A Marine Called Jason Pt. 03

"Allen and Jason never saw eye to eye on anything," Mrs. Seaborn said, laughing softly. "Sometimes I wondered how they both ended up in the same house. You would think one of them was an orphan," she joked.

"Jason was very proud of his brother, being in law school," I said. I wanted them to know that.

"We were very proud of Jason," she said.

"He would be glad to know that," I said. I steered the conversation away from matters of war and military as best I could and began asking about Jason when he was a little boy and a teenager in high school. I noticed that it was a much more relaxed conversation. I offered to help with the dishes after supper.

"Oh, my, no," Mrs. Seaborn said, throwing up her hands. "The kitchen is my domain, I would never allow the men-folk in there."

"So Jason never had to do dishes?" I asked light-heartedly.

"He did plenty of other things. He was a hard worker at anything he did," she said.

So Mr. Seaborn and I retired to the living room. Surprisingly, he didn't turn on the television as I expected he would, if only as a focal point to ease the tension. Instead, he sat down, cocked one leg over the other and started talking.

"Tell me about my son," he said. "We never really knew him after he joined the navy."

"I can sum it up in a few words. He was the best fighting man and the bravest man I ever met," I said.

He nodded. "That doesn't surprise me. He was never one to let a wrong go unnoticed and he never waited for somebody else to do something about it. If he saw it, or heard about it, he took care of it."

I was trying to walk a fine line, trying to talk about Jason without getting into details about what he did. I wanted Mr. Seaborn to know, but Jason wouldn't have wanted me to talk about it on his behalf. I wanted to offer his medals but Jason had been specific that they should ask for them.

"Tell me about my son," the man said again, this time with a firmness in his voice that wasn't to be ignored, a tone that demanded answers to questions unasked.

I dropped my head like a little boy being chewed out. "He was a Navy Seal, you knew that," I said, looking back up at him.

"What do Navy Seals do exactly?" he asked.

"I'm a Marine so I don't know exactly, only that they're the most highly trained and the toughest fighting force in the world."

He sat quietly, looking at me, his eyes unwavering, as if he were waiting on me to continue. I was about to tell him that his son was a sniper but just then Mrs. Seaborn came in from the kitchen to join us. I was glad for her presence. She turned the conversation to Jason's boyhood again and that was much easier for all of us to talk about.

It got late and the conversation waned and I excused myself to go up to bed.

"Let me know if there's anything you need," Mrs. Seaborn said.

I undressed and hung up my uniform, trying to imagine Jason there with me; like two high school boys. Something compelled me to dig out his jockstrap. I stood naked in front of his workout mirror and pulled it on. For that brief moment, I was Jason, stuffing my manhood inside his worn jockstrap. I was Jason stretching out on the workout bench to do some bench presses. I quickly came back to the reality that I wasn't Jason when I couldn't push the barbell up off the rack. I didn't bother the plates on the bar. I left them the way he left them. I was awash with emotion as I got in his bed. I tucked his football against me and cried.

The next day I drove downtown, parked and walked around, trying to absorb what Jason felt when he was a teenager. I went in and out of a couple of stores; a clothing store and a sporting goods store and it was easy to see him there. I drove up to the school and walked out on the football field.

"Can I help you, mister?"

I turned to see a burly youth walking toward me.

"I was just looking around," I said.

"Did you go to school here?......play football?" he asked.

"I played football, but not here," I said.

He snapped his fingers. "You're the escort for Jason Seaborn," he said.

"Yes. I just wanted to see where he played."

"Would you like to see the locker room?"

"Yes, I would."

We walked across the field to the school, the boy chattering about Jason's athletic prowess.

"He was ahead of me in school," he said. "Everybody looked up to him. Especially the freshmen and sophomores. He was a great athlete." He chuckled softly. "The guy was a stud. Everybody wanted to be like him."

He led the way into the locker room and showed me Jason's locker. It still had his name on the door.

"Another guy, Patterson, was using the locker but he never took Seaborn's name off the door; he put his name below Seaaborn's name and he left his helmet and jersey right where Jason left it," he said as he opened the door. "When we heard he was killed, Patterson moved his stuff out and ripped his name off the door. It's Seaborn's locker now and that's the way it'll stay."

I was overwhelmed by the boy's almost hero-worship of Jason. Jason would have been impressed, too, if a little embarrassed. The way the boy went on talking about him, it was obvious that Jason had attained legendary stud status in his old school. I thanked the youth for his time and the tour.

"I'll see you at the wake," he said.

The honor guard arrived at the funeral home for the wake; a seven-man contingent of Marines in full dress from Terre Haute. I supposed that was okay with Jason, that they were Marines instead of navy. I took my place at the end of the casket, standing at attention, back out of the way from his parents. One of other Marines positioned himself at attention at the other end. The rest stationed themselves around the room, standing at parade rest. I had a hard time not looking at Jason lying n the casket. He looked so damned handsome in his uniform and I was so damned proud of him.

It pissed me off how many people ignored us in uniform. I spoke or acknowledged people only if they spoke to me first. I wondered where his brother was. Maybe he wouldn't show. I was appalled and really pissed when he showed up wearing a black arm-band. He was with four other guys, all wearing arm-bands, with two girls who had black ribbons in their hair. I motioned for one of the Marines to take my place at the casket and I went to meet the "protestors" before they could move into the room. I motioned his brother into the small ante-room next to the office.

"Give me the armband," I said.

"We're all wearing them."

"Those other cowards can do whatever they want. You're his brother."

"Who the hell do you think you are to order me around? I have the right to express my feelings in any way I wish."

"Not here," I snapped in calm anger. "You know, Jason told me he was proud of you and he understood why you couldn't be proud of him. Well, I don't understand and I'm not even going to try. This isn't about you or your asshole cowardly friends. This is a military service to honor the bravest man I ever knew. Now give me the arm band, or I'll take it off of you."

"You wouldn't dare," he said, laughing nervously.

"Watch me," I said in a low, even tone. "It won't be pleasant," I added.

He hesitated then took off the armband.

"Wise choice," I said as I stuffed it in my pocket. "You can have it back after the wake," I said.

"Fuck you. There're plenty more where that came from."

"Don't show up wearing one at the funeral tomorrow," I warned.

"I don't know why my brother put you in charge of the arrangements in the first place," he growled.

"I think I'm looking at why," I said. "He didn't trust you. And obviously with good reason."

It was apparent that Jason had impacted a lot of lives in one way or another. It didn't surprise me that a lot of girls were at the wake; a lot of very sad, emotional girls crying on each other's shoulders or with their heads buried in their boyfriends chests. In my perverted grief, I wondered which or how many of them had lain under his muscular athlete's body and known the awesome pleasure of his huge cock inside them. There were a lot of his high school buddies there, too, even more studly with tears running unashamedly down their faces. What did surprise me were the younger kids, some barely in their teens, who I'm sure Jason never knew. You were a hero, I thought; more than you know.

I took my place at the head of the casket again. Allen and his friends came through the line like other mourners, not as his brother. I considered it an insult. He paused at the casket with a look of sad contempt. I wanted to smash his face in. Again, after the wake, Allen didn't show up at his parents' house. I didn't ask why, or where he was. It was better that he wasn't there. I was more at east my second night in Jason's room. I felt like I belonged there.

It was the biggest funeral I ever attended. They held it at the school gymnasium because the funeral home was too small. The procession from the gym to the cemetery was so long that they had people directing traffic and parking in the little country cemetery at the same time other cars were still pulling out of the school parking lot.

Wisely, Allen didn't show up wearing his arm band. His friends weren't so considerate. The priest gave a good sermon. He obviously knew Jason as a boy and he made it personal. He even made us laugh. At the end he extended the invitation on behalf of the family for everyone to go to the church to eat. He extended a special invitation the military contingent.

Allen looked angrier than sad standing with his parents at the grave. I was having a tough time keeping my composure. I almost lost it, as much from rage as from grief or sadness. When the firing squad fired the twenty-one-gun salute, one of the peaceniks actually turned his back to the casket when the salute was fired. I managed to hold my rage in check. It was not the time or place to vent it. I could see the anger on the faces of the other marines. Allen glared when the flag was presented to his mother. She took it warmly and held it to her breast. Her husband put his hand over her hands on the flag. The guy who had turned his back walked away as the flag was being presented.

I waited for the priest to say his final words then I stepped back and followed the peacenik who was walking across the cemetery.

"Hey, scum-bag," I called quietly.

He stopped and turned around with a surprised look.

"Hold up, asshole," I said. We were far enough away from the grave site that no one could hear me. I half expected the guy to run away. I don't know if it was defiance or fear that kept him from it.

"That man in that casket won you the right for you to wear that arm-band," I said. "The least you could do is honor that service and show some respect for his parents."

"I'm only trying to stop more of them from coming home in a casket," he said angrily.

"That arm band is going to stop the war?" I scoffed.

"This wasn't the time or the place for it," someone said from behind.

I glanced around and there were four of the marines.

"Wherever we can be heard is the time and place for it," the young man said.

"If this wasn't a cemetery, I would tromp your sorry, cowardly ass in the ground," the other marine said.
"I'll bet you're good at it. I'll bet you're all good at it," the youth said.

"I'm damned good at it," one said. "I just wish I could show you how good I am."

I intervened before things got out of hand. "Guys we need to keep this dignified," I said. "You're making a scene. Go back with your unit."

Grudgingly, they walked away.

"I suppose you expect me to thank you for saving my ass," the youth said.

"No, you don't thank me for a damned thing," I snapped. "You owe your thanks to the guy in the casket. I just want to say, I hope you don't live around here, because if you do.....well, you see, I'll be here for a couple of days.....if you see me, run. Run like hell, otherwise, they're going to be hauling off body parts."

I think he got my point. He blanched. I walked off, leaving him standing there looking pale as a ghost and went back to the grave. His brother was walking with his parents to the limo. The workers stood back a respectable distance and waited, as if they were waiting for me to leave.

"We're waiting for you to give the okay, Sergeant," one of them said.

I nodded for them to go ahead. I stood at attention and saluted as the casket was lowered into the ground. When it sank out of sight into the gaping maw of the grave I dropped my salute and turned. The men of the honor guard was waiting for me as well.

"We thought we would wait and see if you need us to hang around," one of them said.

"No, it's taken care of all it can be," I said. "Are you guys going to the funeral dinner."

"We were waiting to see if you are."

"Yes. I think his parents would be honored," I said.

"Then we'll all go."

"Just keep your cool," I warned.

"We will, Sarge."

We didn't mingle at the dinner, but stood aside, being inconspicuous as possible in full dress blues. For the most part the younger people avoided us while the older people came up to us with their gratitude and respect. One exceptions was the young athlete I'd met at the football field. He came right up to me with his hand out.

"Dammed impressive service," he said.

"Yes, it was."

"He would've had to be proud of that."

"No more than I was proud of him," I said.

"Too bad his brother is such an asshole," he said.

"Jason didn't hold that against him."

"If I ever join the military.....and I expect I will.....he, and guys like you and him will be the reason," he said.

"Thank you, for both of us, and the Marines would be proud to have you." I looked him up and down, openly. "And I don't think you would have any trouble handling the Marines."

I and the other military excused ourselves early from the gathering at the church. Mrs. Seaborn thanked each one of them and hugged and thanked me for bring her boy home. Mr. Seaborn was able only to shake my hand. I was surprised that Allen had the decency to come over to me as I was nearing the door where the honor guard was still waiting. I don't think they trusted me to stay back by myself.

"Despite our differences, I thank you for seeing my brother home," he said.

"I did it for him," I said coolly.

"I see how much you hate me, but some day soon, you'll see that we were right."

"You know what? I would rather come back like my buddy back there than to ever see the day you are right," I said. "Just one more thing. The flag that draped his casket; if it were ever to disappear and catch on fire.....as long as it takes, I will hunt you down, along with every one of your asshole friends, I will cut your balls off.....if I can find any.....and I will feed them to you. I hope you hear me, mister, because a Marine does not make idle threats."

He cocked his head back in surprise then quickly turned and walked away. The honor guard escorted me to my car.

"You want one of us to stay?" one of them asked.

"No, I can handle it from here," I said. I headed back to the house to get my bag. I wasn't staying. I didn't want to be there in the house a moment longer than I had to. It was over and it was suddenly too painful and I didn't think I would feel Jason's presence there anymore.

I left a note, thanking them for their hospitality and for their son. I drove back to the cemetery to say goodbye before I left town. As I was standing at the grave letting my thoughts ramble at will another car drove up. It was Allen. I cringed inside. Shit, couldn't he give it a rest? But then I saw him carrying something on a hanger. It was Jason's athletic jacket.

"I expected I would find you here. Mom and Dad want you to have this," he said.

I took the hanger. It was heavy. I couldn't say anything for a minute.

"You don't have to say anything," Allen said.

"No....." I stopped him before he could walk away. "Thanks. And thank your parents for me."

He nodded and walked away. Somehow, I hated that there might be a thread of decency in him.

Another car had driven up and two burly young men got out and came over to the grave. I'd seen them at the funeral but they weren't in suits now. One wore a school athletic jacket. The other one looked like he should've been wearing one. We nodded and spoke; we all felt uneasy.

"You were his buddy," one of them said.

"I still am," I said. "I'm guessing you were team mates."

"Yeah," he said, eyeing the jacket.

"His brother brought me his jacket," I said, holding it up.

"He had more awards than I did," the one guy said, laughing.

"He had more awards than anybody," the other one put in.

The other one nodded. I could tell he was having a tough time being there.

"He was a hell of an athlete," the one said.

"He was a hell of a man," I said.

"You would know that better than anyone," he said.

"No, I think you did too. The Navy didn't make him a man; that started back here," I said.

"I wish we knew more about him, as a Seal. But none of us were much on writing letters. And the times we did see him, he didn't seem to want to talk about it."

"He was never much on talking about it," I said. "Just know that he was the bravest guy I ever met."

The other guy seemed to be oblivious to what we were saying. It was awkward for all of us. If we'd been in a bar, I thought, we could've talked more easily over a few beers. That gave me an idea.

"Listen, in his last wishes, Jason told me to have a beer on him. Do you guys want to join me?"

"We couldn't get served," one said.

I swore under my breath as I realized that I couldn't either, and neither could Jason. It angered me that he was old enough to be laying in the grave but not old enough to walk in and have a beer in his own hometown.

"I guess I can't get served either back here," I said.

"They would probably serve you, being in uniform."

"Yeah, you could get a six pack and we could drink it right here," the other boy said.

It was a good idea. We drove downtown to a bar they showed me and I went in. All eyes turned on me as I walked up to the bar. I told the bartender what I wanted.

"We're not a package liquor store, I can't sell you a six pack to walk out with it," he said.

"I'm not old enough to get served either," I said cockily but I didn't move. I stood my ground, letting him know that I intended to walk out with a six pack.

"Fuck it," he said as he got an empty carton from under the bar. "You brought Jason Seaborn home, didn't you?" he asked as he filled the carton with six cold beers.

"Yeah."

"This is on the house," he said as he set the six pack on the bar.

"No, he told me to have a drink on him; he left the money, I have to pay for it."

"Okay, give me a buck. That'll pay for one of them; the rest are on me."

"Fair enough."

Me and the two boys.....Bill Denny and Frank Houston.....drove back to the cemetery. We sat at the head of Jason's grave heaped with flowers and popped a beer can. We were quiet at first, most of the way through the first round of beers. Then Bill started talking and Frank joined in. They told one story after another about their escapades with Jason and soon had us all laughing. I told some stories about me and Jason and answered their questions. I even told them he was a sniper when they asked what he did.

"No shit! Dam, he always did have balls," Bill said.

"More balls than anybody I knew," I said.

"Fuckin' nerves of steel," Frank put in.

"And a stud," Bill added. "I think he fucked every girl in the county who wanted to be fucked."

"Shit, he fucked one of their mothers," Frank said, laughing. Then his tone changed again. "Did he, uh......take many of them out over there?"