we must be just in our imitation of God. This means obeying the authorities, those ordained by heaven, for the authorities are responsible for the good. The good you have chosen to uphold. In this way, your sacrifice is used by God.” He would smile at us before continuing. “You are God’s instruments. Right now, I know it is difficult to see that. You are living through trials and tribulations. You are tired, weary—struggling.” He paused. “Come to Jesus. Find your rest.”
When he finished, we were quickly ushered outside and marched back to our barracks. These Sunday morning marches were led by fellow recruits, and as such, were silent. The chaplain’s words, beating in line with our treading boots, pounded in my head. I don’t feel like an instrument.
8. Spring Cleaning
Halfway through Recruit Training we moved from the San Diego Recruit Depot to Camp Pendleton. Before we moved, however, we had to complete Team Week. During Team Week our platoon was broken up into fire squads—groups of about four to eight people—to work throughout the base. Some recruits were assigned to the chow hall to prepare and serve food, others were assigned to the headquarters’ office to make photocopies and clean, and others were assigned to the camp janitorial services. Three other recruits and I were commanded to stay behind and “spring clean” our barracks. This was the worst posting because whoever was in the barracks had to work with Beelzebub. I was hoping for an escape, but instead received rampant intimacy. All week long we cleaned, ran errands for Beelzebub, and got killed.
The other two recruits on barracks duty were Recruit Juarez and Recruit Portland. Juarez was a gangly Mexican. He enlisted to gain his US citizenship. Portland, on the other hand, was a stoner using the Marine Corps as a rehabilitation facility.
“Can you believe we’re stuck with this shit?” Portland asked. The three of us were in the shower room. It was our first day on barracks duty and we were scrubbing the bathroom’s floor. Beelzebub had said he wanted to see the reflection of his ass when he came back. We were doing our best to accommodate his request.
“I was hoping for chow duty,” I replied. “I heard those recruits eat donuts.”
“Bullshit,” Portland said. We were silent for a time, scouring the floor with steel wool. “What’s the first thing you’ll do after Recruit Training?”
“I don’t know. Eat a hamburger, I guess. You?”
“I’m gonna sleep—for a week.”
“What about you?” I asked, turning to Juarez. He was scrubbing the floor next to us, humming softly.
“He won’t answer.”
“Why?”
“He’ll only speak English with a DI—shitty English at that. I doubt he even knows what you’re saying.” Recruit Juarez stopped polishing the floor and looked at Portland. “Can you understand me?” Portland asked, taking care to enunciate. Juarez stared at Portland for a few seconds more before returning his attention to the bathroom’s floor. “See? Dumb as a rock.”
One afternoon while we were mopping our barracks, a shout exploded from the DI’s office.
“Peters, get in here!”
Shit.
It was Beelzebub. He was sitting behind his desk, legs kicked over the top. His shaved head was glowing under the florescent lights. He smelled like Bulldog, a Marine Corps cologne. I walked in and stood at attention. “Recruit Peters reporting as ordered, Drill Instructor.”
“At ease.”
I was nervous.
“Why the hell are you here, Peters?”
“Drill Instructor?” I didn’t understand the question.
“Why the hell are you here?”
“You called for me, Drill Instructor.”
He shook his head. “I mean the Corps, Recruit.”
I hesitated. “To serve my country, Drill Instructor.”
“Really?”
“Yes, Drill Instructor.”
“Hmm.” His brown eyes bored into me. “I looked over your file, Recruit. It says you have two years of college, that you even played college football. Again, why the hell are you here? I wouldn’t leave that.”
“To serve, Drill Instructor.”
“Yeah, bullshit, no one’s in the Marine Corps to serve, Recruit. We’re all running from something. What’s your something?”
I stared at a spot on the wall behind Beelzebub’s head. I wouldn’t answer that question, not for him.
“Recruit?”
Silence.
“Alright, then tell me this, why not finish school and join as an officer?”
“The Marine Corps enlisted, Drill Instructor, they’re the best and bravest.”
“Oh! Semper Fi and all that, right?”
“Yes, Drill Instructor. Honor, Courage, and Commitment.”
“Look at the little bird sing.”
“Drill Instructor?”
“But you’re not a Marine, are you? You’re a reservist. Even if I hadn’t seen your file, I can smell it on you. You reek of it.”
“Of what, Drill Instructor?”
“Half-ass bullshit. You’re not in this, not really. You think you’ve an escape.” Beelzebub looked down at his desk. “Dismissed, Recruit.”
I stood at attention, saluted, about faced, and went back to mopping. I didn’t dwell on it; in the morning they were bussing us to Camp Pendleton. Six more weeks. I can do anything for six weeks.
interlude
“How are you?”
“I’m fine.”
Trent smiled, fatherly. “We both know that isn’t true.”
I chewed my cheek.
“I’ll tell you what,” he sighed. “Why don’t you start somewhere easy. Tell me about your return from Iraq.”
I can do that.
“I remember peering up this flight of stairs at DIA. I had flown in from California. I didn’t know what to expect. When I landed in California, the active duty Marines were greeted by coworkers, family, and friends. I was a reservist, and so I awkwardly fumbled through the crowds, seeking a bus to take me to base. I didn’t know anyone, and no one knew me.” I breathed. “For two weeks, I waited in California. I ran and read. I had nowhere to go. It was a strange feeling, after months of accountability. I was free, but it was a useless freedom. I didn’t know how to spend it.”
“Why
