A Marine Called Jason
(Revised)
by: Peter

(© 2007-2015 by the Author)
 

The author retains all rights. No reproductions are allowed without the author's consent. Comments are appreciated at...

Chapter 26
The Wait and Getting Ready 

With time on my hands there was some apprehension about Jason, Jr. coming to live with me.  Despite the deep longing to have a son, I had never dared to dream of being a father in the true sense of the word, as in a family. The nearest I had been was being the father image in Ricardo’s fantasy. I had no idea how to raise a fifteen-year-old boy. All I had to draw on was my own youth at age fifteen. Of course, he would be older when he finally arrived; I wasn’t sure how much older or whether that would be better or worse.

It was a long wait. A year passed, then another. Meanwhile, I tried to get ready for the boy. As I thought the time might be drawing near I started working on his room. I painted. The light fixture was a chandelier type, not suitable for a boy’s room, so I replaced it with a ceiling fan and light. I smiled, imaging how “hot” it might get in the room when the boy moved in with all his raging teenage hormones.  And with that thought, I opted for a full size rug instead of carpeting; I could only imagine how quickly carpeting would have to be replaced with the loads of cum he would no doubt dump on it in his frenzied jack-off sessions. Yes, I could well remember being a teenager.  All in all, I found that I was enjoying the preparations more than the wait.

I was planning to go shopping for furniture when I was surprised one day by a visit from Jason’s brother, Allen. He came up on the porch where I was sitting watching the sun sinking behind the trees.

“Brad,” he said, his voice strained as he stepped up on the porch and put out his hand.

“Allen,” I said. My voice was strained as well.  I had not forgiven him for the way he acted at Jason’s funeral, but I took his hand when he offered it.

“My parents were killed in an automobile accident,” he began.

“Oh. I’m sorry to hear that. If I’d known……”

“No, that’s all right,” he stopped me. “I’ve been going through things, trying to get the house ready to sell, and I have some of Jason’s things in the car, his duffle bag. I thought you might like to have it.”

“Yes, I would, thanks,” I said.

He stepped off the porch and I followed him, pondering whether I should tell him about Jason, Jr.  I wouldn’t think he would give a damn, except that his parents were gone now, as well as Jason, and the boy would be family.  I felt a painful twinge as he set the duffle bag out on the ground.  It didn’t look like it’d ever been opened and I was a little pissed that he would get rid of it, but what use would he have for it? I couldn’t force him to care. I wondered what was in it.  It’d been so long since I had delivered it.

“Well, that was all I wanted,” he said. “I don’t have a key to the lock,” he added. 

“That’s all right, I can cut it. Thank you very much for thinking of me,” I said. “Listen, Allen, I think you should know that your brother had a son over there. I’m bringing him back to the States; the paper work was filed about a year ago. He’s around fifteen, maybe sixteen now, I’m not sure.”

“Sad. My parents died thinking they had no grandchildren. They lamented often about Jason not giving them grandchildren.” His voice was without emotion.

“They had you for that,” I said.

He smiled, a tight, thin smile.  “Not me. My children would not have filled that gap. Just as I never filled the empty place that Jason left.”

“Well, I thought you should know, in case you want to have him in your life. I’ll let you know when he arrives,” I said.

“No, don’t,” he said, shaking his head. “Let’s leave it.  I’ve buried Jason, I’ve buried our parents… I would like to leave it at that.  I’ll be moving away when the house is sold to start a new life.”

I nodded, thinking he had not buried Jason.  I had. “Yes, I suppose that’s easier now that the war is over,” I said with a hint of sarcasm. I could tell he didn’t like my remark. 

“It was as hard for us as it was for you,” he said.

I smiled, with a soft chuckle, shaking my head.  “Somehow, I doubt that,” I said.

“It was an immoral war,” he said.  “Which we lost.  The victory was here at home.”

“We didn’t lose the war,” I said. “The politicians did, with your help. We won every battle in that war.  But you didn’t know that, thanks to the constant lies that were broadcast.”  Before he could say anything I held up my hands.  “We should end it there. Thanks again,” I said. “Listen, Allen, I.… no, forget it,”

“What?” he asked.

“No, forget it, it’s a bad idea.”

He nodded then climbed in his car. I shouldered the duffle bag and walked up on the porch. As he was driving away I had a twinge of regret that I hadn’t said that I would buy the furniture from Jason’s room for Jase. It would be nice for the boy to live in the house with his dad’s furniture from his room where he grew up. Suddenly I leapt off the porch and went running down the lane waving and yelling. Allen saw me and stopped and began backing up. I ran to meet his car, up to his open window.  He had a scowl, probably expecting me to continue our conversation.

“Listen, if you’re planning on selling the furniture out of your parents’ house I would like to buy the furniture out of Jason’s room.  For the boy.”

“No, there’s no need for that. When can you pick it up?”

For a moment I didn’t hate the guy so much.

Returning to the house where Jason grew up, and his room where I had stayed when I brought him home, was a bittersweet experience.  It hurt, yet it felt good knowing that I would have his dresser, and his bed for his son to sleep in. Jase would be so happy. I'd forgotten about his weights and workout bench and I asked Allen for those too.  He readily agreed that I should anything in the room.  I was shocked to find that the drawers we took out of the dresser still contained clothes that were left there when Jason had joined the military. Allen saw my surprise.

“Mom left everything the way it was.  She was expecting him to come back home,” he said. “And when he didn’t… well, his room became sort of a shrine.” I sensed an accusatory tone but didn’t say anything. “We can empty everything out of the drawers if you like. I can dispose of it. Or perhaps you would want to take everything for the boy,” he added, with a wave of his arm around the room.

“Yes, I could do that,” I said.

He started to unload the drawers but I stopped him. “Leave everything. I’ll let the boy sort it out,” I said.

Allen was kind enough to help me dismantle the bed and load everything into my pickup.  We put the drawers in the seat so stuff wouldn’t blow out.  I was ready to go.  Standing in the yard, I put out my hand to tell Jason's brother goodbye but he didn't take it.  I was instantly pissed that he was rejecting it.

 "There's one more thing,” he said as he turned to go back in the house.

I was stunned when he came out, to see that he had the flag from Jason's casket. I remembered threatening him if any harm came to it.  Neither of us mentioned that.

"I didn't burn it," he said as he handed it over to me.  Coincidence or not, he handed me the flag so that I would take it with my hand gripping where I'd tucked the empty shell casing.  Neither of us mentioned that either.

"Thank you."

He nodded. It would be the last time I would see the man.

I drove to the cemetery on the way out of town. I didn’t talk to Jason this time. And I didn’t cry. It didn’t mean it was any easier, I just didn’t cry. It never got any easier, even after all the years that had passed.  I sat at the head of his grave, staring at the marker, and my thoughts were enough. He could read my thoughts now, just as he had when we were together.

I decided to clean out the junk room connecting to the unused spare bedroom and turn it into a workout room. Jase liked to brag that he was bigger and stronger and more handsome than his counterparts in Vietnam, he would no doubt want to be bigger and stronger and more handsome than his friends here. Yeah, he was his dad’s son, all right. First I had good, durable carpet installed.  Then I set up Jason's workout bench and arranged the weights in neat order. I later bought a dumbbell rack and a rack for the plates. I looked at some other pieces of equipment but decided to wait and see what Jase might want. I also bought three large mirrors and attached them to the walls so he could watch himself work out. As a finishing touch I put up pictures and posters of well-built athletes and young bodybuilders that might serve as inspiration.

I was anxious to buy him clothes but I had no idea how long the process of getting him home would take, therefore no idea what size he would be when he finally came to me.

Having Jason’s furniture in the room somehow made it complete and ready to be occupied by his son. Through our letters I had learned that Jase liked baseball and football so I put up some sports posters. I also bought football and baseball cards and albums for him to have when he arrived. I bought a stereo system. As a finishing touch, I set Jason’s football against the pillows exactly as I’d found it when I stayed in his room that night, and I set the frame containing two pictures of him on the dresser. One was of him in full combat gear and another of him outside his hooch wearing nothing but combat boots and brief boxer shorts, his sweaty muscles bulging. It was impossible to ignore the bulge in the front of his shorts as well. On the spur of the moment I decided to have that one blown up to poster size to put up in the workout room.  If that didn’t inspire Jase, nothing would. And I waited some more.

I spent anxious moments sitting on the bed in his room, wondering if he would ever occupy it.  In his letters, I could tell that Jase was becoming impatient, and that he was growing up; I prayed not too fast. Sister Marie wrote, too, that he was not only growing up, he was growing away from her and she prayed for the day when he could leave Vietnam. More time passed, and I prayed too.

One day I decided to unpack his duffle bag. I had purchased bolt cutters but I’d been putting it off.  I got a cold beer out of the fridge before I went upstairs.  I pulled the bag out of the closet and set it upright beside the bed where I could sit. A funny feeling went through me as I cut the lock and removed the lock and opened the top flaps. I was surprised that it appeared to be just as I had packed it years ago, and I wondered why no one, not even his parents, had dumped it out to see what was in it.  Perhaps it was just too painful for them, and would have served no purpose in their lives. I took out several items of clothing and it was obvious that it had never been touched; no one else could’ve known the military folds. There was a musty smell as I laid stuff out on the bed. It was a welcome smell. It smelled of Vietnam, and his hooch….it smelled of him. 

I didn’t expect to find anything out of the ordinary in the bag. I had packed it, after all. There was his second dress uniform and shirt and tie; he’d been buried in the other one; several pairs of combat fatigues, a pair of well worn combat boots, two jungle green caps, rolled up socks, several OD green T-shirts and a couple of white ones, some camouflage handkerchiefs, several pairs of boxer briefs, white as well as OD green.  I smiled as I dumped the remaining contents; a pair of tiny camouflage briefs and a pair of white briefs. I wondered why I’d packed them instead of taking them myself along with the other stuff I’d kept out. Then there were the items that I wasn’t supposed to ship back, and that I’d forgotten I’d packed.  His web belt with ammo pouches, a can of face paint, first aid pouch, compass and navigation pouch, a can of foot powder; one of his canteens, and wrapped in a fatigue shirt was his Ka-Bar knife. Wrapped in another shirt was an NVA bayonet.  I sat and touched and fingered the stuff for a moment, smelled the clothes, then left it all till I could decide what to do with it.

To be continued...  

Posted: 02/27/15 rp