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Writers Articles And Opinions |
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22 November 2010 By Keith Johnson
Somewhere in America, a seventeen-year-old boy is
living the last year of his life.
He is in the first semester of his senior year.
His grades have been good, and he expects to have
enough credits to finish school early. He feels like
he’s been in school his entire life. But he has no
regrets. Along the way, he has made many friends. He
took up an interest in baseball and found that he had
a talent for playing the drums. He is in his prime.
He’s lean, fit and healthy. His mind is sharp and he
has an insatiable appetite for life.
He has also fallen in love—for the first time. She
is the most beautiful thing he has ever seen. He
thinks about her all the time, and pines when she is
not near. When they are together, they share wild
fantasies about how they’d like to start a family and
go into business for themselves selling sporting
goods. He also wants to start a band—just for fun—and
perform on the weekends at local venues.
Today, an Army recruitment officer gave an
inspirational speech at his high school. The guy
looked sharp in his clean, well-pressed uniform. He
had a shaved head and two full sleeves of colorful
tattoos on his bulging, tanned biceps and forearms.
The boy had never considered a career in the military,
but he did find a certain romance in it. Apparently,
so did his girlfriend. As they left the gymnasium,
she made a comment that unnerved him.
GIRL: He was kind of cute.
BOY: What?
GIRL: Well, there’s something about a
man in uniform.
BOY: Really?
GIRL: Yeah…don’t get mad.
It was the first time he felt angry with her, and
the first time they’d ever crossed words. He was
overcome with feelings of jealousy, which caused him
to say a few things he would later regret.
The drive on the way to her home was
uncomfortable. When they got there, she leaned over
to kiss him. But he did not reciprocate. Instead, he
clenched tightly to the steering wheel and stared
straight ahead. She stepped out of the car and
slammed the door behind her as he screeched away from
the curb. It was their first fight.
When he gets home, he steps through the front door
and sees his father—glaring at the television—watching
another one of his boring news programs.
BOY: What’s up, Dad?
DAD: Same shit. Goddamn
Moozlims want to build a Mosque at Ground Zero. Can
you believe that shit?
BOY: What’s
a Mosque?
DAD: A place where they train
terrorists.
BOY: Well…that’s no good.
DAD: No…it ain’t. I’m
telling you, Son, if we don’t kill every last one of
those Moozlims, they’re gonna take over the world.
They breed like rabbits. Killing them all is the only
way to stop them. If we don’t, they’re gonna
institute Sharia law right here in the good old USA.
And that’s no kind of world you want your kids growing
up in.
BOY: What’s Sharia law?
DAD: The law of the jungle.
These savages like to cut people’s heads
off…especially Christians.
BOY: Yikes.
The boy retires to his room and clicks on the
television. Inglourious Basterds is on HBO. He’s
seen it before—many times—it’s one of his favorite
movies. Quentin Tarantino is his favorite director.
Brad Pitt is his favorite actor. And this is his
favorite scene: where the “Bear Jew” is about to bash
in the brains of a Nazi with a baseball bat.
The boy reaches under his bed and grabs the
baseball bat that he’s used to hit many home runs. He
looks it over as he works his hand across the wood.
He isn’t thinking about baseball. He’s thinking about
how he’d like to take that bat to the head of that
military recruiter. But he quickly dismisses the
idea. That would be foolish. But, damn, he
sure would like to bash someone’s head in right now.
How about one of them Moozlims? Dad wouldn’t have a
problem with that.
BOY: Yeah, now that’s a good
idea.
After the movie, the boy puts “Call of Duty” into
his X-Box. He hasn’t played video games since he
started dating. It was a good distraction. It kept
him from obsessing over his girlfriend. To his
surprise, he found that he was still a pretty good
shot. In fact, it was as if he’d never stopped
shooting. Over the past few months, he’d been
regretting all of the hours he wasted playing games.
But today, he wondered if it really was a waste of
time? What if he could put these skills to work in
the real world?
The next day, he pays a visit to the Army
recruitment office. The same man who gave the speech
at his high school gives him a warm welcome as he
walks through the door. He has a strong handshake.
The guy calls him “Brother.” The boy likes that. He
never had a brother of his own.
The recruiter puts the boy at ease with his quick
wit and raunchy sense of humor. He talks to the boy
like a man, and the boy starts to feel like one. The
recruiter tells wild stories about his adventures
overseas. Then he rolled up his sleeves and shows the
boy his tattoos. There’s a wild story behind each one
of them too.
Then they got down to business. The recruiter
tells the boy he could make up to $100,000 in his
first year.
RECRUITER: Free housing, free
food, free travel, lots of vacation time, up to
$70,000 in education bonuses and another $20,000
signing bonus. Plus, you get free health care for
life!
The boy is impressed, and then asks what the odds
were that he would see any combat? The recruiter
assures him that he would never have to step foot on a
battlefield if he didn’t want to.
BOY: But I want to be on a
battlefield. What’s the point of being a soldier if
you can’t fight?
The recruiter straightens up in his chair and then
rises to his feet. He gives the boy a stern and solid
look.
RECRUITER: Brother…you don’t
know how rare it is to find men of your courage. Most
guys who come in here are just looking to make some
easy money. But you’re different. You’re a different
breed altogether.
BOY: I just don’t want Sharia
law to come to America.
RECRUITER: That ain’t gonna
happen. Not on my watch. Not as long as I have brave
men like you fighting alongside me.
The boy is hooked. He was now a man, and about to
become a very rich man in a very handsome uniform.
That was sure to impress his girlfriend.
Later that night, the boy drives over to see his
girl. He apologizes to her and presents her with a
bouquet of roses. Then he tells her his plans. She
cries.
GIRL: Is this all because of
that stupid thing I said about that Army guy?
BOY: Well, maybe in the
beginning. But if it weren’t for what you said, I
would have probably passed up an opportunity of a
lifetime. Jobs are hard to find these days. A few
years in the Army will be good for both of us. We’ll
have plenty of money and all sorts of benefits. Plus,
they’ll pay my college tuition. I can take business
courses, accounting…everything. I’m going to need to
know all that stuff if we ever expect to open a
business of our own.
GIRL: But I’ll never get to
see you.
BOY: Not true. The recruiter
said I get lots of vacation time and free travel
anywhere I want to go.
GIRL: I don’t know.
BOY: Please…I know what I’m
doing. But I need your blessing.
GIRL: Well…I guess you would
look cute in a uniform. Way cuter than that ugly bald
guy.
They laugh, and then they embrace.
Months pass. He is now out of school and has just
celebrated his 18th birthday. He has
passed his physical with flying colors and is
preparing to be sworn in at the local VFW.
Dad is proud, and has already placed a “Proud
Parent of a US Soldier” sticker in the back window of
his F-150. Mom is in tears, but she is proud of her
son as well. His girlfriend is taking pictures with
her iphone.
After the ceremony, the boy walks up to the
recruiter. They shake hands. The boy calls the
recruiter by his first name and thanks him for all
he’s done. The recruiter seems different now, as if
he’s turned into a whole new person.
RECRUITER: Yeah…don’t mention
it. By the way, you should probably get used to
calling me Sergeant. OK, private? Now, how’s about
you start making yourself useful by helping to fold up
these chairs.
The next day, he prepares to board a bus. He’s on
his way to boot camp. He is no longer a free man. He
is property of the United States Army. He embraces
his parents for the last time. He gives his
girlfriend her last kiss. Then he boards the bus,
never to be seen again.
Several months pass. It’s Thanksgiving Day in
Afghanistan. The boy has learned that real combat is
not like the kind waged on an X-Box. The opponents
are a lot harder to kill. In fact, they’re way better
shots than he could ever hope to be. These guys have
never had toys to play with. They’ve been playing
with real guns that they’ve been building from scratch
since they were five years old.
There’s no pause button either, and you have to
work a lot more body parts than your index finger and
thumbs.
It’s hot, and he hasn’t bathed in a week.
He’s never heard screams like the screams he’s
heard here. He’s never heard women cry the way they
do here. He’s never seen children’s body parts
carried away in the mouths of skinny dogs.
Then there’s the stench…that goddamn stench. He’ll
never be able to shake that stench. War has a unique
smell. It’s like gasoline mixed with blood, urine and
shit. It hangs in the air. You can see it.
Sometimes your mind plays tricks on you. You can
almost swear that the stench clouds are taking on a
life of their own. You see faces in the smoke, like
demons or ghosts.
He came here to kill Muslims. But now that he’s
here, he doesn’t want to kill anybody. He just wants
to stay alive…and go home as soon as he can.
He’s forgotten all about Sharia law. There is no
law here at all. Right now, he’d welcome any kind of
law that would bring order out of all this chaos.
Something just bounced off his chest. Was it a
bug? It stings. He feels like he just wet his pants,
but her knows he didn’t pee. Is it sweat? He feels
down around his waist. He looks at his fingers.
There’s blood. He refuses to believe that he’s been
shot. There must be another explanation. Then he
feels a shooting pain, as if he’s been run through
with a sword. He feels around his back for evidence
of some kind of metal shank. But there is none.
BOY: Mommy, I need to come
home. Can you come and get me? What the fuck am I
saying?
He’s tired. He feels like a million insects are
crawling around in his body. Maybe they’re there to
help. Maybe they’re putting things back together.
BOY: Thanks, guys. Wake me
up when…
He feels detached from his body. It is moving on
its own. He is cold. He lies on his back and reaches
for a blanket that isn’t there. He stares into the
stench and breathes deeply. Now he’s urinating…and
he’s deficating as well.
As he lays there dying, he isn’t thinking about
patriotism, causes, America or any of that shit. This
was a big mistake…and he wasn’t prepared to make this
sacrifice. He never was.
Before the light goes out in his eyes, the last
image that flashes through his mind is a crisp vision
of the beautiful girl he left behind, and the last
word that passes from his lips is…"Why?"
The following week, a 68-year-old Senator in
Washington D.C. has just finished his breakfast. He
scolds his maid for putting sugar in his coffee. He’s
on his way to the floor of the Senate to introduce
legislation that would increase the troop strength in
Afghanistan. He climbs in to the back of a Lincoln
Towncar. He’s making one stop on the way to the
Capitol. He has an appointment at the spa for a rub
down and a manicure.
Across town, a 61-year-old Republican Congressman
ducks out the back door of his mistress’s townhouse.
He’s in a hurry to meet with a lobbyist from AIPAC.
In Texas, a 64-year-old former US President, that
lied his nation into a war with Iraq, tees up a golf
ball at an exclusive country club.
In New York City, an arrogant, 61-year old
political commentator for FOX News prepares to do a
demonization piece on Islam. In the meantime, he
lurches over a young female intern at the water cooler
and creeps her out with his unsolicited flirtations.
None of these old men have seen a day of combat,
but they’ve sure been responsible for many deaths.
They all had a nice Thanksgiving. All the kids
were there. It was a nice break from all that hard
work getting these wars in order.
Back home, the parents of the young boy have just
learned of his death. Their lives are over.
Two months later, the parents fly to a special
ceremony in honor of fallen soldiers. At the same
time the parents are being seated, the President of
the United States is in a back room, watching a game
on ESPN as he jokes with Secret Service agents. An
attaché comes in to tell the President that it’s time
he made his entrance.
PRESIDENT: Shit! Oh,
well…let’s get this thing over with. Put this game on
pause. I’ll be right back.
The President puts on his “game face” and goes
through the motions, offering his condolences to each
parent as they take turns shaking the hand of the man
who killed their sons.
When it’s over, the President returns to the back
room.
PRESIDENT: Turn the game back
on.
Before he takes his seat, he uses anti-bacterial
soap to wash his hands. He hates touching strangers.
As he washes his hands, he also washes his mind of the
parent’s faces and the names of their dead children.
A year has passed since the boy died. His
girlfriend has moved on. She’s no longer into guys
with uniforms, and she’ll never date a soldier again.
She’s met a much older man. He’s divorced. He owns a
sporting goods store and plays in a band on weekends.
She lost her virginity on the second date.
Nine months later…another soldier is born.
Have a wonderful Thanksgiving, Senator Lieberman!
Merry Christmas, Congressman Boehner!
Happy New Year, Mr. President!
Goodbye, son.
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