Kyle and I grew up together. Our families lived across the street from each other in a small town in northeastern Iowa. I can't remember a time when Kyle and I weren't friends. We are almost exactly the same age. Kyle is only two months older, a fact that he never lets me forget.
From the beginning, we spent virtually all our spare time together. If we weren't under our parent's direct control, we were off doing guy things. We were raised before helicopter parenting became the norm, so basically we could do whatever we wanted as long as we were home at the time specified by our parents.
By any measure, we were pretty good kids. Our part of the country adhered to conservative blue-collar values and we were raised accordingly. Compared to kids elsewhere, we were saints. Sure, we experimented with cigarettes and beer when we had the opportunity, enjoyed rock fights with other guys using garbage can lids as shields, built tree forts with lumber borrowed from construction sites, and played with firecrackers when we could get them. But we weren't truants, shoplifters, or vandals and had no brushes with local law enforcement.
Our academic performance was less than stellar, but good enough to keep our parents mostly at bay when report cards came out. As 'B' and 'C' students, we'd get the standard lecture about applying ourselves to do better. Our increased efforts would last about a week and then we'd lapse back into our old study habits. We didn't know what we wanted to be when we grew up but figured that something would come along sooner or later to capture our interest. Neither of us had any desire to go to college.
As teenagers, we liked girls and sports in that order. Good enough to 'letter' in several sports, we got more than our share of attention from the fairer sex. Neither one of us ever went more than a week or two without a steady girlfriend. Getting laid was our highest priority and much of our time was spent in pursuit of that goal; unfortunately without success. The young ladies of our acquaintance were raised in the same conservative environment, so we were invariably stopped at first or second base. It wasn't until late in our senior year, when we turned eighteen and were permitted to have our own cars, that our sex lives began to improve.
The summer after graduation was one to remember. We both had jobs, money in our pockets, and girlfriends who had been liberated by their own eighteenth birthdays. Sex, mostly in automotive back seats, became our major focus and we fucked our brains out at every opportunity.
About midway through that summer, my girlfriend of the moment confessed that she had a thing for Kyle and told me he felt the same way about her. Knowing he would not act on his feelings out of loyalty to me, I brought the issue up. When he admitted his attraction, I relinquished her without rancor. Kyle and I had shared everything since kindergarten, so there were no hard feelings. Within days, a different young woman occupied the back seat of my car. A week or two later, my old girlfriend had moved on and Kyle was involved with a different young lady. Life went on as usual.
And then came September 11, 2001.
Kyle and I enlisted in the Marine Corps under a buddy system in place at the time, attended basic and infantry training together, and then deployed to Iraq with our unit. We returned from that deployment unscathed and remained stateside for a few months, knowing it was only a matter of time before we would be overseas again.
From the beginning, Kyle was the better Marine. He reveled in the adventure, the discipline, and the danger. I was far less enthusiastic. I did my job, but my heart wasn't really in it.
Two deployments later, the first in Iraq and the second in Afghanistan, our enlistments were up and we faced a big decision; reenlist or take our discharges and return to civilian life. At that point, we were attached to an outfit stationed at Camp Pendleton near San Diego. By that time, Kyle was wearing Sergeant's stripes while I remained stationary at the rank of Lance Corporal, two levels lower.
For the first time in our lives, at the ripe old age of twenty-two, our paths diverged. Kyle announced his intentions to make the Corps his career and chose to reenlist. I decided to punch out, find work, and start attending classes somewhere in the San Diego area. I had generous GI Bill benefits and a newly-discovered interest in higher education.
I quickly found work with a local contractor that provided a variety of services to Camp Pendleton. The pay was good, the hours reasonable, and the job allowed me to remain close to Kyle. I had a 401K retirement plan, medical benefits, and some tuition assistance from the company to supplement my GI bill payments once I began classes.
Although now pursuing different careers, Kyle and I still spent as much time as possible together while waiting for his next deployment. Surfing and chasing girls were our primary activities and we became moderately proficient at both. Say what you will about Southern California, but the weather is perfect and the women are liberated and very easy on the eyes.
Eventually, Kyle's unit deployed to the Middle East once again and I started classes at San Diego State University, a school with a low acceptance rate but a high regard for veterans so I was able to squeak through the gate. Nine months later I completed my freshman year with decent grades and an interest in data system security. Two weeks after that Kyle returned with a Bronze Star and a Purple Heart that he had failed to mention in our frequent e-mail exchanges while he was overseas.
His wound was serious enough to require rehab and a longer-than-normal stay at Camp Pendleton before deploying again. As his health improved, we resumed our surfing and girl-chasing hobbies. That's when he met Barbara at a local watering hole we favored.
I liked Barbara immediately but thought her an odd choice for a dedicated Jarhead. She was an intelligent, witty, and beautiful throwback to the hippies of the 1960s. She sported untamed blonde curly hair and loose fitting clothing that covered most of her body, even at the beach where she wore a wide-brimmed straw hat and slathered what little skin was exposed with sunscreen every half hour or so. She served as a sharp contrast to the ever-present bikini-clad beauties who worked diligently on their tans.
Kyle was clearly smitten. I had never seen him react so intensely to any other woman.
"I think I've found the one," he announced to me as we were driving to her apartment one Friday evening. We had become a threesome who socialized together a couple of times each week.
"Are you thinking about getting married?" I asked with a grin, doubting that marriage was his intent.
"Yep," he replied with a straight face.
"Aren't you the guy who always told me that if the Marine Corps wanted you to have a wife they would have issued you one in basic training?"
"That was me," Kyle admitted, "but this is different."
"How so?"
"Because I really am in love with her. I want her in my life for the long haul."
"Then you had better get out of the Marines as soon as your enlistment is up," I advised.
"Barbara and I have talked about that. She knows I love the Corps and she's more than willing to take on the trials and tribulations of being a Marine Corps wife."
"That's probably because she has no idea what she's getting herself into."
"Maybe," Kyle admitted. "But we'll do okay."
"Have you already proposed?" I inquired. "Without telling me?"
"I'm telling you now," he replied with a grin.
"Have you thought about the long deployments and what they often do to a marriage?"
"I have. We'll get through them."
"Jesus Christ!"
"I want you to be my best man," he responded, ignoring my outburst.
"Of course I'll be your best man. When are you doing this?" I demanded.
"Tomorrow."
"What?" I yelled. "Where?"
"Coronado Beach at sunrise. I found a justice of the peace who's willing to perform the ceremony early on a Saturday morning," he replied as we pulled up in front of Barbara's apartment building. Moments later she answered her door with a radiant smile.
