Water is sticky.

 

The water was warm, but there was still a slight shiver that he couldn’t shake as he stood - head hanging, arms extended, palms flat against the wall of the shower stall.  The water left the shower head and made contact with the back of his neck, then flowed down his body, ultimately caught by the drain.  

 

He stared down; his eyes focused beyond his dog tags and onto the floor of the shower.  There was an uneasiness about the water’s red and pink shades against the white floor; it spiked a slight curiosity in his mind, but the intermittent ringing in his ears would snap away his focus on the questionable water every time.

 

“Sergeant Hope!” 

 

Then a loud creek as the door to the shower can opened and the stomp of boots louder and louder as the person moved toward John’s shower stall; he was the only one in the can at the moment.  

 

It was Captain Riens.  He stopped short of the shower curtain.

 

“Sergeant Hope, you’ve been in here for sometime now - how you doin’ Marine?”

 

“I’m good sir.  Just finishing up.  I was, like covered in red paint or something” John replied.

 

“Yeah, red paint Hope, whatever you say.”  Captain Reins ended the conversation with a slight giggle and turned to leave the can.  “Take your time Marine.  The CO wants to speak to you after you get yourself together.”

 

“Aye, aye, sir” John replied.

 

Captain Reins left the shower can.

 

“Probably another ‘the Marine Corps needs you Sergeant!’ speech” John thought to himself.  

 

He was tired of the command trying to get him to reenlist - the Marine Corps was doing everything they could to get him to stay a Marine.

_______

​

Sergeant John Hope was about to complete his five year enlistment in the United States Marine Corps.  It hadn’t been easy, but it hadn’t been bad either.  John enlisted one month after his seventeenth birthday - the June before 9/11 - and he subsequently graduated high school early and shipped out to the Marine Corps Recruit Depot at Parris Island in February 2002.

 

John’s mother and father supported their son.  They had to.  They knew there was no talking him out of it.  John had dreamt of being a United States Marine since he was a boy.  His parents had one condition however; they wouldn’t sign his enlistment contract if he chose to be a “grunt” - Marine Corps Infantry.  

 

John was okay with that though.  Sure there was a whole lot of esteem that came with being a grunt, but John just wanted a chance to earn the title of United States Marine.  

 

At a time before smart phones, virtual meetings, and never ending connectivity, the scene was ripped right from the pages of Americana.  

 

John’s parents flanked him as they all sat on the living room sofa.  Framed photos of the extended Hope Family adorned the walls.  Some were wearing United States Military uniforms, but there were no Marines.  

 

The recruiter sat in a chair across from the Hopes.  Several ribbons were placed with perfection over his left breast pocket.  A chevron with three stripes up, one stripe down, with crossed rifles in the middle were sown onto the sleeves of his pressed kaki shirt.  A blood stripe ran down his blue trousers.  His “Coraframs” were shiny.  Very, very shiny.  

 

A folder with a massive Eagle, Globe, and Anchor embossed on the cover was placed on the table by the recruiter.  He opened it.  Turned it to face the Hope family.  

 

“John, this is your enlistment contract.  Mom and Dad, please feel free to read through it.  You’ll see the areas marked where John needs to sign, then where you need to sign.”  The recruiter sat back in the chair and waited patiently as the Hope Family turned each page of the contract, then one-by-one signed it.  

 

John’s mother spoke softly, “so as a Military Intelligence Specialist, John’s not really going to be out there doing patrols and stuff right?”

 

The recruiter looked directly at John’s mother, “Ma’am, every Marine is a basically trained rifleman.  If the Marine Corps needs John out in the field with the grunts, the expectation is that he’ll go.  And he’ll be trained appropriately to handle whatever may come his way.”

 

John’s mother didn’t seem all too settled with that response.  The recruiter could tell and continued, “however, most Marines in this Military Occupational Specialty generally spend most of their enlistment at the higher echelons - the Regiments and Divisions.  But every infantry battalion in the Marine Corps has an S2 Shop, so all of this really depends on the place and time and needs of Marine Corps when John completes all of his training.  He could end up at an infantry battalion.  But it’s not wartime, and nobody expects a war anytime soon.”

 

There was some relief in the eyes of John’s mother.  John put his arm around her and said “everything will be fine Mom, promise.”

 

The recruiter stood and shook John’s hand.  “John, as of July 19th, 2001, you’ve officially entered the Delayed Entry Program of the United States Marine Corps.  You’re gonna do get those last few months of high school in starting in September, then I’d expect your boot camp ship date to be early in the new year.”

 

The recruiter then shook the hand of both Mr and Mrs Hope, “Sir, Ma’am, be proud of your son.  Few people nowadays see military service as a duty.  And even fewer people answer the call to serve in the United States Marine Corps - your son is gonna be part of the next generation to serve our great nation.”

 

“He sure is” Mr Hope replied and he walked the recruiter to the door...  

_______