by B. K. Dell
Stephanie Sanders
3782 Crimson Lane
Phoenix, AZ 85005
To her, it was just her information, the body of trivia that surrounds every American, numbers and letters to be filled out on tedious forms. But to Jackson, in that moment, Stephanie was more than just her first name, it represented one of life’s most profound glories – another human soul that he loved and that loved him back. Sanders was more than a last name, it was a placeholder for where he hoped to see his own last name one day. The street address gave the location of where they had first kissed, and the city and state – that represented home. The last thing that Stephanie did, one-hundred percent for Jackson’s benefit, was write three letters underneath the city, state and zip code: U.S.A. – the reason he was there.
The final thing he saw was a small note, “Photographs: Do Not Bend.”
Jackson turned it around to anxiously tear into it, but before he had a chance it was aggressively yanked from his hands.
“Photographs?” asked Terrence, who must have seen the word when Jackson turned it to open the back.
Jackson lunged for it but Terrence was faster. He quickly handed it to Trey. “We don’t all have Suzy’s, so you have to share,” Trey said, as he smelled the envelope. “Scented…kinky.” Trey tore the envelope open. “Jackpot!” he said as he pulled out the photo. “Aw…she has her clothes on,” he said shocked and disappointed. He handed it to Anthony, one of the men from Sgt Ward’s Platoon.
“Not bad,” said Anthony. “What’s she doing with a guy like you?”
“Give me that,” said Ryan, who had followed Anthony in from Ward’s platoon. The photo was passed again. “Dude, how on Earth did you get a girl this beautiful?”
Jackson tried to grab the photo and the letter back when it appeared that their attention had lapsed, but to no avail. He walked in one direction, only to have to turn back the other way. His manor was calm and cautious, knowing that to show frustration would only provoke them further. They finally made their way back to Terrence, who read the letter out loud:
My dearest brave Jackson,
Every time I see a silly war protestor on the news, I think about you. Every time I hear of another fallen man or woman in uniform, I think about you. Every time I feel overwhelmed by the cheap and ephemeral problems of my life, I think about you.
If there is an antidote for the foolishness of the world, it is your wisdom. If there is a salve to heal the pain of my life, it is your smile. And, if there is a cause so noble that it – like a magic elixir – could bring comfort even to those who have lost loved ones, it is your cause, our cause: the American Dream. God, country, family, freedom – when I think of the only things that matter in life, I cannot help but picture your kind eyes. I see them as if they are right in front of me, as if they had never left.
Hurry home so we can dream this dream together.
Love, Stephanie
“Wow,” said Terrence, “Suzy still thinks she’s in love.”
“Who’s Suzy?” Jackson finally asked.
“Suzy is the name for the girl back home cheating on us,” Anthony said, and Jackson got the feeling that he was the one who taught the other’s that just before Jackson came in.
“She’s not cheating on me,” said Jackson.
“Not yet,” a few different men said in near-perfect unison.
“Sooner or later,” Terrence said looking approvingly at the photo, “this sweet piece of tail will-”
“She is a virgin,” Jackson quickly interjected.
With that, Terrence stopped dead in his tracks. Upon hearing the news, Anthony sprang up from his seat and dove for the picture in Terrence’s hands. Anthony’s sudden excitement forced the men to laugh. Terrence quickly held the picture out of Anthony’s reach, as if it was his duty to do so. He wordlessly relinquished it back to Jackson. He folded the letter and likewise held it out to Jackson. Everyone moaned.
Anthony said excitedly, like it had just occurred to him, “That means you’re probably a virgin too!” His tone was accusing.
Even the air between them stood still.
Before Jackson could answer, they were distracted by a new commotion. Trey was holding Caleb by the scruff of his shirt, swinging him back and forth like a ragdoll. Caleb’s right arm was reaching frantically and his left hand was desperately trying to dislodge Trey’s grip. The men followed the length of Trey’s long arm to discover what Caleb wanted to reclaim so badly. It was the pink envelope he had yet to open. There was a gasp.
“Look at what Tucker found!” Terrence yelled as he grabbed the envelope. “Hertz has a…” He stopped short when he realized that he had found something for which the Marines had no name. He took the envelope from Trey and looked at the return address, “Stacy?”
“What?” Anthony called out. “I thought he was gay.”
“It’s my sister,” Caleb quickly lied as Trey let go of him.
“Yeah, right!”
“Stacy can be a guy’s name,” someone offered.
“See if it’s scented,” someone else cried out.
Terrence offered it to Trey to smell, but Trey quickly yanked his face away. “I don’t want to know,” Trey said.
“Stacy Oliver,” Terrence read the name out load. “Hertz’s got himself an Oliver. Let’s read what the Oliver says…”
Terrence opened the envelope and began reading the letter while doing his most boisterous and flamboyant homosexual imitation:
Dear Buttercup,
All the men laughed and Caleb had to admit, he did sound a lot like Stacy.
“Buttercup?” Terrence repeated to more laughter and continued reading:
OMG, last weekend was the most fun I have ever had in my life. Martin and I flew out to L.A. for a party at Jerald Schaefer’s mansion. Jerald Schaefer is only like the most important activist in the whole world, not that I would expect you to know that.
Martin was being a whiny brat the whole weekend, but whatever. I could not help it if Jerald wanted to spend all his time with me. It’s not what Martin thinks; he just doesn’t understand the cause.
Jerald is great. Isn’t that what you have always wanted to be – someone great, someone important? He wants me to come stay with him in his mansion. He wants me to be someone important too.
I told him yes.
At this point, Terrence stopped using the gay voice. He continued to read in his own voice in a tone that was low and solemn:
You didn’t really expect me to wait for you, did you? I have to take this chance, or else I might end up like just another dying rose. I feel like I have a hidden potential that you have never appreciated. Jerald does. I have to fight the battle that you weren’t up for.
As the men slowly realized the nature of the letter and how it was much different than Jackson’s, they all stopped laughing. He read the last line:
When you come back from pretending to be a Marine, I will already be gone.
Terrence crunched his brow into a look of shriveled disgust. “That weasel,” he said quietly as Caleb lifelessly snatched the letter away from him.
“Pretending to be a Marine!” Anthony laughed and slapped Ryan’s arm as Caleb was walking away. “Well, he got that part right.”
“Pretending to be a man,” laughed Ryan.
None of Caleb’s platoon was laughing.
“Leave him alone,” said Trey.
“Don’t feel sorry for Daffy. So what if some little foxtrot papa cheated on him? We all get cheated on.” He turned to look at Caleb who was staring at the ground. “Los Angeles – that’s an FP’s paradise. Or he might wind up at some bathhouse in San Francisco splashing water in a hot tub full of naked men.” Anthony turned to Ryan and said with an imitated gay lisp, “Thh-top it!” as he pantomimed playfully splashing water.
“No you, Thh-top it!” Ryan played along.
“Either that or he is giving some guy a full body massage in the sauna,” Anthony added.
“How do you k
now so much about San Francisco bathhouses?” scoffed Terrence.
Noticing that Caleb’s platoon laughed at Terrence’s joke but none of his, Anthony said, “Oh, come on guys. Don’t think that this little fairy could ever be a Marine.” When he said that, he saw the smallest movement in Caleb’s eyes, which had previously been statue still. He knew that he had baited him. Anthony made an aggressive move closer to Caleb, and said, “Yeah, you heard me. You will never be a Marine.”
As Anthony continued to advance, Caleb’s platoon, as well as Ryan, followed him to Caleb’s side of the room. Caleb continued to look only downward.
“Who did you think you were kidding? What made you think you could do it? Oh, you may survive boot camp, Daffy, and on paper they will be legally obligated to call you a Marine, but everyone will still know the truth. And most of all, you will know.” With this, Caleb looked up into Anthony’s eyes. No other part of his face even twitched. The muscles surrounding his jaw were clinched tight as his eyes burned with anger and the beginning of tears.
“You going to cry now? See! What kind of a Marine is that?” Anthony shook his head in exaggerated disgrace, “You can’t escape what you are. A worthless faggot is all you will ever be.” Every eye there could see Caleb’s body shaking. “What? You want to hit me now? You want to hit me?” Anthony was twice the size of Caleb. Anthony was even bigger than Trey Tucker. “You think you can take me? Go for it. C’mon, take your best shot.” The crowd tightened in around them. “C’mon. Hit me. Go for it. Hit me.”
Each time he said those two words he stuck his jaw out in a quick taunting invitation.
“Hit me…
Hit me…
Hit me.”
And with that, Anthony received a devastating blow right on the jaw, courtesy of Trey Tucker. Ryan quickly jumped onto Trey, but was no match for him. Trey threw him off like he was roughhousing with his four year old nephew. Anthony had regained his bearings and rushed at him with his fists up, but before he saw it coming, Trey hit him again. This time Anthony fell to the ground. The entire platoon gathered angrily around them, with adrenaline and platoon loyalty coursing through their veins.
“A-ten-Hut!” sounded Sgt Ward, and everyone snapped to attention.
Sgt Ward shot SSgt Folsom a malicious look as he stepped past him into the squad bay. He was the only one in the room that knew SSgt Folsom had gotten there first. SSgt Folsom didn’t stop anything that was happening because his platoon was winning. The three outsiders slinked out the door with their tails between their legs.
“The confidence course is tomorrow and you pansies better be ready,” is all SSgt Folsom said, then gave the slightest hint of a smile and disappeared out the same door.
***
After completing the confidence course, their most challenging day yet, SSgt Folsom called the platoon to attention and said solemnly, “Congratulations. I know that was a difficult course, but you can be happy now because you are finished. And anyone who is not a homosexual…or who does not fight a homosexual’s battles for him…” he looked directly at Trey, “can hit the showers. Otherwise, you’ve got to do it again. Platoon, fall out.” When he said this, not everyone moved. The ones that instinctually did, hesitated when they noticed the others weren’t moving. SSgt Folsom saw this and his eyes bugged wide, he shouted at the top of his lungs, “Are you deaf? I said hit the showers!” With this everyone did move, leaving Caleb alone with Trey at the start of the course.
Trey took off with a strong lead. Even after all the extra IT Caleb had been doing, Trey was still a better athlete. It was like he had superior physical ability in his blood. Finally, on a clear stretch between having to make it over a wall and having to crawl through sand, Trey could feel that Caleb had caught up and was running right next to him. He turned to look at Caleb. Caleb was looking right at him, but looked away.
“What?” Trey snapped.
“I’m sorry I got you into this.”
Trey said nothing.
“I wanted to thank you.”
“Oh God!” Trey huffed.
“No, I mean it. I can’t believe you stood up for me like that.”
“I didn’t stand up for you. I stood up for the platoon.”
“Still,” said Caleb.
“Just don’t try to kiss me, okay?” Trey said curtly as he quickly and skillfully faded back behind Caleb at just the right angle to kick Caleb’s right foot so that it would collide with his left. Caleb went down face first into the gravel and the mud. The rocks cut his hands and knees and there was a sharp shooting pain as he stood back up, now way behind again.
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
It was an hour after lights out and Caleb’s stomach was growling so loudly he assumed it would probably wake up the entire squad bay.
Earlier that evening, SSgt Folsom called him out of line in the chow hall and asked, “Recruit, help me out. I am trying to remember the name of the guy in Funny Girl?”
“Sir, is that a movie or something, sir?”
“Don’t try to yank my chain, recruit. I know all you homosexuals like Streisand movies.”
“Sir, this recruit likes Die Hard movies, sir.”
SSgt Folsom shook his head wearily and sent Caleb straight to the end of the line.
His hunger had been escalating since then and the pain would not allow him to get to sleep. While he lay there suffering, he remembered a letter from his mother that he hadn’t had a chance to read yet. If nothing else, it will help get my mind off my stomach, he thought.
As he snuck into the head to read it, he noticed that Jackson stirred when he passed his rack. Luckily, the head was empty, so Caleb made his way to his regular throne in the very last stall. Just as Caleb leaned forward to tear open the envelope, he spotted Jackson peering around the stall to get a look at Caleb’s feet – making sure that Caleb’s pants were not around his ankles.
“I’m not using it, Brooks, what do you want?” he snapped at Jackson.
Jackson did not say anything, but he walked down to the last stall and extended Caleb an MRE.
Caleb looked shocked, but stubbornly shook his head.
“Don’t be a martyr,” Jackson said.
“You could get in trouble.”
“Yeah, I saw the sign out front that said, ‘Don’t feed the homosexuals.’”
Caleb laughed, “Where did you get it?”
“Don’t worry about that. Let’s just say I acquired it.”
“You could get in trouble,” Caleb repeated. He was so hungry.
“What difference is it to me? You’d be the one to do my punishment.”
Caleb laughed again, but it was a deeply sad, defeated laugh. He took the meal from Jackson and a desolate look came over him. His eyes were directed toward the MRE in his hands, but he seemed to be looking past it.
Jackson looked at the old scar on Caleb’s scalp, the fresh scars on his palms, and the slight shaking of his hands. “Have you considered my servant Job?” Jackson asked as he got comfortable on the seat across from Caleb.
Caleb stared on as if Jackson had said nothing. It was a full ten seconds later that he looked up and asked, “What?”
Jackson laughed. He said, “Have you considered my servant Job?
“What are you talking about?”
“That is what God asked Satan in the Bible. He was proud of Job; he was showing him off,” he looked at the dark bags under Caleb’s exhausted eyes. He said, “Perhaps he is showing you off.”
“I doubt it,” said Caleb, rather disinterested. He added, “My school nurse used to say I suffered like Job. I never knew what she meant.”
“Do you not know that story of Job?”
“Not really, I know he is some guy in the Bible.”
“Do you mind if I tell you?”
“Knock yourself out,” Caleb said reluctantly.
“Well, Job was a wealthy and happy servant of God. God said, ‘There is no one on earth like him; he is blameless and upright, a man who fears God a
nd shuns evil.’ But, Satan contended that Job’s faith and servitude were merely a natural reaction to his happiness and prosperity, challenging, ‘Stretch out your hand and strike everything he has and he will surely curse your face.’ But God knew that Job belonged to him, not Satan. He knew that no matter how much Job suffered, he would not turn his back on God. No matter how much Satan tempted him to leave God, Job wouldn’t. So, do you know what God did? God handed him over to Satan. He basically said, ‘Have your way with him; I won’t stop you.’”
“God sold him out?” Caleb asked surprised.
“Pretty much.”
“God had forsaken him!” His second statement had a more accusing tone.
“Pretty much.”
“Just like me,” he said solemnly, almost a whisper.
Jackson shrugged.
“That’s what you are thinking, isn’t it?” Caleb asked. “God’s forsaken me?”
“It would answer a lot of questions,” said Jackson. Caleb laughed and Jackson added, “I mean you are the unluckiest SOB that I’ve ever met!”
Caleb chuckled and shook his head wearily. If a head shake can ever mean, yes, this one did. He asked, “So what’s the point?”
“I don’t know. A lot of people who look at the story remark on Job’s character. I am more interested in what the story tells us about God.”
“But, wait. That can’t be what is happening to me,” Caleb turned to look straight in Jackson’s eyes, “because, I never believed in God in the first place.” Caleb said it forcefully knowing that, to an audience like Jackson, it was a provocative statement.
Jackson nodded, casually. His facial expression treated it like the most irrelevant news he had ever heard, news he already knew. A thought occurred to him and he said, “Perhaps God is tempting you to leave Satan.” Jackson smiled. “Perhaps you are the anti-Job.”
