by B. K. Dell
Caleb was learning that the rumors he had heard about blanket parties were true. He was learning what happened when you mixed mob mentality with unadulterated testosterone. Fueled by broken pasts, shattered egos, and marred self-esteems, they pounded Caleb with the force of every injustice, public embarrassment or simple heartache that they themselves had ever had to endure. Together, they stepped into an area of such cruelty and inhumanity that they would have never dared tread alone.
Caleb began to lose consciousness as the beating persisted. His mind tried to escape the intense pain and he slipped into something close to a dream.
Caleb was chopping wood in back of the house where he grew up, but he was no longer a child. He was tall and strong, and he swung his ax with the force and precision of a fit, athletic adult. His father stepped outside the back door and paused to watch him. Caleb could see his father’s form out of the corner of his eye, but did not turn to acknowledge him. He placed a piece of wood on the block, raised his ax high into the air, and swung it down extra hard. Both halves of the wood went flying. He wasn’t trying to show malice; he wanted to impress his father with his strength. Caleb didn’t want to do it, but he could no longer resist looking over at his father and the two men made eye contact. His father’s face lacked any discernible emotion.
Caleb placed another piece on the block and was about to raise his ax again when his father spoke. He asked, “So you are a homosexual, huh?”
“No, Father, I am a Marine.”
“What is that supposed to mean?”
“I’m a Marine, Dad. I graduated from basic training. I earned the Eagle, Globe and Anchor; I am a Marine.”
“You are a Marine?” His father’s face changed drastically – no longer unimpressed. He stared at Caleb, astonished. Caleb recognized his expression; it was the look he had only ever seen his father give to his old war buddies.
His father walked over and held out his hand. Caleb wasn’t sure what he was asking for, so he handed him the ax. His father tossed the ax to the ground, away from their feet. Then he stepped into Caleb’s space and wrapped him in a bear hug. Tears of joys stung Caleb’s eyes.
When he finally let go, Caleb looked up at the blurred image of his father and said, “Yes, Dad, I am a Marine. But I’m still gay.”
His father nodded pensively and said, “I guess there is only one question to answer: Does being a Marine say more about who a man really is than being a homosexual does?”
Caleb felt a blow to the back of his head. It was followed by more hard strikes to his body. And then even more. Finally, it was over. The torture inside his brain had prevented him from hearing the men walk away. All he could hear now was the hard, deep gasps of his lungs trying desperately to fill with air. Then, as his breathing slowly regulated, he realized he was surrounded by silence. Is this a trick? He imagined a line of enlisted men circled around him, all looking down on him as he helplessly squirmed. He was humiliated. He could feel their gaze on him, imprisoned by their hatred. He kept as still as he possibly could. The hard ground pressed stiffly against every strained joint and every bruised bone. Five more minutes passed, Caleb marinating in bitterness. Caleb concluded that he was, in fact, alone.
He rolled over to pass the torment of the brutal ground on to a different part of his wounded body. As he did this, his left shoulder screamed out in agony. The pain was so encompassing it caused his whole body to convulse and he coughed up vomit and blood inside the blanket that was still tied around his waist. As his body fell back still again, he heard a nearby footstep a split second before he felt another boot land a hard blow to his ribcage. He cried out in pain. It practically lifted Caleb off the ground. This time he heard a single set of footsteps running away.
It was a safe bet that he was actually alone finally, but he didn’t want to take the risk. He stayed perfectly still, petrified from fear. His face lay pressed against his own vomit and the smell filled the entire blanket. He wished someone would come save him, pull him up and take him back to his rack, but no one did. Anyone who cared must have been unaware of where he was, but it was likely no one cared.
As he lay there broken, he contemplated what to do next. There was nowhere that he could go except back into the squad bay that was filled with his attackers. Finally, with much effort, every movement met with pain, he was able to wiggle free from the blanket. As he stood up on both feet and gave his eyes time to focus, the barracks seemed miles away. Step by painful step he slowly made his way back.
Caleb staggered into the squad bay and every person in the room pretended to be asleep. When he reached his rack, he saw that his blanket was missing. He crawled in and went to sleep without it. Fearing that he had a concussion, his last thoughts as darkness crept into his vision were wondering whether he was falling into sleep or slipping into death.
CHAPTER SIX
The pain hurt deep inside every one of Caleb’s bones. His body had become one solid bruise, but only in the places his BDU’s covered. On the parade deck performing close order drill, Caleb had a hard time keeping his mind off the pain. He had made up his mind that pain could not actually stop him. Pain was only a distraction. It did not physically prevent any single motion. It could not prevent him from marching in correct form and it could not prevent him from reaching his ultimate goal – becoming a Marine. No matter how his body resisted, no matter how it screamed in pain, Caleb performed every task that SSgt Folsom counted off.
The shear agony of pushing past his broken body’s demands was causing Caleb to sweat uncontrollably. The beads of sweat pooling on his brow and running down the sides of his face felt to Caleb like some form of water torture he had heard about as a boy, but never understood. Finally, the rifle he was holding escaped right out of his slippery hands. It bounced twice doing an entire flip and hit the ground. Everyone couldn’t help but think that even though it was just drill today, one day that rifle would be loaded. That was a potentially fatal weapon flopping wildly on the ground. Around Caleb, no Marine would ever be safe.
“Hertz!” SSgt Folsom called out after halting the platoon.
Since he had already blown it, Caleb took this opportunity to wipe the sweat from his face. SSgt Folsom scowled at him the second he did. He yelled, “Platoon, back to squad bay for square away time. Caleb Hertz, report to my house!”
Caleb had so far received special treatment from SSgt Folsom, but he didn’t trust him. He suspected that it might have just been a way to get the other men to hate Caleb more. As Caleb stood waiting outside SSgt Folsom’s office, he feared the worst. He had heard the rumors around the squad bay about special visits to the drill instructor’s house. He had heard about the invisible chair, where you had to pretend to sit with your back to the wall on a chair that wasn’t there and hold that position. Then there was something called the rack. He did not even know what that was, but he knew that it wasn’t referring to his bunk in this usage. Then there were the endless pushups, a kick that SSgt Folsom seemed to have been on lately.
Caleb imagined a scene where all the drill instructors were sipping Tanqueray and tonic, smoking cigars beside a roaring fire, discussing how their personal tastes in incentive physical training have evolved as they’ve grown older. Someone will mention that his style changed with the seasons. Another will say that his preference is unpredictable from one moment to the next, “That way I keep it spicy.” SSgt Folsom will confess to the kicky little pushup phase he is going through. “In the Marine Corps, two pushups is one pushup,” he was fond of saying.
SSgt Folsom was already behind his desk when Caleb reached his door, and without looking up ordered Caleb to enter. Caleb knew that, after the beating he had received, his body would not have the physical strength to endure any punishment. His mind desperately ran over his options. He could beg. He could cry. None of these seemed like a good idea. He tried to figure out how he could make himself pass out – the old dead weight form of non-violent resistance. Caleb had heard that Mahatma Gandhi freed all of
India’s indigo farmers just by going limp, but Caleb’s history was a bit rusty. When his straight friends had joined the service before, he always told them, “If you ever change your mind, you can get thrown out by just making a pass at your drill instructor,” but unfortunately for Caleb in that moment, those days were over. He knew that times had changed. Caleb was now the last person in the whole Marine Corps who could get himself kicked out.
“At ease,” SSgt Folsom said as Caleb walked in. Caleb was anything but at ease. SSgt Folsom pretended to be distracted by some papers on his desk and Caleb got the feeling he forgot Caleb was there. Finally he asked, “Do you have anything that you would like to report to me, recruit?”
“Sir, no, sir.” Caleb’s body jerked as he coughed twice into his hand before controlling it. SSgt Folsom turned to scowl at him for the interruption as Caleb quickly returned his right hand to its proper position behind his back and looked straight ahead. He tried not to show any change of expression as he considered the new taste in his mouth. He moved his left finger to examine his right hand. It felt slick and warm. Just as he had suspected, he had coughed up a stain of blood.
“Don’t lie to me, son. You looked like crap out there. You’re weak. You’re distracted. You have no explanation for that?”
“Sir, no, sir.”
“So the rumor that I heard about a blanket party isn’t true?”
Caleb froze. He didn’t know what SSgt Folsom was trying to pull. Is he looking out for me, or is this some type of mind game? How did SSgt Folsom know about the blanket party? Did he know beforehand and not stop it? Caleb wondered if SSgt Folsom’s concern now was because he felt guilty for letting it happen.
“Sir, this recruit knows nothing about that, sir,” he said. Caleb’s body coughed again. He drew his lips tight together in order to not invite SSgt Folsom’s scorn and not display any blood. He could taste another spot of blood on his tongue and quickly swallowed it.
“So, you weren’t the victim of any…hazing?”
Caleb was struck by the underwhelming nature of the word hazing, a word that had popped up routinely throughout his life, but was never quite adequate enough. The answer ran through his mind, Sir, perhaps it was one of the other gay recruits, sir, but he decided against it. He said, “Sir, no, sir.”
“Listen, son, this is serious business. If you think you are somehow duty bound to protect your fellow recruits, you’re not. If you are worried about retaliation, you have to work with me so I can protect you.”
“Sir, this recruit knows nothing about that, sir,” he repeated.
“Can you explain how it is that I found a US Marine Corps blanket on the far side of the parade deck, and how your rack is the only one missing such a blanket?”
Caleb hesitated, “Sir, perhaps this recruit was sleepwalking, sir.”
“Recruit, you mean to tell me that you got out of your rack, walked out of the hatch and across the parade deck while sleeping?”
“Sir, this recruit would like to offer his apologies for waking up and forgetting his blanket upon returning to bed, sir.”
“Uh huh. We aren’t going to have anymore instances of this sleepwalking are we?”
“Sir, no, sir.”
“You’re never going to open up your rifle on your platoon in your sleep, or pull the pin out of a grenade while sleeping are you?”
“Sir, no sir.”
“Dismissed,” SSgt Folsom told him, but before he got to the door he added, “Recruit?”
“Sir, yes, sir?”
SSgt Folsom looked as though he was battling an internal struggle. He said, “Forget it, recruit.”
***
When Caleb entered the squad bay, every eye was on him. He was getting used to being the one stared at. He preferred it to the feeling he got after the blanket party when no eye was on him. Taking a look at his rack, Caleb realized SSgt Folsom had never mentioned the fate of his blanket – when, or if, he would ever get it back.
“A-ten-Hut!” SSgt Folsom busted in with another surprise inspection. All the men quickly ran through the content of their foot lockers in their heads, trying to remember if they had everything squared away. SSgt Folsom’s movements were fast. You could tell that he had no desire to draw things out this time. His mannerisms resembled that of a drug dog, frantically sniffing every square inch, but only looking for one thing.
He wasn’t finding it. Everything in the whole squad bay was perfect. The men began to wonder if he would just mess something up and blame them for it like he did last time. The final thing that he came to was Caleb’s rack. “Where is your blanket, Hertz?”
“Sir, I have no idea, sir.”
“Well, what happened to it?” SSgt Folsom acted as if their prior conversation never happened.
“Sir, I lost it sleepwalking, sir.”
SSgt Folsom turned to Trey Tucker, “Is that true, Recruit Tucker?”
“Sir, Recruit Hertz wouldn’t lie, sir.”
“You miserable puke, I did not ask you about Hertz’s character, I asked you about Hertz’s blanket. Is it true that he lost it while sleepwalking, recruit?” By this point he was really loud, yelling right in Trey’s face.
Trey’s eye twitched. He said, “Sir, yes it is true, sir.”
SSgt Folsom smiled, he turned away from Trey and barked, “Twenty pushups for failing inspection!”
A strange phenomenon occurs in boot camp, a group of men learn to somehow collectively sigh, without a single one of them making a sound. They knew that if he called for twenty pushups it really meant forty. Every man in the unit dropped to the ground, to assume the position for pushups.
“Now just what do you heterosexuals think you are doing? Get off the deck! Get off the deck!” SSgt Folsom yelled get off the deck so loud that everyone jumped to their feet, including Caleb. With that, SSgt Folsom went insane. He ran over to where Caleb was standing, his face was red and his nostrils flared. As he yelled, spit flew from his mouth. “What are you doing off the deck, homosexual? I said all heterosexuals off the deck. You’re not a heterosexual are you, Hertz?”
“Sir, no, sir.”
“You’re one of them homosexuals, aren’t you?”
“Sir, yes, sir.”
“Then get your homosexual face on the ground and give me twenty pushups!” Caleb snapped down and began his pushups. “Recruit Tucker, count off his cadence so I can continue to yell at him.”
“One, two, three…” Trey began to count off the steps to do a Marine pushup.
At the end of the second pushup Caleb called out, “One.”
“One? That was not one pushup, homosexual! How dare you claim to have done one pushup! What are you thinking?”
“Sir, to a Marine two pushups is one pushup, sir,” Caleb made the case.
“Yes, but to a homosexual Marine, four pushups is one pushup! Now keep going.”
SSgt Folsom lowered himself down so that he could yell in Caleb’s face even as he did the pushups. “Recruit, do you find me attractive?”
“Sir, this recruit prefers not to answer, sir.”
“Why is that, recruit?”
“Sir, because if this recruit says no, then you will hurt him and ask, ‘What, I’m not good enough for you?’” Caleb talked through heavy pants as he continued doing the pushups. “But, if this recruit says yes, then you will hurt him and ask, ‘What, you want to sleep with me or something?’”
SSgt Folsom knocked Caleb’s hand out from under him, causing him to fall painfully on his elbow. “What? Do you think I am some sort of drill instructor stereotype?”
“Sir, no, sir.”
“So, then you do find me attractive?”
“Sir, no, sir.”
Someone in the bay made the mistake of laughing. It was Terrence Brown. SSgt Folsom instantly snapped up. “Who laughed?” he shouted as he quickly paced down the squad bay. “Who laughed?”
Terrence was brave. “Sir, this recruit laughed, sir.”
SSgt Folsom immediately hone
d in on Terrence and yelled, “Who were you laughing at recruit, me or the homosexual?”
“Sir, the homosexual, sir.”
“You think that it’s fun to laugh at homosexuals?” SSgt Folsom’s responses came lightning quick like it was a drill that he had mastered.
“Sir, no, sir.”
“Why not, because you two are make-out buddies?”
“Sir, no sir.”
“Well, your laugh just cost the homosexual ten more pushups.” Terrence knew that meant forty more, but his face showed no emotion. SSgt Folsom laughed and walked back over to Caleb. He asked, “Recruit, what made you decide to join the United States Marine Corps?”
“Sir, this recruit wants to be great, sir.”
“Great how?”
“Sir, strong… brave… honorable…” Each word came at the peak of a pushup, as if he were pushing toward the word and toward the goal. He did not sandwich each word with “Sir.” The platoon watched to see if SSgt Folsom would bust him on it and what more he would actually do to Caleb.
SSgt Folsom interrupted him. He said mockingly, “So you want to be just like me?”
There was a long pause. The entire platoon feared that Caleb might have the audacity to not answer. Finally he said in a voice sincere and firm, which contained no hint of mockery, “Sir, yes, sir. Just like you, sir.”
SSgt Folsom turned his head. The tone of Caleb’s voice caused SSgt Folsom to believe that he meant it. He wanted to hide the fact that this time he had no immediate response. He let out a long moan to indicate he was frustrated with the whole undignified mess. He stepped in close so that Caleb could catch sight of his ominous boots.