The Thing He Carried

Okay

All around me the options seemed to be narrowing, as if I were hurtling down a huge black funnel, the whole world squeezing in tight.

The moments outside the bureau ticked by slow and steady as if taking a painful march through an unexplored forest. Hums of the space sounded familiar, as if he were in any office. It seemed unsettled and wrong. Men and women chatted and laughed in tandem with thudded footfalls. The water cooler bubbled. Faxes and printers chugged out papers. It was too normal.

At the angle Jess sat, he couldn't read the full name on the door. From where he sat, he made out Sergeant T. D... and the rest burred into black squiggles. Looking at the door brought back memories of looking through Matthew's glasses; the world seemed shaded and fuzzed into nothingness. Much like that time wearing Matthew's glasses, it left Jess feeling queasy. Instead of the door, he focused on his lumpy bag settled at his feet. It wanted to fall over and would have if Jess's knees weren't propping it up.

Waiting felt unnatural. It ached his bones and gnawed at his stomach as it fought the rationale of being here. Maybe this was wrong. Maybe he should leave. Maybe the Army wasn't for him. He wasn't a fighter – not in the military sense. But here he was and leaving would make him look foolish. Still, his body wanted to go. It propelled his feet to push against the ground and raise his ash from the hard, plastic seat.

Just then the door labeled Sergeant T. D...opened. A young man, no more than 22-years strode out. Not what Jess expected at all. He was striking and had the air of authority, though. Blonde hair cut short and a band indent around his head, but the tight hat was nowhere to be seen. Navy slacks, striped goldenrod, with tie and a jacket to match. And oh the medals – so many medals. This was a decorated young man.

"Hello," Jess greeted as he stepped around his bag. Sure enough, it fell down, but nothing spilled out. He faltered in words. What to say? What to call this man? He couldn't even see is full name. Unsure about handshakes or saluting, his hand floundered up and down; he felt foolish.

"Sergeant Tristan Dugray," the young man interjected and offered a hand to shake as well as a slight smile that had a tinge of bemusement. "Mr. Mariano. The guards tell me you want to enlist." He nodded to his open office and headed inside.

Jess followed (with pack in hand). The room looked like any office. There was a cluttered desk with a computer as well as plentiful seating. There were bookshelves filled with binders and books. A map of the world and a calendar decorated one wall. There was even a potted palm, but it looked plastic. What a normal space. Again, he felt unnerved.

"Sit," Sergeant Dugray instructed nodding to one of the chairs in front of the desk. He moved around to the back and sat down. A wall of paperwork blocked the view line, but for then the other man kept the papers and folders in place. "Tell me why? Why do you want to enlist? We don't normally have people come walking up to the base."

Jess did not have a response. He couldn't say no. He couldn't tell Sergeant Dugray , 'I don't know'. Those were lame words. They were weak. Being in the military meant having both strength and certainty. Those were two things Jess did not have, but he was going to fake it until he made it.

"Listen, kid," Tristan began. He leaned forward in that rolling desk chair of his and laced his fingers together. "I think you're lost. I think you don't know shirt what you want to do with your life. You didn't graduate. The papers you turned in at the front gate show that. You're lost and you're scared. You feel like you need to prove yourself. I've been in the same place as you. It sucks, but I can't allow you to enlist. You have to have your diploma or your GED at the very least."

"Maybe I am. Maybe I'm lost. Maybe I'm floundering. Maybe I don't know what the here I want to do with my life. Who cares?" Jess spat. His blood boiled. This young sergeant was trying to figure him out. He was too close for comfort. "I want to serve. Isn't that enough? I thought the military needed soldiers. I can fight. I want to. I want to."

"Calm it, Mr. Mariano. You're speaking to an Army Sergeant. Do I need to call the guards to haul you off? I will," he warned with a steel gaze. Tristan was dead serious about his words and his position. There would be no disrespect.

"Let me enlist. Let me train. Let me fight," Jess begged.

"Mr. Mariano..."

"Don't Mr. Marino me! I need this. I need the structure. I need something because I don't have anything. The girl of my dreams doesn't want me. She's out there conquering her dreams. My uncle doesn't want me. He made it damn clear I wasn't allowed to live with him if I didn't graduate. You know what, I didn't graduate! So I have no home. The only car I ever had is busted beyond repair. My own mother filled our trailer with love, but used to forget to buy groceries when I was growing up and she's still that flakey. Not to mention my own father. He can't even manage a pickle booth!"

"Okay. Okay. Get a diploma and I will approve your enlistment. Okay?"

It took several seconds for the agreement to sink again. After the first word, Jess's mouth flew open ready for round three. Fight or flight in full force. Hands pressed on the desk and butt lifted from seat, he was ready. But Tristan's softer 'okay' struck a chord. Falling back down onto seat, Jess nodded.

"Okay."