Don't Ask - the story of America's first openly gay Marine.

by B. K. Dell

  Jackson had not seen Trey since he was injured, but everything Caleb described was true. Trey had almost literally lost half of his body. His left arm and leg had been amputated, and the side of his face had been severely burned. Jackson imagined some sort of Ray Bradbury fantasy world where reflecting mirrors could magically copy his perfect side onto his injured side, making him as flawless and pristine as he had been in Caleb’s artwork. His empty left pant leg had been cut and stitched closed into a neat cuff. His left arm sleeve was the same way. The left side of his face still contained splotches of black, red and purple. The texture of his skin was like a candle that had been lit and re-lit. His right nostril was fine, but his left nostril was nothing more than a hole in the burnt flesh that traveled from his nose onto his cheek without distinction. The only remaining bump of his ear did not look human.

  Trey slowly made his way down the aisle and into the center of the room on his way to the witness stand. As he passed the jurors box, one of the jurors stood up. As Trey continued to walk – carefully planting his crutch at a reasonable distance, followed by a small hop – other jurors continued to stand. Jackson stood also, followed by his lawyer. As the very last juror stood, Jackson raised his hand in salute to Trey. Finally, the entire bench of the prosecution reluctantly rose.

  Stacy rolled his eyes.

  When Trey lowered himself down into the seat behind the witness stand, everyone sat back down. The bailiff walked over to swear him in. He asked Trey to raise his right hand. Out of shear repetition, the bailiff clumsily displayed a Bible for Trey to place his left hand on. Realizing, red-faced, that Trey had no left hand, the bailiff quickly drew the Bible back to his side.

  The bailiff began the pledge for Trey to repeat after him.

  “Hold on,” interrupted Trey. He pointed back down at the Bible by the Bailiff’s side and motioned for him to bring it back. Slowly, using his only hand, he grabbed one side of his left sleeve cuff and put the other between his teeth. A few short tugs separated the weak stitching to open the end of the sleeve. Everyone held their breath. They wondered if he was doing what they thought he was doing. As soon as the sleeve was opened, he pulled it up over what was left of his arm. If seen out of context, the people there would have had a hard time identifying it as human. The end, just above where the elbow had been, tapered into a smooth round tip. It had many scars from burns, but fewer than the left side of his face. Upon displaying his arm, Trey said apologetically, “I know this might be offensive to some, but it’s the best I have to offer.” His voice was gentle; most people did not hear him. When he placed it on the Bible, everyone in the room saw a torn, charred, tragic, and tenacious old American flag. There was just enough of the tattoo still visible for people to identify what it had been. Jackson’s imagination filled in every missing star and every missing stripe. The women in the jury all began to wipe their eyes. Jackson did also. None of the disturbing feelings he had felt in his dreams remained. His tears were not sad, but inspired.

  Trey said to the bailiff’s prompting, “I, Trey Tucker, do solemnly swear to tell the truth, the whole truth, and nothing but the truth, so help me God.”

  Landry breathed deep, he approached Trey respectfully and began his questions, “Private First Class Tucker, you attended boot camp with Jackson Brooks and Caleb Hertz, is that correct?”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “What can you tell us about their friendship?”

  “They were close, sir.”

  “How close?”

  “As close as two people who had been through Hell together can be.”

  “I am sorry to ask this, but can you tell us how you obtained your injuries? It was a suicide bomber, wasn’t it?”

  “Objection, Your Honor,” cried Randolph.

  “Your Honor, I called Private First Class Tucker here today to provide expert testimony into the decision making process inside a war zone.”

  “Overruled. Go on, counselor.”

  Landry turned back to Trey. He was about to begin his question again, but Trey interrupted him. “If you are asking me if I could have avoided my fate, I ask myself the same question every time I wake up in pain, every time the pain prevents me from going back to sleep, every time I walk past a pretty girl and her eyes are straight forward like she is petrified, like she is dead; too polite to stare, but having to fight not to take one more look, as if looking at a train wreck. I have asked that question every time that I’ve had to endure the torture hour, the agonizing process of removing and replacing my bandages – could I have prevented this?”

  “And?”

  “I could have, sir,” he said quietly, almost a whisper, “if I had acted sooner; if I had deliberated one second less, maybe even a fraction of a second. But, had I done that, I would have taken the chance of shooting an innocent person, and I then would have had to live with that decision.” Trey threw up his only good hand. “These are your choices, you know?” He breathed in a deep and pensive breath. “Michael Ponce has never had to make one like that. Stacy Oliver has never had to make one, and the prosecuting attorney has most likely never had to make one.” He turned to the jury and said firmly, “You have to make one, all of you. If you convict Jackson Brooks and you are wrong, then you will have destroyed the life of an innocent. You twelve are standing in a thick sandstorm. But, unlike the two of us, you have time to decide. Take your time. Take a good look. I trust that you will see the true face of Private First Class Jackson Brooks. If you hurt this innocent you will regret it for the rest of your life. You will have made the same mistake he did.”

  “No further questions,” Jackson’s attorney said as he retook his seat.

  The prosecuting attorney walked slowly over to the stand.

  “You mean to tell us that once a person has been through boot camp with someone, they are suddenly incapable of murdering them?” Randolph asked gently to start the cross-examination.

  “Sir, I am saying that PFC Brooks is incapable of murder, period.”

  “Except for Muslims, you mean? He has murdered Muslims?”

  “He has killed terrorists, if that’s what you mean.”

  “Aren’t Muslims, just like homosexuals, someone with a different lifestyle, different set of beliefs, someone…well…different? Jackson has proven that he is capable of murdering people like that, hasn’t he?”

  “Sir, are you saying that Jackson Brooks, myself, and all of our fellow Marines, soldiers, sailors, airmen, and anyone who has proudly served this country in uniform are all murderers, or potential murderers?”

  Randolph froze. It was in the following second that he made, unwittingly, uncontrollably, a crucial blunder – a rookie mistake. He shot a quick glance over to the faces of the jury, just as a misbehaving child instantly and instinctively turns to see if his mother saw what he had just done. They did see it. They also saw the look on his face – guilty. “No,” is all he said before quickly choosing a different path. “Returning to your assertion that Marines having served together are likely to form a bond, can you describe that bond?”

  “It’s a brotherhood, sir. We put our lives in each other’s hands. There is nothing we wouldn’t do for each other.”

  “Even lie for each other?”

  “I’m not lying, sir.”

  “But there’s really no way for us to ever know, because you would lie to protect Mr. Brooks. We know that – it’s a brotherhood; you have all but admitted it.”

  “Then why wouldn’t I side with PFC Hertz? How is he different than Jackson?”

  “Isn’t that obvious?”

  “Not to me.”

  “Because he is gay,” Randolph said boldly, “You would treat him differently because he was gay.”

  “I’m not lying.”

  “Did you once…treat him differently because he was gay?”

  Trey’s face became very sad, more filled with pain and regret than Jackson himself had considered this callous Marine capable of. Something amazing happened for Jackson in tha
t second. Trey’s expressions became so genuine and so filled with raw humanity that Jackson no longer saw the burns. Just as with Old Glory in the moment before, Jackson’s imagination had filled in the missing pieces of Trey’s unblemished face.

  “Mr. Tucker, can you tell us how you treated Caleb Hertz?” Randolph became impatient.

  “Badly.”

  “Badly? Isn’t that an understatement?”

  “Yes, sir, it is.” As Trey spoke, Jackson was amazed to see more flashes of his old charisma still coming through. The more he stared at him, the more the burns seemed to disappear. Trey’s good-looking, rugged self seemed ultimately undaunted.

  Randolph pushed on, “Didn’t you and your fellow recruits, in fact, throw a blanket over his head and beat him within an inch of his life?”

  “Yes, sir, we did.”

  “What did you use to hit him?”

  Trey flustered a bit, it was obvious that he wanted to avoid the question. His instinct was to say something evasive like, “I don’t recall,” but he knew that sounding like a liar would not help Jackson’s case. He said, “Our fists.”

  “And?”

  “Our boots,”

  “And?”

  “Pillowcases,”

  “Filled with?”

  “Anything hard and heavy.”

  “And,”

  “Stop!” pleaded Trey.

  “What else did you beat him with?” yelled the attorney.

  Trey just shook his head, both his eyes drawn painfully closed.

  “Why?” asked the attorney, “At least answer me that, why?”

  “Because he was gay!” exclaimed Trey. Trey now met his eyes. The two of them stared at each other, just as he and Caleb once did on the bus. This time Trey looked away. He turned his face sharply away from Randolph, toward the jury. “I’ll tell you what you want to know,” he said. “I will tell you all of it.” He was silent for a moment. The whole courtroom was. When he finally began to speak, he left his head turned in that awkward position. It was not uncommon for a witness desiring to get his point across to look at the jury; however Trey surprised everyone when he addressed his statements toward Caleb’s mom. “Ms. Hobbs,” he called out with his powerful voice. “Ms. Hobbs, I want you to look at me.” He asked her to look at him, although he himself did not look at her. The Judge and the prosecuting attorney found this behavior strange but neither one of them stopped him. They did not want to be viewed as badgering the wounded Marine. Also, they wanted to see where he was going. He continued to look at the jury, but spoke directly to Cheryl Hobbs. He said, “When people used to look at me, ma’am, they saw a man who was handsome, confident and respectable.” Slowly people began to realize that Trey was turning his head that way to hide all of his burns from Cheryl Hobbs’s sight. From her vantage point, only Trey’s healthy skin was visible. There was no clue on his face that he had suffered any injury at all. “When I looked at your son, ma’am, I saw only a homosexual. I saw someone weak. I saw someone different. I saw someone miserable. But I was wrong. I was vicious to him. I hurt him, abused him. I was the man behind everything that you heard, no one else, only me. I am sorry. I am so sorry, ma’am. I know now that I was the one who was weak. I was the one who was different and miserable. On the outside I looked like a hero, on the inside I was just,” Trey turned to face the Judge, “a monster.”

  The effect it had from Cheryl’s angle was Trey’s handsome face turning suddenly to one covered in painful scars. It was unsettling. He turned his face slowly to look her fully in the eyes. Half hero, half monster. He confessed the whole truth of the man he was. He said, “I’m so sorry. I was a monster. I am so sorry about what I did to your boy. He wasn’t different. He was just like the rest of us – sometimes weak, sometimes strong; sometimes brave, sometimes scared; sometimes natural and beautiful, sometimes unnatural and scarred. But we grew together. We grew together, ma’am.” Trey repeated the statement hoping people would understand the double meaning. “Caleb was a hero, and heroes like Caleb never die. Every Marine lives on in the Corps.” Trey pulled his shirt sleeve up and displayed the wounded flag. “He lives on in the Red, White and Blue. He lives on in the courage that future Marines will desperately search for within, because when they find the strength to never quit, never once quit, they will find your son Caleb.”

  The last person to testify as a witness in the trial was Cheryl Hobbs, Caleb’s mother. Jackson’s attorney had been in contact with her and received several copies of Caleb’s letters to her. Not only did Joseph Landry submit them as evidence, but blew them up large enough for everyone in the jury to be able to read from across the room. Not only was this a convenient way for them to see his words, but also a powerful way to illustrate that his letters to her actually existed.

  Most the letters from boot camp were short notes and they were on the PX stationery:

  Dear Mom,

  I am learning a lot. We don’t get much time to write. Everything is great here. It is just like I had imagined it. I don’t want you to worry so much, okay?

  – and –

  Dear Mom,

  You asked if I was making friends, of course I am. Don’t people make lifelong friends in the military? A few people here look like they have a problem with me being gay, but you know me mom, I just give them the evil eye and they back off in fear right away.

  – and his last from basic training, the first to mention Jackson –

  Dear Mom,

  Jackson said that maybe God might be trying to draw me away from Satan with pleasure, the same way that Satan tried to draw Job away from God with pain. What pleasure? I asked him.

  His answer was the Marine Corps… If that is true, I have spent too long underestimating God.

  I am happy.

  When I hated life, I for some reason feared death. Now I love life, I want to hold onto it, but I fear…nothing. I have found my identity. I have found my home. When you see me next I will be a United States Marine.

  Cheryl read each one as Landry handed them to her. Her voice trembled from time to time, but she bravely resisted the urge to cry. None of them had the lonely, frightened or desperate tone that Stacy claimed to have heard in his.

  “Ma’am, have you ever met Private First Class Jackson Brooks?”

  Jackson looked straight at Cheryl Hobbs. Cheryl looked back. This time Jackson did not look away. The two of them watched each other over the tears that were pooling in their eyes. There was no malice in her expression toward him. He wasn’t sure what to hope for.

  “Yes, I have met him.”

  “When?”

  “At Caleb’s graduation from boot camp.”

  “How did Caleb introduce him?”

  “He introduced him as ‘my friend Jackson.’” Cheryl began to cry a bit harder and some tears escaped her eyes and ran down her cheeks.

  “Did he introduce you to anyone else from boot camp?”

  “No. He only wanted to introduce me to him.”

  “So Caleb liked Jackson?”

  “Yes, very much.” She wiped the tears and regained her composure.

  “And Caleb believed that Jackson liked him.”

  “That’s true.”

  “Was Caleb a good judge of character?”

  “No,” Cheryl Hobbs said despite Landry wishing she would have answered the other way.

  “Now why would you say that?”

  “Because he picked that Stacy,” she said plainly, as if it had been a silly question.

  Stacy huffed loudly.

  “Besides Stacy, has Caleb ever been dead wrong about a person?”

  “Well, Michael Ponce, apparently,” she answered quickly.

  “Ms. Hobbs,” Landry proceeded patiently. “Do you believe that your son Caleb was wrong about Jackson Brooks?”

  Cheryl turned to make eye contact again with Jackson. The other lawyer barked, “Objection, pure speculation,” then the Judge said, “Sustained.” He saw the way that Cheryl seemed not to hear either of the
m and he ordered, “Ma’am, you are not to answer that question.”

  Cheryl did not say a word. She did not respond. She just held eye contact with Jackson. She seemed to be trying to see into his soul. His eyes were open and unguarded. As much as she sought to gain entrance, Jackson sought to grant it. His bottom lip began to quiver. Her eyes were clear. The blue of her irises glimmered like gems. Jackson could not help but notice how much they looked like Caleb’s. Her chin was raised and strong. All at once her face softened – everyone saw it – but she did not look away. In that second she realized that even without the trial, and even if he had not been the cause, Jackson was the one person in the world who ranked second to her in grief over Caleb. Jackson was the one person in the world who ranked second to her in loving him for who he was. Jackson came closer than anyone else to her love and her pain. Tears began to roll down Jackson’s cheeks. Cheryl’s lips parted as she expelled the breath she didn’t realize she had been holding.

  “No further questions, Your Honor,” Landry nearly whispered.

  Cheryl turned her eyes to the prosecuting attorney as he approached the witness stand. There was obvious contempt in her eyes, even hatred.

  He said, “Ma’am, has Caleb ever lied to protect you?”

  “No,” she snapped.

  “With all due respect, Ms. Hobbs, can you or anyone ever answer that question with certainty? How would you know if you were being successfully lied to.”

  “I wasn’t. He didn’t,” she said firmly.

  “Ms. Hobbs, you have heard the testimony of the people who attended boot camp with him. Do you see a disconnect between the reality you heard described by them and the façade of Caleb’s letters?”

  “He may have sugarcoated it. He may have put on a brave face for my benefit, but there were no direct contradictions.”