JACK AND THE BOAT TRIP
My submission for the 'Summer Lovin' event. Just a fun one, although a bit of a build-up.
All characters engaged in extra-curricular activities are over 18.
No editors were harmed in the writing, review, or submission of this story.
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It was the beginning of June, and already shaping up to be a hot summer. I was wiping the salt off the railings of my boat, a never-ending task, when I felt my phone vibrating in the back pocket of my shorts.
"This is Jack," I said, after fumbling and barely saving it from falling into the water.
"Hi, Uncle Jack!"
"Amy! Hi! This is a nice surprise!" It was, too. Amy was one of my baby sister's best friends. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
"Oh... I was just thinking about you, and thought I'd call and say hi... haven't talked to you in a long time." She sounded a little too nonchalant.
But what she said was true. After the three musketeers (my sister Georgia, Amy, and her other best friend Julie) had graduated college the year before, I hadn't seen or spoken to Amy or Julie. More a victim of circumstance, than by choice - we had all been busy.
Georgia kept me updated, but it had been odd, not seeing them in so long. I wasn't really their uncle of course, but Amy had taken to calling me that when the girls were about 12, and now they liked to tease me with it. I was surprised at how happy I was to hear from her.
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Georgia was technically my step-sister, but she was only four when my father married her mother. I was seventeen and had just started my senior year in high school. She latched onto me almost immediately and was my shadow until I graduated and headed off to Parris Island. I loved that little booger, and we were both heartbroken when I had to leave for boot camp.
I didn't date very much that year, because any potential girlfriend that couldn't handle having her around didn't get asked out again. More than one girl threw up her hands at me. I just told them I had missed the first four years of her life, and had a lot of catching up to do. I wanted to do the big brother thing right. Michelle - that's my step-mom, and Georgia's mother - overheard my end of that conversation once, and I think she might have had a tear in her eye when she gave me a big hug and told me I'd be a great dad someday.
I still chuckle when I remember telling my father I was joining the Marines. Hah! He was fit to be tied! He was career Army, and hell-bent on my following in his footsteps. I argued that by joining the military at all, I
was
following him, and eventually he got his head around the idea. "Damn crayon eater," I heard him mumbling, more than once. "Just coz you Aren't Ready to be a Marine Yet," I would retaliate.
My birth mother? That's a subject I don't like to talk about. Being married to a soldier was hard, especially with the assignments my dad was on early in his career, and my mother couldn't handle it. I was about five when she up and left. Dad said she went back to her hometown and married her high-school sweetheart, but as far as he knew, I didn't have any half-siblings running around. Not that it mattered, I barely heard from her. A card for my birthday, and something at Christmas.
I did go to see her once, well, I tried, between graduation and boot camp. Dad had kept track and knew her address. He was like that. "Can't ever have too much intel," he would say. Anyway, when I told him what I wanted to do, he just nodded and wrote down the address for me.
"Don't get your hopes up," was all the advice he gave me on that subject.
It's funny how your parents get smarter as you get older, and he turned out to be right. Again.
I showed up at her house, and no one was home. It was about 4 o'clock, so I figured if she was working, she'd be home soon, so I sat on the front step and waited. Sure enough, about a half-hour later, a relatively new Chevy pulled into the driveway.
I could see her, sitting in the driver's seat, looking at me. At first, she looked puzzled, and then, as I stood up, dawning recognition came over her. I never did take after my father, at least not physically, and now I could see where my genes came from. I had seen her put the car in Park, and now I watched in disbelief as she reached for the shifter, backed down the driveway, and drove away. I waited for another hour, but she never came back. Before I left, I jammed a note into the doorframe with my number on it and two lines of scribbled text. I was shaking kinda hard and had trouble writing. "
Don't worry, I won't be coming back. Leaving this in case you ever want to know who your son is
."
"Why, Dad?" I asked when I got home the next day.
"I wish I knew, son. She never gave me any kind of reason either."
After that, I tried to get on with my life. I spent a lot of time with Georgia, which helped. She was a happy kid, always smiling, and who could resist that? But we knew what was coming. When I got on that bus at MEPS to head down to South Carolina, I think all of us were crying. Well, not Dad.
I really liked Michelle, Dad's new wife. Afghanistan made her a widow when she was still pregnant with Georgia - that's where her birth father was from - and she married Dad four years later. I think at first, she was worried - afraid, really - about getting involved with another soldier, but Dad's MOS was in Intelligence, and his duties had become safer and more regular than when he was married to my mother.
Anyway, she treated me with nothing but kindness and affection, and it didn't take long for me to realize what I'd missed out on, growing up. She cried a little when I told her, and hugged me. From then on, she was 'Mom'.
Michelle told me later, that when she and Georgia came down for my boot camp graduation, it was a near thing keeping Georgia from running out onto the parade ground to get to me. I had won the Iron Man award for a perfect score on my fitness tests, and so had the privilege of marching up front to receive it. Georgia saw me, and Michelle said she made it halfway to me, her mop of red-gold curls bouncing, yelling, "Jack! Jack!" before Michelle could catch her. I thought I heard some laughter and commotion, but with the Colonel in front of me, I wasn't about to look. When I got back into formation, even my DI had a grin on his face.
Once the ceremony was over, and the spectators were allowed onto the Parade Grounds, she came running again, and I snatched her up. She wrapped her little arms around my neck and kissed me on the cheek, and Michelle and I both had tears in our eyes. Dad couldn't make the trip; he was off on an assignment, but I was used to that, and had gotten over taking those things personally. He did call to congratulate me later that evening. "Damn jarhead," he said, but I could tell he was proud.
After PI was the Marine Combat Training Battalion, or MCT. You may have heard the saying, "Every Marine is a rifleman," and this was the school where non-combat Marines learn those skills. Then after THAT, I went to my MOS school at Camp Johnson, North Carolina. I guess the 'needs of the Corps' won out, and I became a 3521, Automotive Maintenance Technician.
I didn't mind; I liked working with my hands, and I learned how to troubleshoot and fix all kinds of vehicles. I also did some cross-training with the drivers. I was fortunate to be stationed at Camp Lejeune, so I wasn't too far from home - Dad, Michelle, and Georgia were at Fort Bragg, about 2 1/2 hours away.
I settled into a routine of work, going home on free weekends, rinse, and repeat. Until the day I found out we were deploying.
How was I going to explain this to Georgia?
Poor kid. She didn't understand, and I hugged her and said that I'd miss her
this
much, holding my arms as wide as I could. When she mimicked me, throwing her arms out, I did lose it for a minute. I just picked her up and hugged her again so she wouldn't see me cry. Once I had myself back under control, I promised I would call, and that I would miss her, and I would come home as soon as I could.
Michelle cried on me, and Dad put his left hand on my shoulder, looked me in the eye, and told me to stay safe. We shook, and it wasn't long before I was on my way to the sandbox.
It's everything you've heard. Well, for those of us who spent most of our time on the base, anyway. Hot, dusty, boring. Except when it's not. I guess I'd been there about three months, when one night I woke up to the sound of explosions and yelling and gunfire. I learned later that we were under a rocket attack, but at the time, I was just trying to keep my head down and look out for my buddies.
I don't think I was being particularly brave when I saw Keith - PFC Johnson - go down. I just reacted, grabbing him under the arms and dragging him behind a Humvee. I saw blood coming from his leg, so I tore off my T-shirt and wrapped it around the wound. I stuck my head out to yell for a medic, and when I turned back around, it happened. I remember feeling like my back was on fire, and then nothing.
