attend West Point?

Kristin:

I decided to attend West Point for two reasons. First, I didn’t know what I wanted to do with my life, and at the time, the Army’s motto was “be all you can be,” so the Army seemed like a good place to figure out life. I didn’t want to go to college and schedule my days around getting ready for a frat party. (Although now that I’m nearly twenty years away from having made that decision, I really wish I had been able to plan my days around getting ready for a frat party—at least a few times!) Second, my dad was very sick with cancer, and he wasn’t working enough to pay for college for all four of us kids. I knew I needed a scholarship of some sort.