The Music Trilogy (62 page)

BOSTON

DECEMBER 2002

CHAPTER 12

Sam was taking a break and sitting at a table with Robert and Chantal who had come to relax and listen to some music.

“There’s gonna be a war, you’ll see,” Chantal said.

“How do you know?” Sam asked.

“Because the president is from Texas.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Sam, don’t you know you don’t fuck around with cowboys? Besides, Saddam tried to kill his daddy, and that pissed him off. Now’s his chance to get back at him.”

“Is that what you’re basing this on?”

“That, and I heard from my lil’ brother.”

“What did he say?”

“It’s serious. The troops are scrambling, preparing for war.”

“Don’t they always do that?”

“Yeah, but this is different. Hell, we’re all different since 9/11. People want revenge, they’re tired of feeling hopeless and defeated, and the Prez probably thinks this is a good solution, a way of bringing hope and unity to the masses.”

Robert hadn’t said a word throughout the entire conversation, but now he did. And he had an announcement. “Chantal’s right.” He looked at Sam, took her hands in his. “I have something to tell you.”

“Oh, oh, this sounds serious, I better leave you two alone,” Chantal said.

“No, please, you’re like a sister to Sam. I’d like you to stay.”

“Sure. No problem.” She looked at Sam. Bad news was coming. She knew it, she felt it.

“Sam,” Robert said.

“What is it?” She asked.

“Both Chantal and Tyrone are right. There’s going to be a war and I’m going to be a part of it.”

“What do you mean?”

“I’ve enlisted. I leave for boot camp in a week.”

“What? You can’t be serious.”

“I’m very serious. I just couldn’t sit around and not do something.”

“But that doesn’t mean you had to join the military.”

“Yes, it does.”

“But what about your studies? You’re almost finished with your journalism major.”

“I can come back after my tour of duty.”

“Robert, I’m your fiancée, surely you could have discussed it with me,” Sam said, now getting aggravated.

“You’re right, I’m sorry, but I thought you would try to change my mind.”

“Uh, huh,” Chantal said, “she probably would have. Where are you going, Robert?”

“Army. It’s the biggest branch in the military and I figure that’s where I can get the most stories.”

“Good luck to you, Robert. Stay safe.”

“Thanks Chantal, that means a lot.” Robert looked at Sam. “I’m really sorry, my love, but I just had to.”

“I understand that Robert, I just don’t understand why you couldn’t confide in me.” She got up. “I have to get back on stage.”

Robert and Chantal looked at the woman they both loved.

“The girl’s pissed, Robert.”

“Yeah, I screwed that up royally.”

“Well, I’m going back to the dorm. I need to study and then get some very much needed sleep.”

“Okay, have a good one. I’m going to hang out here until Sam finishes. Hopefully she’ll be a little calmer and I can talk to her.”

“I hope so too for your sake, Robert.”

He nodded as Chantal left and looked at Sam. She was on the stage, strumming her guitar, accompanying a young woman singing, possibly a student from the Berkley school. Robert watched the woman he loved. She wasn’t her usual jovial self who always enjoyed playing. He noticed an edge to her music, almost a sharpness where usually there was finesse and fluidity. He knew he was the reason, and he wanted to kick himself for the way he had announced his leaving. Somehow he would make it up to her.

Robert waited patiently at the table for the next two hours until Sam finished her shift. She never even looked at him. She packed her guitar in its case and came off the stage ready to go to the dorm. Robert came up behind her.

“Sam, we need to talk,” he said, gently putting his hand on her shoulder.

She whirled around, anger and frustration flashing in her eyes. “We need to talk? Now? No, Robert, we needed to talk before.
Before
you decided on your own, by
yourself
. If nothing more, just as a courtesy!” Sam marched out of the pub, her anger growing by the second. She had been aggravated during her playing, but now she was letting it out and very close to exploding. Robert followed behind her.

“Sam, please, don’t do this.”

Sam whirled around. “Don’t do this! Seriously? You’re asking
me
not to do this? What about you?
You
did this.”

“You’re absolutely right, I should have discussed this with you.”

“Damn right!” Sam was now absolutely furious.

“Sam, please, forgive me. I leave in a few days. Can we just enjoy them, together?

Sam forgave Robert, well, as much as she could. She was still hurt, felt betrayed that he hadn’t had the decency to include her in his plans. And of course they wouldn’t be together for the upcoming holidays.

She looked at the man she loved. He was sound asleep on the bed next to her, breathing easily and peacefully. She gently put her fingers in his hair, careful not to wake him, but he stirred, opened his eyes and smiled at her.

“Good morning,” he said.

“Good morning to you too.”

Robert rolled over and took her in his arms. “Sam, these past few days have been the best of my life.

“Yes, Robert, they have been good.”

♫

MARCH AIR FORCE BASE, CALIFORNIA

FEBRUARY 2003

CHAPTER 13

“…be careful and keep your head down. I love you,” Davina said, as calmly as she could, and hung up the phone. She grabbed the kitchen counter. The color had completely drained from her face. The more she thought about the conversation the more she was losing control of her legs. They were very quickly turning to rubber.

“Davina? Are you alright?” Alejandro asked. Davina shakily put her hand out as the tears she was holding back finally spilled out of her eyes. Alejandro immediately jumped out of his chair, grabbed his wife and held her up. “My God, what’s happened? Is it Melina?”

Davina shook her head. “That was Max. They’re leaving for Kuwait.”

Alejandro carefully led her to the sofa where they both sat quietly for a few moments while Davina wept.

“He’s not even twenty years old.” She moaned.

“He’ll be fine. He comes from a long line of warriors. He’s smart and a quick thinker.

Davina hoped he was right. With all his talents and sharpness Max had never confronted anything of this nature, and she knew it would be colossal.

The buses carrying the Marines drove onto the air field. They stopped in front of the moving staircase attached to the commercial plane chartered to fly them to Kuwait. They stepped out of the vehicles and walked up the stairs. They all wore camouflage fatigues, and their weapons slung over their shoulders. They slowly made their way to their seats. The atmosphere was filled with excitement and anticipation, young men heading out for the journey of a lifetime. Their first stop on the way to Kuwait would be in Frankfurt.

Max settled into his seat. As soon as they were in the air he brought out his green denim-covered journal, and started writing his thoughts down.

February 22
nd
2003

I’m don’t think I’m a good person. I like to think I’m good, maybe I am. I don’t know. But if people knew of some of the things I’ve done they would probably agree with me. I can’t help but think this is just one big payback for me. I really want to return home alive. I want to see my mother and father again. That’s another thing. Why was I so lucky to have good parents? Some people grow up abused, hungry, in a terrible foster home, or just completely homeless. My friend Jerry, he’s been one of my best friends since I was seven years old. His father died when we were in fourth grade. It was a hit and run. Jerry’s dad was picking him up from basketball camp. His grandfather and little sister were both in the car as well. They survived but his dad didn’t. He is now a twenty year old man. Jerry is one of the most sincere, honest people I have ever known. Why did he deserve to grow up without a father? Why do things work like this? I wish I could be the one to know the answers. I wish I could know the next thing that’s about to happen. I can’t say I regret joining the Marine Corps, but it isn’t the most wonderful time of my life. For people who have been in the military, especially the Corps, they know what I’m talking about. I made up a quote at some point. I was a little intoxicated, and I was pissed we had just gotten word we had to work on Saturday. I yelled at the top of my lungs “We fight for everyone’s freedom, but we have none.” The quote stuck with the platoon. I guess it’s a sacrifice we make. But you know what makes it worth it? Meeting new people from all over the country. Like the Marine sitting next to me. We go through so much shit together. That’s what makes Marines brothers. I have full confidence in all of us. There will be no more goodbyes, just hellos.

When we were leaving Camp Pendleton I had a number of mixed emotions. I saw wives, brothers, sisters, fathers, mothers, sons, daughters, girlfriends, fiancées, grandmothers, grandfathers, aunts, uncles, and of course friends. They all had a look in their eye, one that is hard to describe, but being there you could understand. Watching the news or the movies can’t compare to seeing first hand a loved one leaving another for war, but this look was one of optimism, a look of hope, yet a look of sadness. I watched a fellow Marine holding his mother in one arm and little brother in the other. I couldn’t help but get choked up. Unfortunately I couldn’t hold my mother or my father yesterday, but in a way I guess it was easier without them. Never in my life have I been so ready and focused on something like I am now. When the platoon was clearing out their rooms and getting gear together to load up on the buses to take us to March Air Force base I couldn’t help but feel good, like graduation morning from high school, or being excited about a girl you really like who said she would go out with you on Friday night. Was feeling like this at this moment in time wrong? Maybe, maybe not, but I know I wasn’t alone. Soon we will be landing in Germany. Frankfurt. I wish we could see the city. The Marine sitting next to me is really excited. He’s never been overseas before. I love watching him as his gaze is glued to the monitor that shows where on earth the plane is right now. It puts a smile on my face.

Back in my younger days I should have written about my travels to Europe and Mexico. But maybe that wasn’t the time. This is most definitely the time. I sit here and realize what I’m about to do, or do I? I’m twenty, going to war, heading toward the dangerous streets of Iraq. I’m listening to Cat Stevens—a British folk singer, part Swedish, part Cypriot, turned Muslim peace activist, but not a terrorist. If that isn’t ironic I don’t know what is. Why can’t they all be like Cat Stevens?

I just took part in a conversation that was about death. When fellow Marines talk about death its makes a day seem dark. The worst part right now is not knowing what to expect. We sit here waiting to go. Excitement, anticipation, sadness, fear, happiness. Yes, happiness. That feeling of happiness inside that you have, and you have it for one reason: the return. It seems I’m more focused on coming home and being some sort of hero than focusing on the task at hand. Mr. Ruppert put it best. He told me “keep your focus Max, know why you’re there. I’m so proud to know a man like you. My wife and children sit here comfortably while you put your life on the line. For us? Is that why you do it?” He asks. I thought to myself after he said this. Maybe that is why, I told myself. I was a teenage druggee, now a man, a Marine, a defender of the country and the peace. It’s my destiny. Never when I was hitting that joint or popping ecstasy did I think anything about the military. I used to laugh at recruiters when they came into the cafeteria during lunch at school. Now look at me. I believe everything is supposed to happen for a reason. What goes around comes around, right? Is this my coming around? You know, for all the terrible things I’ve done in life. Or is this my going around? For all the good things I’ve done. I hope I find out when I get there. This is going to be the worst experience of my life. I wouldn’t miss it for the world. When I’m back I’ll tell you if I’m coming or going.

It’s 2003 and as a twenty year old I can’t believe what I’m about to face. You see I am a member of America’s elite fighting force. They call me a U.S. Marine. A name? A title? A job? A legacy? I don’t know. What I finally do know is why I’m here. I joined the Corps for all the wrong reasons. I had problems with drugs. It’s all my life revolved around. Not so much an addiction to an actual specific drug, but more to the tradition or a ceremony which would take place when one of these drugs was being taken. Sometimes I didn’t know if I liked being on the drugs more or just the anticipation of doing them. It would always surprise me how many people shared my common interests, likes and dislikes. I always felt drugs had a bad rap. I was right. Don’t abuse, don’t misuse, have some fun and you can’t lose… right?

I was back in Washington about three weeks ago, and let me tell you there’s no better feeling in the world than coming home on leave when you’re in the military. When the flight attendant says ‘ladies and gentlemen, please fasten your seatbelts we are making our decent into Ronald Reagan Washington National Airport’, my dick gets hard. Why is it when you’re younger you get pissed at your parents for telling you to come home or not leave the house at all? But at this point in my life I would give anything to have my mother be able to not let me leave my house. “Sorry Sergeant, my mother wouldn’t let me come out today.”

I looked at the flight attendant’s legs, among other lovely assets, as she made her way forward. When she spoke into the microphone, her voice, slightly tinged with a mid-western accent, filled the cabin: “Gentlemen, we are approaching Frankfurt’s Rhein/Main airport. Please fasten your seatbelts and stow your weapons under the seats.” Yeah, not your typical international commercial flight. My fellow passengers were all Marines, armed with service rifles and 9mm pistols, dressed in desert camouflage. We were stopping in the middle of Europe on our way to our flight’s final destination: Kuwait. I’ve never felt safer in a plane in my life, and although I’ve been overseas quite a bit, every time before this I was sure I would return.

My next journal entry will be from sunny Kuwait.

♫