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LJ Idol 6.2: Old Corps, New Corps
Oct. 28th, 2009 07:50 pmThe young man stepped into the rectangle of light under the bus stop shelter, glanced at his wristwatch, and let out his breath. Good, he thought, he was early. He turned his head and examined the figure huddled on the bench in the corner of the structure. Some homeless person, he guessed, but he’d keep his eye on whoever it was, just the way his squad leader had trained him. “You’ve got to maintain situational awareness all the time,” his squad leader had said, “else some toothless old geezer selling almonds on the street somewhere will blow you away with the surplus AK he’s hiding under his robe.”
His thoughts turned to his girlfriend and the evening he had spent visiting her at her parents’ house, listening to her visiting loudmouth uncle sound off. It was enough to make his jaw muscles clench.
The uncle had been a Marine, too, back in Vietnam, and once the dude got started, he kept yammering about the “Old Corps” with the seriousness of a heart attack, bragging about how tough and rough it had been to be a Marine back then, and how the newest gyrenes were a bunch of pogues who couldn’t even stand in a chow line - much less go into battle - without the Internet and an iPod. The young man hadn't wanted to make a scene, so he kept his peace and didn’t argue, but the words still stung.
“You a Marine, laddie?” asked a thin voice from the direction of the figure in the corner, who turned out to be an old man, whose eyes were sunk so deeply into his head that they resembled points of reflected light in two black holes instead of eyes. The ghoulish effect was intensified by the straggled, straw-colored hair that parted in the middle and fell in disarray down the sides of his long face.
The young man nodded in the affirmative, not wanting to encourage conversation.
“I was a Marine once, myself,” said the old man. A moment passed.
“Look, buddy... I don’t have any spare change,” said the young man, who really only did have about enough cash to cover his bus fare back to the base. The old man cocked his head in surprise, then looked down, as if seeing his clothes for the first time.
“Well,” said the old man, looking back up a moment later, “I can see where you might get the notion that I’m appealing to your charity, but that’s not the case at all. Just making conversation, I am. Sorry to have disturbed you, my fine young Marine.” The old man turned away and appeared to settle back down to sleep.
I’m turning into a cantankerous dumbass, thought the young man, regretting his just-uttered words, so he said, “Listen, uh, mac, I’m... I’m sorry if I offended you.”
The old man didn’t move. The young man walked over to the bench, a few feet away from the old man, and sat down.
“Anyway, you know... they say there’s really no such thing as a former Marine.”
The man in the corner stirred and looked over at him. ‘That’s as may be,” said the man after a moment, “but there are limits, after all.” The old man withdrew a bony hand from under an armpit and scratched his chin. “Once one dies, for example, wouldn’t you agree?” asked the old man, with a little shrug. The young man didn't know what to make of the remark, so he said nothing for a little while.
“When were you in?” asked the young man, to keep the conversational ball rolling.
“I signed up back in ‘75,” said the old man.
“The year Saigon fell,” said the young man. “Did you serve in ‘Nam?”
The old man opened his mouth as if to offer a correction, then apparently changed his mind. “No,” said the old man. “I served my tour on a navy ship out of Providence, Rhode Island. I saw some action, but mostly it was work details and a lot of pretty bad chow.”
“I guess you didn't see much action then,” said the young man. The old man shrugged his shoulders philosophically and said, "I saw my share." A few more moments passed.
“So are you one of the ‘Old Corps’?” asked the young man suddenly, thinking of what his girlfriend’s uncle had said. “Do you look at guys like me and think what a sorry-ass bunch of losers we are because you guys used to chew nails for breakfast and do two 20-mile hikes a day, uphill each way, barefoot, in snow?”
“What are you talking about, lad?” asked the old man, and he seemed genuinely agitated. “Who’s been filling your head with such bilge?” He rose, and through the moth-eaten holes of what seemed to be an old green uniform with white facing, he posed an emaciated figure of parchment-like skin stretched over bone. This fellow's way old, thought the young man, and it's way late for Halloween.
“God’s wounds, boy,” continued the old man, taking a step forward, “I’ve seen you modern Marines in action, from my own unique perspective over the years, and while it’s true that, by all accounts, life is not as hard as it was when I was your age, I can tell you this: you’ve more than enough grit for the job, and back in the day, me and my lads would’ve been proud to have any of you leathernecks of today by our sides or at our back in a fight! And don’t let any son of a whore of any stripe tell you any different!”
The young man blinked a few times, then swallowed hard and nodded slightly. He was wasn’t quite sure what the old man’s “own perspective” might be other than a television tube, which couldn’t all that informative, but his attention was distracted by the sound of an approaching bus. His bus. As it slowed down he got up, nodded to the old man and said, “See you around, mac. Thanks. Take care of yourself.”
“And you, too, Marine,” said the old man. "Remember what I said."
The young man had taken two steps up into the bus when a question crossed his mind, but when he turned around to ask it, the bus stop was empty.
Postscript: The next day, instead of going on liberty, the young man visited the base library, where a dusty tome confirmed that Marines hadn’t deployed from Providence, Rhode Island aboard ship since, well... the year the Corps was established, in 1775.
* * *
Voting has begun for Week 2 of LJ Idol and closes at 8 pm EST on 11/2. The poll can be found here (along with links to everyone's entry for the week). Voting is open to all logged-in LJers and you can vote for as many (or as few) entries as you like.
His thoughts turned to his girlfriend and the evening he had spent visiting her at her parents’ house, listening to her visiting loudmouth uncle sound off. It was enough to make his jaw muscles clench.
The uncle had been a Marine, too, back in Vietnam, and once the dude got started, he kept yammering about the “Old Corps” with the seriousness of a heart attack, bragging about how tough and rough it had been to be a Marine back then, and how the newest gyrenes were a bunch of pogues who couldn’t even stand in a chow line - much less go into battle - without the Internet and an iPod. The young man hadn't wanted to make a scene, so he kept his peace and didn’t argue, but the words still stung.
“You a Marine, laddie?” asked a thin voice from the direction of the figure in the corner, who turned out to be an old man, whose eyes were sunk so deeply into his head that they resembled points of reflected light in two black holes instead of eyes. The ghoulish effect was intensified by the straggled, straw-colored hair that parted in the middle and fell in disarray down the sides of his long face.
The young man nodded in the affirmative, not wanting to encourage conversation.
“I was a Marine once, myself,” said the old man. A moment passed.
“Look, buddy... I don’t have any spare change,” said the young man, who really only did have about enough cash to cover his bus fare back to the base. The old man cocked his head in surprise, then looked down, as if seeing his clothes for the first time.
“Well,” said the old man, looking back up a moment later, “I can see where you might get the notion that I’m appealing to your charity, but that’s not the case at all. Just making conversation, I am. Sorry to have disturbed you, my fine young Marine.” The old man turned away and appeared to settle back down to sleep.
I’m turning into a cantankerous dumbass, thought the young man, regretting his just-uttered words, so he said, “Listen, uh, mac, I’m... I’m sorry if I offended you.”
The old man didn’t move. The young man walked over to the bench, a few feet away from the old man, and sat down.
“Anyway, you know... they say there’s really no such thing as a former Marine.”
The man in the corner stirred and looked over at him. ‘That’s as may be,” said the man after a moment, “but there are limits, after all.” The old man withdrew a bony hand from under an armpit and scratched his chin. “Once one dies, for example, wouldn’t you agree?” asked the old man, with a little shrug. The young man didn't know what to make of the remark, so he said nothing for a little while.
“When were you in?” asked the young man, to keep the conversational ball rolling.
“I signed up back in ‘75,” said the old man.
“The year Saigon fell,” said the young man. “Did you serve in ‘Nam?”
The old man opened his mouth as if to offer a correction, then apparently changed his mind. “No,” said the old man. “I served my tour on a navy ship out of Providence, Rhode Island. I saw some action, but mostly it was work details and a lot of pretty bad chow.”
“I guess you didn't see much action then,” said the young man. The old man shrugged his shoulders philosophically and said, "I saw my share." A few more moments passed.
“So are you one of the ‘Old Corps’?” asked the young man suddenly, thinking of what his girlfriend’s uncle had said. “Do you look at guys like me and think what a sorry-ass bunch of losers we are because you guys used to chew nails for breakfast and do two 20-mile hikes a day, uphill each way, barefoot, in snow?”
“What are you talking about, lad?” asked the old man, and he seemed genuinely agitated. “Who’s been filling your head with such bilge?” He rose, and through the moth-eaten holes of what seemed to be an old green uniform with white facing, he posed an emaciated figure of parchment-like skin stretched over bone. This fellow's way old, thought the young man, and it's way late for Halloween.
“God’s wounds, boy,” continued the old man, taking a step forward, “I’ve seen you modern Marines in action, from my own unique perspective over the years, and while it’s true that, by all accounts, life is not as hard as it was when I was your age, I can tell you this: you’ve more than enough grit for the job, and back in the day, me and my lads would’ve been proud to have any of you leathernecks of today by our sides or at our back in a fight! And don’t let any son of a whore of any stripe tell you any different!”
The young man blinked a few times, then swallowed hard and nodded slightly. He was wasn’t quite sure what the old man’s “own perspective” might be other than a television tube, which couldn’t all that informative, but his attention was distracted by the sound of an approaching bus. His bus. As it slowed down he got up, nodded to the old man and said, “See you around, mac. Thanks. Take care of yourself.”
“And you, too, Marine,” said the old man. "Remember what I said."
The young man had taken two steps up into the bus when a question crossed his mind, but when he turned around to ask it, the bus stop was empty.
Postscript: The next day, instead of going on liberty, the young man visited the base library, where a dusty tome confirmed that Marines hadn’t deployed from Providence, Rhode Island aboard ship since, well... the year the Corps was established, in 1775.
Voting has begun for Week 2 of LJ Idol and closes at 8 pm EST on 11/2. The poll can be found here (along with links to everyone's entry for the week). Voting is open to all logged-in LJers and you can vote for as many (or as few) entries as you like.
