This is a work of fiction. Unless otherwise indicated, all the names, characters, businesses, places, events, and incidents in this story are either the product of the author's imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
I looked around and was not surprised to see everything the way I left it...a mess. Not that I expected someone to break in and unpack for me, but it would have been nice. It seemed like just the other day I signed off with the moving company and, after making sure the blinds were closed, locked the door, and left to go spend a week visiting with family.
Luckily, I don't have a lot of stuff. Being in the Marines and single means I haven't acquired much. Now I'm back, with a full week to unpack and set up camp before classes start. My mother had just smirked and shook her head when I'd said that.
"House Bodie, it's called 'setting up house'."
Then she got that far away look for a minute remembering my father, who died in the middle east...IED. Even after almost a dozen years the emotion is still there. At least now the raw pain is gone and memories of him just make us more melancholy than sad. Still, once she was on the subject, she reminded me that she was still waiting on grandchildren.
With a growl, my stomach brings me back to the present, reminding me it's already well past lunch. I drove straight through from Quincy, Massachusetts, after getting up early and saying goodbye to my mom. After another look at the boxes, I think unpacking can wait until I go out and grab a bite to eat. I lock up again and walk down the street toward the center of town.
It's early June in central Pennsylvania. It's a sunny, but not overly warm, early summer day. The weather has a lot of people out, although most of the students won't be arriving until the start of the fall semester. I'm here to take summer classes, which would put me on track to finish my degree by the end of the regular school year.
Ten years ago, I followed in my father's footsteps and joined the Marines right out of high school and started taking online college classes three years later. Although my dad hadn't pursued a degree, everything else I'm doing is on the same trajectory. I'm a Sullivan, and the family has a tradition of being Boston cops going back generations. They also have a strong history of serving in the military, although until my father, none had ever served more than one term of enlistment.
I started as an MP in the Marines and managed to get an assignment as an investigator, which I loved. I worked hard, managed to make good impressions, and did well enough to get promoted to Gunnery Sergeant just before I hit the ten-year point. Though not unheard of, it's not the norm. Most people with ten years in are one rank lower. I'm proud but keep that to myself.
I've gotten a lot of advice about my career, and a common suggestion has been to go for a commission. Of course, to do that I need to finish my degree. Up until a year ago, I had just taken a class now and then. But once I decided on that path, I dedicated every moment I could to it.
The services each offer various ways to become an officer, and they change over time based on what the current needs of each service are. I thought my hopes were dashed when I was told the Marines didn't need any officers in my field that couldn't be gotten through ROTC, and the few who trickled in from the other service academies.
At the time, I was stationed in California and one day I had a few moments to talk to a Marine helicopter pilot, Lieutenant Colonel Luke MacDonald, as we waited on a flag officer to board the chopper. The General was running late and somehow, I found myself telling him about my desire for a commission.
"Well Gunny, if the Marines don't need you, maybe one of the other services do."
"You're kidding, right Sir?"
Most service members are proud of their choice, perhaps none more so than the Marines. By anyone's account, we are among the fiercest warriors on the globe. The thought of switching had never crossed my mind.
"I know what you're thinking, but I have a buddy in the Air Force, and he is one of the baddest asses out there. Anyway, just a suggestion."
I dismissed the idea at first, but then started giving it some serious thought. Eventually, after a few trips to the base education center, I found a program that would give me the opportunity to join the officer ranks. It was a version of the old bootstrap program.
My 'duty' will be to go to school full time. No uniforms, no immediate military structure. I'll receive full pay at my current rank, including an allowance for housing, and use my GI Bill to pay for the remainder of my bachelor's degree. If I pass within the given time constraints and with a GPA above 3.0, I'm guaranteed a slot at Officer Training School, or OTS as it's called. The surprise was that it was Air Force OTS. That's right, I'm going from an enlisted Marine to an Air Force officer.
I plan on putting my nose to the grindstone like I do with everything I set my mind to. I'm going to study hard and stay in shape...period.
My walk took me up to one of the small parks. The tree-lined street has been closed to vehicle traffic and there are a few families walking around, checking out various booths and activities. There are some typical carnival foods and some simple games. Rather than a money maker, this has a feel of something for families to enjoy. And if they spend money while in town, so much the better, I guess.
I really like kids; they remind me of home. I have a big family and although I'm an only child, I grew up with a ton of cousins. I smile as I watch all ages of them. All are having a fun time, especially the younger ones. There's a clown making balloon animals. God, clowns give me the chills. You want to see me freeze up in combat? Dress the enemy like clowns. But there are quite a few kids that seem to think he's great. A pair of women are doing magic tricks and there's even a puppet show. I didn't know that was still a thing.
A little bit further is a girl with an easel. I can't see what she's doing. Drawing maybe? She's wearing all kinds of colorful, mismatched, loose clothing. A skirt that goes down to the ground and a long-sleeved shirt. She has long brown hair, wild...almost tangled looking. There are a few people nearby watching as she is apparently doing a portrait. I guess I'll see when I get there.
I watch the magicians for a minute. One is cute; blonde, big tits, curvy hips, nice ass. Just the way I like them. My mother gives me crap about it. She says I go for slutty girls because I'm afraid of finding a good girl. Whatever. Not ALL the girls I like are sluts. Okay, maybe most of them. And believe me, I don't think big-breasted blondes are sluts. It's just the group I go looking for them in.
I'm a decent looking guy, although people tell me I look too serious all the time. Just a bit over six feet tall and two-hundred pounds of mostly muscle. I owe part of that to genetics and the rest to the Marines; especially the thick, muscled neck. I have broad shoulders, black hair, and dark brown eyes. I've never had a problem getting dates. I like sex, but I don't really have time for commitments. It works for me, just not so much for my mother.
Oops, she just frowned. I guess I stared a little too long. Of course, sometimes that helps me find the right girls. If I get the right look when I do that, it's a good sign they may be my type.
Moving on.
Looks like she's a sketch artist. There are a few examples hanging on a little display she set up. It's a flimsy, homemade looking thing. But the sketches are amazing! Some are in full color, but most are black and white. Charcoal maybe? I can see her features now. She looks thin but she has pretty brown eyes though. They kind of sparkle. Her hair isn't tangled, just crazy. It goes a few inches below her shoulders and either has a natural loose curl, or a good perm. She looks like a flower child or something.
But man, look at her sketch! She finishes the one she's working on and holds it up to a teenage girl. It's not entirely realistic, but not a caricature either. Hell, I don't understand art styles, but let's say you can tell it's her. Her dad nods and his daughter gives a little jump, hugs him and takes the sketch from the hippie-ish girl, then he hands her some cash.
She starts in again, her right hand moving constantly. From where I'm standing, I can't see what she's working on, probably the father now. They are still standing there, and I'm a little behind them. Jeez, her eyes are really pretty. So's her face now that I'm closer...no makeup...she doesn't need any. Still too thin for my taste, and her hair is too crazy. And it's brown, not blonde.
She smiled at me. Man did her eyes twinkle when she did that! Did I just think the word 'twinkle'? I actually smile and chuckle out loud at the thought. Her smile grows. Too bad she isn't blonde...and have tits. She's flat...but that smile! It's like she knows something I don't.
She holds up the sketch...it's me! I'm impressed even though it looks like I'm scowling a little in the murky sketch. I look at her and the smile is still there. Then, she tilts her head as if to ask, 'Well, you going to buy it?'.
I smile but shake my head no. She doesn't seem disappointed; she just shrugs and pins it to her display. I guess so that people can see her skill. Then she starts in on her next one. I move on.
"Good news Bodie! We're giving you credit for your real-life experience. You'll still have to pay for the credit hours to be on your transcript, but you'll have a lighter course load."
He must have seen the concern on my face.
"Is something wrong?"
"I'm not so sure this is good news."
I'm in Mr. Miller's office. He's my academic advisor. We had this appointment set up a long time ago, but it was just to review my upcoming summer courses and the following two semesters. You know, a meet and greet and then make sure everything is on track.
"Why's that?"
"The Air Force program I'm on has strict requirements, obviously. One of them is that I must be a full-time student. If I have a light course load I could be disqualified."
"We could get you finished a semester early though!"
"But I'm also on a set schedule. My OTS class starts two weeks after graduation."
The air finally went out of him. He obviously thought he was delivering happy news. I'm sure for most students it would be. I tell him I'll check in with my program point of contact and see what they say. With that, we shake hands, and I leave.
I managed to get in contact with Sergeant Lopez that afternoon. After I explained things, I was relieved that there would be no problem. I would be allowed to take a couple of electives and some master's level courses to meet the full-time requirement. I'd stay on schedule and come out at the end a little up on getting a master's degree.
I just finished meeting with Mr. Miller. He seems like a good guy. I told him what I learned, and he helped me figure out the right classes and get me enrolled. Then we looked at my schedule. I just gave a wry shake of my head for the summer classes. There weren't many options, so in addition to two core courses for my degree, I'm signed up for two electives: physical education and art. How they have anything to do with criminology, I'll never know. PE should be a laugh for me. But art, really? I know jack shit about art. I'm definitely not looking forward to that.
I'm headed out the door. My feet seem heavier and I'm pretty sure it's not because I'm tired. No...I'm headed to art class. At least I got a good workout in. I had PE this morning. It served as a good warm-up to my personal routine, which includes weight training followed by a run. I actually enjoyed the class. It's not hard core, but at least It got my heart pumping a bit.
It was a good week leading up to today, at least once the course load got figured out. I settled into my new digs. It's a surprisingly nice, furnished, one bedroom place over a jewelry store, which closes at five every day, so no noise at night. I'm in town but close to campus. It's got a washing machine and dryer, so no trips to the laundromat for me. I also have a rear entrance and a parking spot...bonus.
The arts building is in a different part of the campus than most of my classes, but still walkable. Funny, I took all my online classes through this university but have never been here. I've never even been to Pennsylvania. I enter the second-floor classroom and find myself in unfamiliar territory. There aren't any seats, just a bunch of desks in three concentric half-circles facing a central point. I see other people just standing at desks, so I go to a vacant one in the back row.
