by Annie Stone
“WHAT DO YOU MEAN?” Carter screams, his voice carrying through the entire house. It’s the morning of Hunter’s high school graduation. In a few short hours, diplomas will be handed out, tearful speeches given, and mortarboards thrown into the air.
Then a whole bunch of young adults will be released into the world to start their lives.
“I joined up,” Hunter calmly repeats.
I can’t really process what he’s saying. He joined up. Joined what? The Peace Corps, maybe? Please, God, let it be the Peace Corps.
“WHAT IS YOUR FUCKING PROBLEM?” Carter screams.
Carey sits down in a kitchen chair looking pale. He stares at his brother, horrified, his fingers clawed around the edge of the table, knuckles white.
“Can we talk about this?” Hunter asks. “A little more calmly, maybe?”
“Talk about what? What the fuck is there to talk about?”
“Dad, I’ve thought about this long and hard. I want to do it. I have to do it.” Hunter puts a hand on his chest. “I can feel deep inside me that I have to do this. It’s my calling.”
Carter shakes his head furiously. “Your calling is to lead a long life, have lots of kids, and grow old with your wife! Not to be torn into a hundred pieces in fucking Iraq!” I’ve never seen Carter like this. He’s completely out of it. Mad with worry.
“That’s not what I’m planning on,” Hunter answers, staying calm while his dad has a fit.
“But that’s what happens every day!” Carter shouts. “This isn’t a fucking game—one of those stupid video games you two play! This is serious. People die out there every day. Again and again. And you think you can just go, and nothing’s going to happen to you? How naive are you?”
Stepping up beside Carter, I put a hand on his arm, but he shakes it off. Hunter’s eyes find mine, and he looks like he’s quietly asking for forgiveness.
“I’m not letting you go!” Carter screams, raising his arms. One accidentally hits me, and I flinch.
“Fuck, Dad! Don’t you dare hurt Mac!” Hunter screams, pushing himself between us.
“Are you listening to me?” Carter yells, ironically not listening to a word Hunter says. “I’m not letting you go! You’re still a goddamn kid!” All he can think about is saving his son.
“You can’t stop me,” Hunter says calmly. “I’m eighteen. I’ve signed up, and they’ve accepted me.”
Trembling, I put a hand on his back. “When are you leaving?”
He turns around and gives me a sad look. “A week.”
“LEAVING?” Carter screams, grabbing my arm. “Have you lost your mind, Mackenzie? He’s not going anywhere!”
Hunter stops him. “Dad! I’m serious. Leave Mac out of this.”
“STOP IT!” Carey cries out, despair in his voice.
We all turn to face him. Pale as death, he’s standing a few steps away from us, tears in his eyes.
“Hunt,” he says haltingly, and I see Hunter swallow. He walks across to his little brother and pulls him into his arms, hard.
Tears run down my cheeks. I know how hard this is for them. How hard it is for Hunter to leave his little brother.
“He’s not going!” Carter screams again.
Hunter turns around. “It’s not your call, Dad.”
“As long as you’re living under—”
“Fuck, Dad! Stop already. I’m a legal adult. And I’ve made my decision. You’ve always told me nobody can make my decisions for me. That I have to find my own path. You’ve told me again and again that I get to be whatever the fuck I want.”
“Anything but this, Hunter! You can’t go off to war and get killed! I’m not letting you!”
“It’s not WWII, Dad,” Hunter says, shaking his head, “where soldiers were just cannon fodder. Sure, there are casualties, but not many.”
“People die out there!” Carter thunders. “It’s not a freaking picnic, Hunter! Do you have any idea what’s going on over there?”
“Yeah, I do. Because I’m not a child, Dad. I know exactly what is going on over there. So stop treating me like a kid.”
“Then don’t act like one!”
Finally, Hunter loses his calm. “I’m not acting like a child! I told you about my decision—a decision I made regarding my life. You don’t have to like it, but you’ll have to accept it.”
“Jesus Christ,” Carter mutters, running a hand over his face. “Since when do they let kids join the army?”
“Not the army,” Hunter says quietly. “The Marines.”
For a moment, there’s a deadly silence.
“HAVE YOU LOST YOUR FUCKING MIND?” The words detonate from Carter’s mouth.
“That’s enough, Dad. It’s my final decision.”
Carter shakes his head. “Then get out!”
Silence descends upon us again. But Carter seems to be gaining steam, not losing it.
“Get out!” he repeats. “If you’re not going to follow my rules, get out of my house right now!”
“Carter,” I plead, “please—”
“Stay out of this, Mackenzie.” His words feel like a slap.
“Is that your final decision?” Hunter asks, and I can tell he’s struggling not to lose it himself.
“Yes. If this is what you want, then I don’t want to see you again.” Carter’s voice is cold as ice.
Hunter turns to Carey and hugs him fiercely. Tears are running down Carey’s cheeks, and his hands claw into Hunter’s shirt, not wanting to let him go. But then his brother frees himself, and Carey’s hands are holding on to nothing.
Hunter comes over to me, holds my face in his hands, bends close to my ear, and whispers, “I love you, doll.”
I swallow hard. He leans back and looks at me with his chocolate-brown eyes for one never-ending moment before he leans forward and kisses me on the mouth—hard.
“WHAT THE HELL?” Carter bellows, but Hunter is already storming out of the house.
Carter stretches out his hand, as if he doesn’t want to let his son go, but he doesn’t say anything. We hear an engine howl outside, and Carey runs after him, calling his name. When I hear sobs coming from the driveway, I run after him.
Carey’s kneeling on the asphalt, all alone. Kneeling beside him, I throw my arms around him. “It’s okay,” I whisper.
“No, Mac, he can’t leave! Hunter can’t leave!”
“I’m so sorry, honey,” I say into his ear, hugging him tight.
“He can’t leave.”
I stroke his hair. “Give him a few hours, then we’ll go looking for him, okay?”
He nods. “I’m scared.”
“Me too, honey. Me too.”
When we go back inside, Carter’s sitting on the couch, his head buried in his hands.
“How could you?” Carey demands. “You chased him away!”
Carter looks up. His eyes are red. I can tell he’s trying to hold back but can’t. “Don’t talk to me like that, Carey! Go to your room!”
Carey gives him an incredulous look. Then, wordlessly, he turns around and runs upstairs.
I don’t know how to deal with Carter in this state. So I just sit down beside him and hesitantly put a hand on his arm. His muscles tense up.
“Why did he kiss you like that?” he asks coldly.
I shrug. “I don’t know.”
“Does he have feelings for you?”
“Maybe a little, but nothing serious, I don’t think.” Lying to him rips me apart.
“How long have you known?”
Swallowing, I tilt my head. “Six months?”
“And you didn’t think I might be interested to know my son was falling in love with my girlfriend?” He sounds angry, and I don’t like it.
“I thought he just had a crush on me. Carter, is this really what you want to talk about right now?”
He gets up and paces up the room. “No.” He shakes his head sadly. “But the only one I have left is you.”
“Okay,” I say quietly. “If you nee
d somebody to take it out on, that’s fine. I’m here. I’m here for you and Carey.”
He looks at me and snorts. “I’m not the type of man who shouts at his girlfriend.”
“I know.”
He runs a hand through his hair. “I should talk to Carey.”
“You should.”
He pins me with his eyes. “Okay.” After kissing me on the head, he goes upstairs.
Then I get to work trying to figure out where Hunter went. I call Devon, the most obvious choice, but he hasn’t heard from Hunter. He doesn’t know where he could be, either. I call Hunter’s cell, but of course he doesn’t pick up. I send him a text telling him I’m worried, to call me.
And then I remember the rage mountain.
When I get there, he’s sitting in the dirt staring out at the ocean. I get out of the car and walk over to him. “Hey,” I say quietly, sitting down beside him.
“I have to do this, Mac,” he says, not even looking at me.
“I know,” I say and look at the ground.
“I can’t stay here.”
“I know.”
He looks at me. “The situation is eating me up inside.”
I nod, tears welling in my eyes.
“Mac, I love you. I’m totally crazy about you. I can’t think of anything but you. And it breaks my heart knowing that you don’t feel the same way about me, and never will.”
“I’m so sorry,” I mumble, the tears running down my cheeks.
“Don’t cry, doll, please don’t cry. I can’t take it.” Gently, he strokes my cheek.
“I wish things were different,” I whisper.
He nods. “Just tell me one thing, Mac, okay?”
“Okay.”
“If you weren’t with Dad, if I’d met you as a legal adult…could you have fallen in love with me?” He looks a little lost, insecure, because he’s hoping for an answer that will make things easier and harder for him at the same time. I can see traces of the little boy he once was in the man he has become.
So what can I say? A no would rip him apart. A yes, too. Which is better? Knowing that it would never have worked, or that it’s only this way because fate dealt him this card? That it was just bad timing?
Finally, I nod.
His smile is sad. His chocolate eyes look desperate. “Can I ask you a favor?”
“Sure.”
“Kiss me like you’re my girl. Just once.”
I hesitate for a moment. I don’t want to refuse him this wish, but I don’t want to hurt Carter, either. But in the end…my heart takes over.
I grab his beautiful face with my hands and smile at him. He waits—just like he promised. He won’t initiate anything ever again. Our gazes are locked as I bend toward him, gently let my lips brush over his, feel his breath halt for a second, and let my mouth melt into his.
He pulls me onto his lap, and I can feel his erection. His hands slide down to my butt, and he squeezes our hips together. He pushes his erection against me, and I moan.
I tap against him with my tongue, and he opens his lips. I penetrate him, and our sweet kiss turns into a passionate one. His penis, pushing against my clit, takes my breath away.
He takes one hand off my butt and moves it across my belly, stroking the underside of my breasts with his thumbs.
“I would love to see your tits, doll. Just once,” he says hoarsely. I’m sure then that he’s going to take my clothes off, but he doesn’t. Like he wants to save it for later. Instead, he kisses me again, gently stroking my stomach.
“So perfect! So damn perfect!” he mumbles between his kisses, as they grow more passionate.
“Hunter, stop,” I murmur, even though his kisses are driving me so crazy I can hardly think straight. “Please stop.”
Obediently pulling away, he gives me a gentle look. “Sorry. You’re just unbelievable. You’ve been driving me crazy ever since I first met you.”
My eyes widen. “Ever since you first met me? But you hated me back then!”
He gives me a charming smile. “But I loved your tits.”
I nudge his shoulder and move to get up. A sorrowful moan escapes his lips, and he stops me with his hands on my hips.
“One more kiss, beautiful,” he says quietly. Again, he waits for me to make the first move. And I do. After half an eternity, we separate, and regret spreads throughout me.
“Mac, I said I was leaving next week, but I’m not coming home again. I’m going to stay with Shane. Boot camp is here in San Diego, but…”
“I get it, Hunter. It’s hard enough.”
He nods sadly. “Do me one more favor.”
I look at him, waiting.
“I’m going to come pick up my stuff tomorrow morning. Please don’t be there, and make sure Care’s not there, either. I’m not strong enough to say goodbye to him again.”
I nod, and he gets up. Then he grabs my hand and helps me stand. He hugs me gently, planting another fleeting kiss on my lips, before turning and running to his car. I stand in the heat of the Californian sun and look after the car carrying Hunter away from me.
And I have never felt so lonely in my life…
Part 2
1
Hunter
When we get out off the bus at Marine Corps Recruit Depot San Diego, we’re told to step onto the yellow footprints, our first formation for close-order drill. They used the bus ride to give us a first impression of our new life as Marines. To sum it up: nothing here is even remotely gentle or pleasant.
We’re allowed to call home and inform our next of kin that we’ve arrived safely. But, obviously, I don’t. I can’t risk Mac picking up. Hearing her voice would kill me. What if she sounded sad? I’d be on my way home in an instant—but that would make me a deserter. And what if she sounded happy? My heart would turn to dust.
After people have made their calls, we’re given uniforms and a “high and tight”—that hot Marine-style haircut. I already wear my hair short, but after they’re done, I’m practically bald.
That first day, we have to fill in forms, then we get some vaccines and undergo medical examinations. And then? They give us our first weapon.
For three days, we’re up and running without any sleep whatsoever. After that, we have to take the IST—the initial strength test—to see whether we’re fit to be Marines.
First, we’re required to do sit-ups—at least forty-five in two minutes. I’m glad I’m in good shape, thanks to football—and Shane. While it’s happening, I don’t really have time to see how the others do, but I do notice some of them giving up. So far, I haven’t really talked to anyone. But after three days without sleep, expecting anyone to get anything done is pretty much a miracle.
Next, we do pull-ups. We have to do three, which seems laughable. I can do way more, but no need to show them. After that, we have to complete a one-and-a-half mile run in less than thirteen and a half minutes. Not a problem. Even when groggy and sleep deprived. But this is how they separate the wheat from the chaff. I would be embarrassed to be failing already, but some of these guys really do not measure up to what’s expected of a Marine.
I’ve never been so exhausted in my life. You know when you’re dead tired, but then you keep going and get beyond that point? No? I don’t either. I’d fall asleep standing up if they’d let me. But there isn’t a quiet minute to be had. The only good thing about all this? There’s no time to think.
I reach my limits on “Black Friday.” We meet our drill instructor, who yells at us and intimidates us, pushing our psychological limits. Shane told me about this—including the fact that they make the initial stage of boot camp as confusing and disorienting as possible to let us know that civilian life is over for us, and life as a Marine is something completely different.
But it’s tough. In my family, there’s never been a lot of yelling. Dad probably yelled at me for the first time in five years just last week. And suddenly there’s this guy yelling directly into your ear, not giving you an ounce of the respect
you’re used to, the respect your father always said you deserved. Your initial impulse is not to stand there and take it. Growing up in liberal California has made it difficult to take that kind of abuse. But I do anyway. I know they want total obedience so that we can function in extreme situations, and this is what I want.
But that was only the Receiving Phase.
As soon as we enter Phase One, I’ll want to go back to the first part of our training—or to any other part of my life, for that matter. Phase One will take four weeks, and they’ll break us down psychologically, trying to expel every last ounce of civilian behavior from our bones. Because we are no longer civilians. We are Marine recruits. Everything we’ve done in our lives thus far is wrong and bad for us if we want to be proper soldiers.
Strict discipline, endless training, and the same routines over and over again—these are the building blocks of our first few weeks. Training is easy for me. Okay, that might be a slight exaggeration, but I knew it was going to be bad. I’ve been preparing myself for this, which makes it easier. I can take it. But what I really hate is all the stuff they do to rob us of our individuality. Your entire life people have been telling you to choose your own path and stop being like a sheep following the herd, and suddenly it’s the exact opposite they want from you.
We’re not supposed to be individuals. We’re supposed to be a team. And it makes sense. We need to be able to rely on each other. In combat, we can’t be successful if we’re not a cohesive unit, but it’s still tough. We’re only allowed to talk about ourselves in the third person, saying things like “This recruit understands” and stuff. Everything inside me rebels against it, but I know that’s part of it all.
At night, I lie awake trying not to think about Mac. She is my strength and my greatest weakness at the same time. I want to make her proud, show her what kind of man I am. But thinking of her also opens up wounds inside me. It’s hard to love and not be loved back.
On the other hand, intense physical and mental exhaustion makes it impossible to give too much thought to anything. It may sound strange, but I embrace the rigidity. I don’t want to think about all the things that are going wrong in my life, and instead focus on surviving this. And it’s like the drill sergeants know it. They make sure that if they ever give us a free moment, all we want to do is sleep.