Julie's voice hit his ears first playing a sour note in his
noggin, “Bryson, please speak to me, we really need to talk.”
No. The word popped into his
head, but never issued from his lips.
“Come on, man, it's not what you think,” came Ian's voice through the window.
I'm sorry, the dagger in my back
will not allow me to comply.
“We're not going to give up until you come out and talk to us,” Julie reported.
Give up trying to talk to me, or
give up humping each other’s brains out.
“Will you please just come out and talk to us?” Ian pleaded.
Nevermore, quoth the raven.
They issued a few more pleas, but with pillows over ears, Bryson refused to
hear them. Not only that, but he seemed to have fallen asleep during the
barrage, after all heartbreak can take a lot out of a man. In his twisted
dreams toy soldiers blasted the hell out of invisible aliens, cheating girlfriends,
and conniving best friends. When he woke up three hours later to the DVD menu
for Predator he knew what he would do: join the
military.
Of course, it wouldn't be that easy; for a freshly graduated former high school
student he was grossly out of shape. Besides his short stint in sports, what
little physical education he had to take during high school he never took
seriously. So to make boot camp easier he started getting up in the mornings to
walk, run, or bike. It was the only time he'd leave the house, and he made sure
to go as early as possible to keep from running into either of “them” which is
how he started referring to Ian and Julie a few days after the incident.
Dehumanization was his friend.
During the day he remained in his room except to eat and use the bathroom. His
parents wondered what was up with him, but he refused to answer any questions,
after all, he knew they would just think he was overreacting and that this was
just a phase. While he was in his room he watched movies and researched the
military on the net to determine what field would be the best for him. The Air
Force would be easy, but it would be far too easy for a guy who wanted to kick
his life into high gear, and he didn't want to go into the Navy because he knew
he didn't want to ever be referred to as a “Seamen.” The Army was a viable
choice, but most people chose to go into the Army, it was the biggest branch of
the military after all. He wanted a challenge and to become a badass, so the
only choice was the United States Marine Corp.
For a month straight he kept up his routine, and “they” kept their routine as
well. Every day like clockwork Bryson's mother would come to his door telling
him that “they” wanted to talk to him, and every day he would tell his mom that
he didn't want to speak to “them”. Every day after the rejection “they” would
appear at his window pleading to speak to him, and he would remain as quiet as
a church mouse until “they” left. By the end of that month since the incident
he had steeled himself against the attack so that he was able to keep his
functionality, he would even routinely do sit-ups or pushups as “they” shouted
through the window.
When that month was up he knew his next course of action. After he finished
with his run that morning he ran a little further right down to the Marine
recruiter's office. When he walked through the door he was nearly blown back
outside by the excellence and honor that exuded from the office. Marine Corp
decor littered the walls, as well as motivational posters that weren't cheesy
but instead badass, and he never thought that was possible. The recruiter
behind the desk made him think of the Spartans of old, he exuded a confidence
that didn't feel like it derived from an ego in the least bit. At the same time
Bryson felt both at home and proud that he made the right decision and slightly
intimidated by this gladiator sitting behind his desk.
He proceeded to step in before the recruiter and made no bones about what he
wanted, he wanted to join up and ship out as soon as was humanly possible.
Staff Sergeant Blake smiled and told him that there was an Armed Services
Vocational Aptitude Battery test available today, or he could schedule one for
next week if he wanted to study. When he told Blake that he wanted to take the
test today, the recruiter gave him a look of incredulity and told him testing
starts in an hour. S. Sgt. Blake reached into a drawer in the desk that stood
between them, and pulled out a book and handed it to Bryson, “I recommend you
give this a once over before the test starts.”
Bryson took the book and sat down in a chair across the room and began to look
through it, but wasn't really taking much in. For one thing the intimidation of
the warrior sitting across the room coupled with the thought that in a few
hours his life would probably be changed forever stalled his mental progress.
On top of that the other testers were starting to file into the office taking
seats next to him. Increasing his nervousness was the fact that a few of them
had gone to school with him, but luckily he didn't know any of them closer than
a fleeting glance here and there.
The hour passed fitfully slow, and then the recruiter called them all into the
back room where they were to all take the computer test together. After they
finished the preliminaries, Bryson felt at ease once he started taking the
actual test. He scored high on the SAT and the ACT so he knew he'd ace an
aptitude test to enter the military no problem. He was the first finished, and
when the score was tabulated by the computer he had achieved an overall score
of 77, allowing him his pick of any job he wanted in the military. He already
knew he was going to pick Intelligence, but he still had another obstacle to
overcome before he could say he was ready for boot: Medical Expenditure Panel
Survey or MEPS. He had to pass the physical to get into the military and before
he could choose his Military Occupation Specialty.
###
Here in the MEPS office he sat waiting for the trip out to Paris Island. He had
been sworn in, he had passed his physicals, he had filled out all the
paperwork, and he had picked his occupational specialty. He didn’t get Intel
though; his choice to leave earlier didn’t coincide with the dates of
Intelligence training. Instead he was going to be working Motor Transport which
Sgt. Thompson jokingly referred to as “Grunts on Wheels”. While Bryson was a
little disappointed by the job change he took it willingly to be rid of the
history of this place, to be rid of “them”.
One month ago everything had changed. All it took was one moment to determine a
course for the rest of his life. Now, here he stood waiting to board a van that
would take him up the east coast to the Marine Corp training facility in Paris
Island, SC. Where he would go after that he did not know, he just knew it would
be far away from “them”.
He found a spot in the back of the van, and looked around at all the families
with freshly minted recruits about to board the van and leave on their way to a
life of bravery and American tradition. As he looked out the window behind him
he thought he saw Ian in the parking lot looking directly at him. He turned and
looked the other way and never looked back. This was a time for moving forward,
he could never turn back.
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