rivera

Crossing the Rubicon

Your heart is racing. Sweat beads on your forehead. Your legs ache. You run faster. Breathe. The sweat begins descending down your face. You feel it dripping over your eyelids. Your heart is pounding. Breathe harder. The sweat stings your eyes; you close them tight, and keep moving, faster. You increase the speed. You try to keep your balance while reaching for the towel. Move your legs. Faster. Breathe. Exhale. You swallow the bile trying to make its way out. Legs hurting, ignore it. Just keep moving. They'll get numb soon. Your sides ache. You feel the cramp starting. Ignore it. Think of something else. Run faster. The faster you run, the faster you reach the end. You think of the past three years. The sacrifices made during three years of life in the Marine Corps. You think of Her. You curse yourself for it. Use the anger. Increase the speed even more. Ignore the daggers slicing into your sides. You should have hydrated more. Too late. Increase the speed. Too late for a lot of things. Just run faster. It's too late for anything else. Breathe. Exhale. Lift your legs higher. Move them faster. Ignore the pain. It's too late for anything else. Run.

The timer reaches thirty minutes and you jab your fingers into the stop button. You thank the gods as the treadmill begins to slow. You try to control your breathing. Settle into a comfortable walk. Breathe. You step off the treadmill and almost lose your balance as you reacquaint your body to the uneasy swaying of the Navy vessel. You sigh. You've been traveling on ship for the past couple months and if there's anything you hate more than running, it's trying to run while on ship. You look back at the treadmill. Three point niner two miles in thirty minutes. Should have run faster at the end. At least try and round it off to a flat four. You curse your slowness.

"Getting old, eh Corporal?"

You look over towards the junior Marine addressing you.

"Careful with your tone, Private."

"Aww, I'm just messing with you Corporal." He responds joyfully, " And I'm not a Private anymore, I'm a PFC now."

You just stare at him.

"I don't give a fuck if you're a First Class Private or a Second Class Private, you're still a fucking Private."

"umm ah... Aye Corporal." And with the look of a frightened child who just got scolded by his overbearing father, he walks off towards another part of the gym. He's a good kid. Means well. Maybe you shouldn't have been so harsh with him. Then again, this isn't the Bitch Corps, it's the Marine Corps. He'll be all right.

You make your way back through the maze of corridors along the ship and down to your berthing area. You move past a couple of Marines trying to wrestle in the tight confines of your Company's sleeping quarters. Side step another group playing Spades in the middle of the aisle. Stop to admire the pornographic imagery of another Marines laptop, and down to your little corner of the ship, where you share rack space with two other Jarheads.

Corporal Ashley, who sleeps in the coffin rack under yours is still in his rack, sleeping. You look at your watch. Zero eight thirty three.

"Jesus Christ, you stupid fucking Navajo, reveille was two and a half hours ago." You can't help but smile. "You're such a piece of shit Ashley. Heh."

He stretches out, lets out a long yawn, looks at his watch, then turns back over and closes his eyes again.

You smile. "Piece of fucking shit. You know that right?" You reach up to open your coffin rack and pull out a fresh towel and body wash.

"God damn dog," Ashley says as he turns over again, "not like there's anything else to do!"

"Yeah," you agree, "That's the only reason I'm not dragging your stupid fucking Navajo ass out of the rack right now."

"You mean like the way I dragged your mom out of her rack last night and fucked her brains out?"

You laugh out. "Piece of fucking shit, Ashley."

"Holy fucking shit!" you hear another Marine yell out behind you. "Is the fucking Navajo still asleep??"

You turn around and see Corporal Cortes make his way through the aisle towards you.

"Of course he is," you tell him as you reach for your shower shoes, "didn't you know how fucking lazy those damn indians are?"

"HAH," replies Cortes, "I forgot, good point."

Ashley can't help but laugh out too. "OK motherfuckers," he says with a laugh, "at least I ain't no goddam stupid Puertorican Spic."

"HEY!" You respond, "I'm not a stupid Puertorican Spic. I'm a white man from Philadelphia."

Ashley laughs out as Cortes begins to get red. "Fake ass Puertorican! How can you say that???" Cortes says as he begins to reach for the little Puertorican flag he keeps in his wallet. "Aren't you proud to be a Puertorican like me?"

"I stopped being Puertorican three years ago," you tell him.

"Negative motherfucker. Wait...what the fuck happened three years ago??"

And with a smile on your face you say "I became a United States Marine. That's all the pride I need."

Ashley laughs out again and Cortes just stares at you. "PFFFFTTT. Ok motherfucker, wayyy to much fucking motivation around here, I'm out." And he begins to make his way back out of the aisle.

"Out of the fucking closet maybe, stupid fucking spic!" yells out Ashley.

You smile as Cortes yells back, "Don't make me burn your tee-pee down, you piece of shit Navajo!"

You can't help but keep smiling. These fucking guys... heh.

Ashley lets out a yawn, stretches out again, and says "Wow, three fucking years... we'll have less than a year left when we get back, you know."

You stop smiling and drift off into space. "Yeah."

"It's going to be pretty fucking skate," continues Ashley, "We're definitely not going to have anything to do then."

You sigh. "Speak for yourself, brother. I'm sticking around for the next one," you say as you take off your sweaty shirt and get ready to take a shower.

He sits up suddenly, banging his head on my rack above him.

"Oww, goddamit!" He reaches up and rubs his head. "You're extending for the next deployment??"

"Yup." You tell him. "It's not official yet, but that's the plan."

"Holy fucking shit dog! That means you won't get out for another two years!!!"

"Well... two and a half actually."

He just stares at you, so you turn to make your way towards the showers "Dog... you know they're going to Afghanistan next, right?"

You stop, but without looking back you say "Yeah, I know." You let out a nervous laugh and look back to jokingly say "It'll be my Crossing of the Rubicon."

He stares at you blankly and confused. "Huh??"

You stop smiling. "Never mind." You sigh, and turn again to head for the showers.

You just can't explain it. You try to think of a way to, but you can't. And the harder you try, the harder your heart begins to race. You feel the sweat bead on your forehead. Your legs begin to ache. Breathe, you tell yourself. Breathe. Make your legs move. You know they'll get numb soon. Just ignore it. Think of something else. You think of Her, and you curse yourself for it. Ignore the daggers slicing into your sides. Stop thinking of Her, god dammit. Just remember to breathe, and run faster, because the faster you run, the faster you reach the end. And you have to reach the end, before it's too late for anything else.