Author’s Note---I write fiction. Remember that FICTION.

I have just completed a series of stories about life after the Marine Corps. Of course they are all fiction since everything I write is fiction! But I noticed that each story has some truth in it. Take the first story, “The Ball”. I know a guy who actually got a date the way the Captain did. In real life it did not turn out as well but that’s real life not fiction. The second story is about a guard at an embassy who meets a girl from a rich family and marries her. Again I know a former Marine who did exactly that! The last time I heard from him he was still living a life of luxury in a South American country with a house full of kids. Sadly my story “The Organ Donor” also had some truth in it. This happened to a family member of mine. He had to make the decision of turning off his wife’s life support and permitting the doctors to harvest her organs. In my story it is evident I never liked his wife.

In my BTB stories I can feel the sadness when one of my characters opens the door to find who he thought was the love of his life fucking another man.

I know the rage when that asshole tells him to put down the gun that he is not going to shoot anyone. The joy is exhilarating when the first two rounds hit him center mass!

The silence in the room is almost deafening after he silences the screaming slut.

Best of all is the satisfaction after he buries all the bodies and evidence. He knows no one will ever know the truth. There is no looking back and no tears.

Why no tears? No emotion? All that was ripped out years ago on the other side of the world. When you close the zipper on a body bag that contains one of your best friends then watch as he is loaded into a chopper you realize you don’t have time for tears or to grieve. There are others who you are responsible for. This hardens not only your heart but your soul. You never heal.

Enough reminiscing. Let me tell you a story that is 100% true. Ok, mostly true.

This happened a few years back.

My oldest daughter was a high school teacher. It seems her school is having a Veterans Day celebration and she wants me to attend. My wife at the time, not her mother, tells her she thinks that would be a bad idea. Since my daughter does not get along very well with this new stepmom of hers, she ignores the warning.

I tell her I will be glad to attend. Veterans Day, 11 November, the day after The Birthday! The celebration at the school starts at 1300 so I should be fine by then. What birthday? Now don’t get me started! If you don’t know go look it up!

My wife drops me at the school and drives off. She told my daughter she was not staying to see this train wreck. I promised to be good.

At the backdoor to the auditorium there were a few guys standing around talking. I did not join their group. If you know me you would not expect me walk over and start shaking hands. I don’t make friends easily.

Out of the door comes this woman carrying a clipboard. I laugh to myself when I think about an old joke. “The two most dangerous people in the Marine Corps, a Lance Corporal with a clipboard and a 2nd Lieutenant with a compass.” She says she is Ms. so and so and that she is the assistant principle. She takes pride in telling us how she is in charge of this celebration. I keep staring at this woman. What the hell is wrong with her hair? It is long on one side and cut really short on the other. But it’s the color that draws my attention. It is tri-colored! Part is blonde, another part orange and then the ends are ... hell I don’t know what color that is. A shade of purple I think.

She says we will walk in single file and up on the stage. She arranges us by our branch of service. She put a fellow from the coast guard first, followed by a two sailors, one guy from the Air Force, a couple of soldiers then me and an older man, both of us are former Marines.

We walked in and directly onto a stage in front of a room full of high school students. I spot my daughter standing next to the wall alongside a group that imagine are her students. She catches my eye and does the thing that my entire family does. She puts her hands in front of her, palms down. Then she starts lowering them like she is pushing something down. That is my family’s signal for me to keep it together, keep my anger down. I nod understanding her meaning.

Ms. Tricolored hair steps to the front and says that when she calls our name we come forward and tell the room what branch of service we were in and what our job was while serving.

The fellow from the Coast Guard was called and he stepped forward and said he was in the Coast Guard. He served on a Cutter at a station in Tampa, Florida. He was a cook on the ship. He stepped back and Ms. Tri-colored hair started the applause and urged the kids to applaud. I applauded also. Somebody has cook for the troops, right? The sailors were next.

The first stepped forward. He was definitely from the “Don’t ask don’t tell generation.” But now he is out of the closet and proud of it. I could care less what consenting adults do in the privacy of their bedroom. Just shut the door and don’t be mad and think I am homophobic when I don’t come to your parade. He says he worked in an office making sure everyone received their pay. Good for him. I know how easy it is for your pay to get fucked up. Again more applause.

The second sailor was called and he explained how he worked on the flight deck of an aircraft carrier. He was mostly stationed in Norfolk, Va. but he made one cruise to the Mediterranean Sea. That’s when it started. My anger that is.

He had to bring up how rough it was standing watch at night in the cold and how tired he would be after working all day. I looked down the line of vets but I did not say anything. I was thinking about walking all day thru a jungle then digging in at night. I was dead tired but I checked the perimeter every couple of hours. I slept in a hole while that squid went back to his rack with clean sheets!

I glanced over at my daughter. She must have noticed something because she is dong the pushing thing with her hands again. I smile and nod.

This guy finishes his tale of hardship and woe. I do not applaud.

The Air Force is called next. He says he was stationed at a big air force base in Florida and his job was to keep the grass cut around the runways and on the approaches. WHAT?!

While I was dodging bullets this guy (who is about the same age as me) was doing lawn service at an airport! Why don’t the Air Force do like I do? I hire a couple of Mexicans to cut my yard and it looks really nice! He should have been carrying a rifle not pushing a lawn mower!

Again my daughter is looking nervous and really into that pushing thing! I do not applaud when he steps back.

One of the soldiers is called. He steps forward and tells how he and his buddy, he points to the guy he is with, and that guy steps forward, joined the Army on “The Buddy Plan.” They went to boot camp together then to Mechanics school then to Germany to one of the bases. They worked on tanks for the next three years in the same shop.