by Lewis, Rykar
“No. That’s good enough for me,” Parks approved. “Good work.”
“Thank you, sir.”
“No, thank you. Do you have any questions?”
“Negative sir. Everything is clear. The change of command ceremony should proceed very smoothly.”
Parks was sure it would. First Sergeant Bingham had been the company’s first sergeant since the day Parks had arrived, and he would probably stay that way until he retired, which would be in just a year. Bingham was the best at conducting ceremony drill and administration tasks. He was the model enlisted man for the company. He lived to be a Marine and he devoted a lot of his time to the Corps. Parks often thought that if Bingham stayed in for a few more years he would be a good candidate to become the Sergeant Major of the Marine Corps, the highest ranking enlisted man in the Corps.
“Well, that’s all,” Parks told him, looking again to the PCS orders file.
As Bingham stood and began to leave, Parks called after him. “Thanks for the good service, Marine. You’re one of the finest.”
Bingham turned around and looked at his CO, searching for something appropriate to say. “Semper Fi, sir,” he said at last. Then, he turned again and walked out the door.
7
Wednesday, March 12th – 1800 hours
Camp Lejeune, North Carolina
Parks pulled his truck into the parking lot of the base bachelor officers’ quarters. His home was nothing special, just four walls and a roof. Maybe if he were an Air Force officer he’d have gotten the “cream of the crop” housing. But a Marine Officer made do with what they had, or so it seemed.
The Ford’s diesel engine was the only thing that had kept Parks’ nerves in check during the drive home. He loved that sound. It was so peaceful and restful. Most people thought he was crazy for thinking that, but he liked it. That was one of the big reasons he’d bought the truck.
Parks put his truck in park and then shut it off. He took a minute to grab all his papers and other paraphernalia before getting out and going into the BOQ. The building was old and seemed almost haunted. He couldn’t put his finger on why it felt like that; it just seemed like some evil thing was looming there, and it petrified him at times. He wondered what may have happened there to cause that eerie ambience, but when he asked the housing manager, all the man could say was he hadn’t the slightest clue. It had gotten to the point where Parks had considered just renting or buying a house off base, but he literally had to force himself not to. Parks had to have the TV or the radio running 24/7 to make him feel a little better. Every time he went in that “haunted” building, he just felt uncomfortable. The feeling had improved over time, but it was still there, ready to greet him after a hard day’s work.
He unlocked the quarters’ door and stepped inside. There it was; the spookiness greeted him immediately. Parks took a deep breath, angered that such a stupid feeling was getting the better of him, and walked further inside, pulling the door closed behind him. The phone rang the instant he walked into the kitchen. He threw his belongings onto the counter and yanked the phone to his ear.
“Hello?” he answered.
“Hey son.” It was his dad. “How you doin’?”
Parks was in no mood or position to talk at the moment. “Dad, can I call you back later? Now’s not a good time, I just walked through the door and I need to grab something to eat and get changed.”
“Oh that’s fine. And you don’t have to call if you don’t want to.”
Parks knew that his dad would be crushed if he didn’t call back, so he scribbled on a nearby piece of paper to call his dad back so he wouldn’t forget. “No I want to. Just give me about an hour or so. Okay?”
“Sounds good. Bye son.”
“Sure, bye.” Parks slammed the phone back onto the holder, and headed to his room to change into some casual clothes, stopping only to turn on the TV to Fox News and crank up the volume. What a habit. Religiously every time he came home, he’d go through the same exact drill. Put down his stuff, run to the TV, turn it to some news channel, run to the room, get changed, slap a sandwich together, and chill out. That was his ritual, and today was going to be no different.
Parks jumped into a pair of Wrangler blue jeans and pulled on a light blue Nike collared T-shirt while he hung his uniform on a hanger in the closet. As he walked down the hall, he turned up the heating unit. It was cold indoors for a mid-March spring day, especially since it was so warm outside this afternoon. He peeked out the window and saw large black thunderheads rolling ominously toward him. Rain, and lots of it from the looks of things. Camp Lejeune could use some moisture. It had been an extremely dry winter and an even drier spring so the grass was not even beginning to grow yet.
As he was looking out the window, something on the news caught his ear. He ran over and stood right in front of the TV, soaking up the information. “President Winnfield addressed the Nation this afternoon concerning the recent terror attacks,” the female correspondent said. “And he still vows to track down the source of the terrorists and destroy them. However, no forward motion, or any motion for that matter, has been conducted to back up his vow. Stay tuned for more on that story. We’ll be right back, in just a minute.”
As far as the media was concerned, the President was doing nothing about the recent suicide bombings, but Parks didn’t believe that. He knew that Winnfield was a strong, conservative American that was not afraid to retaliate against anyone when his country was threatened. Parks knew that someday, somehow, he would strike back at the terrorists. The President was just looking for the right target. Parks was an anti-terrorism expert, and he knew how to deal with terrorists. He knew that they were sly in what they did, and were excellent at twisting things so that innocent parties looked guilty. Nothing with terrorists was really ever obvious. Information had to be dug for with painstaking effort. But how could Parks expect the media to know that?
Sliding into the kitchen, he thoroughly washed his hands and opened the refrigerator door. He was running low on food; it was time to make a grocery trip soon. He decided to make a quick peanut butter and jelly sandwich, then wash it down with a Dr. Pepper before calling his dad. He really hated eating peanut butter because it always stuck in his throat, and he could never seem to choke it down. It always stayed in his mouth for a long time, no matter how many times he swallowed. But he didn’t have much to choose from, so he’d have to live with the peanut butter.
“Four days,” Parks told the refrigerator as he bit into his slapped-together sandwich. “And it just keeps getting closer with every second. Pretty soon it’ll be tomorrow.” He had to let off some steam somehow because his head was about to explode with stress.
He threw the half-eaten sandwich down the disposal and walked over to the coat closet where he grabbed a light jacket. He then snatched his truck keys from the counter. Maybe that’s the thing to do, he thought to himself, go for a long drive. That was the only thing Parks could think of that might decrease his stress level. Right now he just couldn’t relax. He had to go somewhere, anywhere, and try and forget about what would happen in four days.
The white Ford started again, flew out of the parking lot, and sped down the neighborhood road. Parks hadn’t the slightest idea where he was going, but he was going, and that’s all that mattered to him. As he was driving, he glanced down at his cell phone. He wished he’d accidentally forgotten it because he wanted an excuse for not calling his dad. Parks loved his parents more than anything, but he knew that during their next conversation the inevitable question of, “Did you find out where you’re getting stationed?” would be asked. Right now he just didn’t feel like talking to anyone about his PCS orders. He had to sort out this problem in his mind, and he had to do it by himself. Then he thought, What problem? There really is no problem to solve. What is so bad about going to the Nation’s capital? Actually, it was an honor I would have loved when I was a kid, so why not now? He couldn’t answer his own question. But whether he wanted to or not,
he was going to go to D.C., so why not be happy about it? Yes. He decided he would be happy about it. Tomorrow. For now, he just couldn’t get out of his “pity party,” as his parents would call it.
Parks looked at the dashboard clock. It was already 1830. Almost time to call his parents. He had the time right now, he just hadn’t the desire. But he promised his dad he’d call when he had the chance, so grudgingly, he picked up the phone, speed dialed his parents, and counted the rings. One, two, three, four, five. Maybe his folks weren’t home. Or maybe they were busy. The answering machine went off, and he left a quick message. “Hello Mom and Dad, it’s me. Just returning your call like I–”
“Hi Keith,” his mom interrupted the message loudly.
“Oh,” he said in surprise, “hi Mom. How’re you doing?”
“Great son. How’s the new major?”
Parks was in no mood for a celebration, but he also didn’t want to explain why he was upset. So he answered, “Fine, just fine. I’m going for a little drive right now.”
“And how did the promotion go? By the way, congratulations. We’re so proud of you son.”
His mom’s tone suggested she had detected a hint of sadness in his voice. After eighteen years of living with him, homeschooling him, and spending most of the day with him, she could read him like radar. But Parks still tried to skirt around telling her about his problem.
“It went fine,” he told her at last.
“And how’d your day go?”
He gripped hard on the steering wheel and then tried to avoid that question by returning it. “How’d your day go?”
“My day was rather hectic, thank you.”
It was a leading statement, and he knew she wanted him to follow the lead, so he consented. “Why? Is everyone okay?”
“Of course, everyone’s fine. We just were very busy and I was in a million different directions today.”
“How come?” he asked again, not really interested in what the answer might be.
Mrs. Parks sighed. “Well, if you really want to know, it’ll take a few minutes for me to tell you about it. It was really a bad day.”
Parks winced. He didn’t have a few minutes, in fact he didn’t even have one minute. He needed all the time he could get to just be alone and at peace. But to be a good, loving son, he acted interested. “Go ahead Mom.”
Mrs. Parks went through an entire speech on how her bad day unfolded. She told Parks about how she spilled milk all over the floor during breakfast, how she tipped the shopping cart at Wal-Mart, and how she’d bid way too much for an item on Ebay. Had it been any other day, Parks really would have been interested. He wasn’t the type to shove his parents into a corner and forget about them. He loved them very much. But today he just really didn’t feel in the mood to confer with anyone.
“And finally, did you hear what happened on the news tonight?” Mrs. Parks asked.
“No, what?”
“The President has vowed to get revenge on the guys responsible for all those bombings, right? Well, he is really doing nothing about them. He’s just sitting back in Washington, doing nothing. Can you believe that?”
Parks wanted to fire off how the President was doing something, and that the public just didn’t know what yet. Instead, he chose a nicer way of putting it. “Mom, you can’t always believe what you hear on the news. Sometimes the media guys are just trying to get a story. Some of the stuff’s true, but not all of it. I guess it really depends on who you listen to.”
“CBS said this. All of the major news programs have had similar stories. How can you say it’s not true?”
“Did Glenn Beck or Rush Limbaugh say that? Did any of the conservative talk shows say what they did?”
“Well, no Keith. I don’t listen to Beck or Limbaugh much, you know that.”
“I know Mom, but I wouldn’t jump to any conclusions until I heard both sides of the story. And I can tell you, President Winnfield is going to do something, he’s just looking at the board right now.”
Mrs. Parks had heard all she needed to hear though, and she was clinging to it as gospel. “It’s been two months already, and what has he done? Nothing. That’s what.”
Parks knew when his mom was like this he couldn’t talk sense into her. She could be very stubborn at times, and now was one of those times. “Okay Mom,” he said, trying to change the subject.
“Did you get orders for your next duty station?” Mrs. Parks questioned.
“Well...” Parks furiously looked for something to say that would divert his mom’s question. “Um, you know...” He coughed and hoped his mom would get off that subject because he really didn’t feel like discussing anything about himself right now.
“What was that?”
“Uh, one of my platoon sergeants got stationed to Beijing, China. He’ll be doing Marine Security Guard duty at the embassy.”
“Oh.”
“How’s the weather holding up over there?” he asked.
Parks could hear his mom laugh. “Two inches of snow last night. And we thought Nevada would have warmer winters and springs.”
“Have fun sledding.”
Parks drove on for several more minutes as his mom talked about the recent happenings around their place. It was getting late and he knew he’d better start heading home soon.
“I guess I’d better let you go,” Mrs. Parks concluded.
“All right,” he declared joyously, relieved that he had successfully skirted around the PCS subject.
“Have a good night, son, and congratulations again on the promotion. Love you.”
“I love you too, Mom.”
“Bye.”
“Yup, bye.”
Parks snapped his phone shut and one-handed the wheel down a neighborhood road. He decided he’d drive for a few minutes longer and then head back. He still had to set aside the things he’d need for his trip, and the first few days in D.C., so the movers wouldn’t pack them. Supposedly, the moving crew would arrive tomorrow evening and begin packing his household belongings.
Parks let out a long breath. These upcoming days definitely were going to be chaotic.
8
Wednesday, March 12th – 1930 hours
Camp Lejeune, North Carolina
Parks drove his truck back into the BOQ parking lot. He pulled into a space and turned off the engine. It was now pouring rain, and the temperature had plunged into the mid-thirties. Once again, he sat in his vehicle for a minute, just thinking of how unfortunate he’d been to get this assignment. Was it really bad luck? Or was it something that had been planned for his life by some Heavenly power? Parks had no idea, but he knew he didn’t believe in luck and he also didn’t believe in Heavenly powers. But it was a wonder how one minute all could be going fine, and the next, everything could turn out badly. Parks knew that just at the snap of a finger, at the blink of an eye, he could be healthy, and then he could wind up in a hospital. It was all so crazy; there was no rhyme or reason to the happenings of life. But then again, maybe there was. Maybe everything happened at an appointed time and someone or something was in control.
Parks couldn’t understand it. He couldn’t understand his brother’s death either. His brother had called from Kuwait the day before he was killed, and he was telling his family how he was going to be able to come home in a week. Everyone had been so excited. Plans were being made for a homecoming, presents were being bought, and then the family received word that he’d been killed by a grenade explosion. It was so hard to believe. Keith had talked to his brother the day before his death, and his brother had told him that he’d bring him a present from the Middle East. Keith was so excited he couldn’t sleep at night. He was just being a kid, waiting for his big brother to come home with a present, and then his world turned upside down. How’d it happen so fast? No one knew. Parks had barely even been able to attend the funeral he was so devastated. He had forced himself to go. When he saw his brother’s white face in the open casket, it had literally made him thr
ow up. He became so sick that he had to be sent home. He had begged his dad and mom to let him stay, but his mean uncle had just thrown him in a car and driven him home. His parents had been in no condition to argue. However, sick or not, Keith repeatedly – between barfs – told his uncle he hated him, but all his uncle would do was laugh and say he felt the same way about Keith.
He had lost all respect for his uncle and his uncle’s family, and the hatred he carried for the man bled into his teenage years. He could remember one time when he was about fifteen years old, his uncle had cursed his dead brother while the Parkses were visiting him. Keith became so mad he had thrown a punch and hit his aging uncle in the jaw. The act had stunned the entire family, who were in the living room, watching the whole incident. Keith’s uncle was as mad as a hornet when he regained his balance. But Keith was not done punishing his uncle. He grabbed a nearby chair and slung it over his uncle’s head, just like in the Rawhide western movies he used to watch as a young kid. That was it. Uncle Vincent was out cold, and Keith had to face the punishment. He could remember how he couldn’t sit down for a week, his dad had spanked him so hard. Keith didn’t think he deserved it though. But his dad didn’t agree. He said that Keith was just harboring bitterness towards his uncle and he needed to keep himself in check. Deep down inside he knew his dad was right.
All that was a long time ago. His uncle was now dead and gone, but Parks still carried the hatred for him. It was one of those things that never went away.
Parks grabbed the keys, stepped out of his truck, and went inside his quarters.
* * *
The alarm clock rang at 0600 sharp. Parks quickly rolled out of bed and silenced it. Is it really morning already? he thought. Last night he had fallen asleep the instant his head hit the pillow, despite his stressful day and full mind.
