Three-Twenty-Oh-Three

By Ryan Hopkins

7:00 am

Man what a ripper of a song! That was “No One Knows” by Queens of the Stone Age, off their newest album, Songs For the Deaf. Listen up, here’s a piece of knowledge from the Rock-n-Roll College. Smacking drums on that track was none other than Dave Grohl. That’s right, the very same Dave Grohl from Nirvana and the Foo Fighters, who also put out a new album back in October. And we’ll have that Foo for You after the commercial break but first, here’s Bird with the Surf Report.

What’s up there San Diego!? It’s Bird with the Surf. Looks like today’s another cloudy one with air temps between 54 and 63 degrees, and the water’s gonna be around 58. The wind’s doing five to ten coming from the East at first, then West by nightall. If you’re in O.B. like me, you’ll see groundswells between three and four feet. See you in the water, San Diego.

Jeremy clicked off the radio before climbing down the ladder of his bunk bed. Without a little brother, the space below housed his desk, books, CD collection, stereo, a handful of drawings, and toy box. His feet ached from the cold, tiled hall, as he headed for the bathroom, just past the stairs. In the bathroom he squeezed some neon green toothpaste onto a toothbrush that should have been replaced weeks ago.

“Whatever.” he said and brushed his teeth.

Shivering, he galloped back to the warm carpet of his room in time to catch the tail end of “Times Like These”. Dresser drawers screeched as he pulled out some socks for his cold feet, skidmark free underoos, a pair of hand-me-down track pants, and a t-shirt with a skateboarding skeleton. He exited with the drawers still open and clomped down the stairs into the kitchen.

“You stink!” said Alexis, his older sister.

“Nuh-uh! I took a bath last night!” Jeremy said, which was true, but he also had night sweats and his armpits were beginning to smell like damp cumin and onion.

Alexis tossed an unwrapped Green Day CD on the table.

“Here, happy birthday.” she said, “Now stop stealing mine!”

The door echoed and Jeremy found himself alone. He opened a pack of X-Treme Icing Wildberry Toaster Pastries and ate them cold. Beside the crumps littered on the granite countertop was the TV remote. Jeremy grabbed it and clicked through the channels until he found a cartoon of a robotic tiger with a laser cannon on its back. During the commercial break he picked up the newspaper that his Mom had left on the island before she went to work.

Jeremy’s Mom left every day at 5:30 to beat traffic on her hour-long commute to Coronado Island where she worked for the government. Each day before she left, she would peep her head into his room and whisper, “I Love You.” Today's message also carried, “Happy Birthday.” Due to the boy sleeping like a rock at the bottom of the ocean, he never heard those words, but subconsciously her love sank in. Jeremy’s Dad had the same practice only the last time he had said, “I love you” was on December 26th, the day he left.

During the week his Dad was an EMT, and one weekend a month he was a Hospital Corpsman in the Navy Reserves, attached to a Marine infantry unit in Camp Pendleton. On Christmas Day he dressed as Santa Claus, with their presents in a great sack, slung over his shoulder. The next day he wore camouflage, and carried his olive green seabag. While he could have fully left the Navy when his contract ended, the health care and dental insurance provided to reservists and their families was too enticing. The first years he was in the reserves were fine, in fact that was the most time they ever had together as a full family.

Jeremy paused at the front page of The San Diego Union Tribune,

U.S. STRIKES IRAQ

AIR ASSAULT TARGETS LEADERSHIP IN BAGHDAD;

BUSH DECLARES START OF “CONCENTRATED CAMPAIGN”

He leafed through the paper to the daily comics. Garfield made him grin and Jeremy moved on to the horoscopes. He always had an interest in astrology, because it seemed to bring a little magic into his life. His belief in the power of celestial objects was justified when he learned in science class that the Moon’s gravity causes the tides to change, and considering that humans are mostly water, they must be influenced by the Moon too.

8:00 am

He stood, waiting for what felt like eternity for the bus to arrive. When it finally did, he checked his watch, 8:03. So, he climbed onto the bus and made his way to his seat. He always sat just behind the wheel because he thought it was the most likely to catch air if the driver hit a bump. In the back of the bus, where two boys were making a plan of attack.

“I’m gonna take my dad’s shotgun to Iraq!” one boy said, holding a pretend gun to the window, “Chik-Chak, BOOM!, Chik-Chak, BOOM!”

“I’m gonna hit it with a Nuke!” said the other, “Ka-Bluey!”

Meanwhile, the bus driver was blissfully unaware of the war crimes being committed in the back of his bus. In fact, he couldn’t hear much over the boombox he kept tucked between himself and the wall. So, he tapped away on the steering wheel singing along with Billy Joel.

Jeremy zipped open his backpack and pulled out his Dad’s old Sony Walkman and some tattered foam headphones. When he held the rewind button he could feel the buzz of the cassette tape until it stopped and after checking the tape through the little window, he pressed play.

London Calling began with Mick Jones’ choppy guitar, followed by Paul Simonon’s rolling bass, Jeremy’s favorite part. A few seconds later, he disappeared into his head and back to the days before Christmas. He remembered how sad his Dad had been, not just because he was about to leave again, but also because Joe Strummer had just died of a heart attack and on the 22nd, his Dad replaced the Christmas music in the stereo with his collection of The Clash. Over the years he had purchased every Clash album in every format and played them all until Jeremy’s Mom convinced him to change it back to Christmas music on the 24th.

For years, Dad would play London Calling during the rare times it would rain in San Diego, saying the rain “enhanced the feeling.” Now Jeremy had the cassette loaded into the tape deck, praying the clouds would give up the struggle and shed their tears.

8:45am -11:30 am

The burnt orange bus made its home stretch down Espola Rd. towards Tierra Bonita Elementary, and despite being surrounded by forty-seven other laughing, smiling children, Jeremy felt alone. Beside him sat another “tune goon” named Michael, who was into the industrial metal scene.

Today’s display included his Maralyn Manson shirt and parachute pants, which had nearly ten pounds worth of chains, straps, and buckles. The screech of the door was a starter pistol and the swarm of students clamored and fought to get off the bus. Jeremy felt like a buoy in the churning surf and disappeared again.

Inside his mind, he remembered standing on a wall at Cabrillo National Monument, with a birds eye view of San Diego. He scanned the city, starting closest with the submarines in Point Loma, then looked inland, towards Old Town where there were Jarabe Tapatio dancers and root beer floats. The buildings grew taller as he transitioned to Downtown which Dad called the “tool box” because when ships pull into port some of the skyscrapers look like flathead and phillips head screwdrivers. Rising from Chicano Park, near the Naval Base, he traced the Coronado Bridge. When he was little, he was scared to go over it, but not anymore.

Spanning the bay, the behemoth climbed 200 feet before hooking back towards him, arriving at Coronado Island, home to the Hotel Del and his favorite ice cream. From here traced the beach South all the way down to Mexico. Directly below him at the mouth of the bay, he saw a speedboat open up its throttle once it had passed the jetty. The buoys rocked in its wake and Jeremy turned away from the bay to jump off the wall, and for a fraction of a second he hovered in the air, weightless, before both feet came crashing down onto the concrete. When he opened his eyes he saw the sand colored walls and blue roof of his school. Inside Tierra Bonita Elementary, Jeremy became a sardine in the school of fish, carried by the currant to Ms. Forrest’s 4th Grade Class.

Backpack stowed and seated in his chair, he disappeared again to a memory of him at home. He was doing his homework at the kitchen island surrounded by fake cobwebs, spooky skeletons and plastic bats. Alexis was watching Hocus Pocus in the living room and Mom and Dad were both by the sink. Mom would rinse the dishes and Dad would load them into the dishwasher below and every time Dad bent down Jeremy could get a little peek out the window over the sink into the back yard. Mounted below the cabinets between the sink and the stovetop there was a small color TV.

On the TV, President Bush, who wore a sky blue tie, was giving a speech. Jeremy could only pick up clips and phrases of what the President and his parents were saying over the clank of dishes and rushing water.

“Weapons of mass destruction…murderous tyrant…unrelenting hostility…” said the President.

“What if…” Said his Mom

“...It’ll be okay,” said his Dad.

The sound of thirty chairs simultaneously scraping the floor brought Jeremy back, on his feet with his hand over his heart.

“I pledge allegiance to the flag,” he closed his eyes, “With liberty and justice for all.”

The chorus of chairs sang their tune, and once firmly seated Jeremy disappeared again. He was in his room trying to drown out the sound of his parents fighting in the kitchen. Dad had just told them that he was being taken to war. Hüsker Dü’s New Day Rising was already loaded into his CD player, so he pressed play and turned up the volume, but he could still feel the tension in their muffled voices. To lose himself further, he got out a pack of colored pencils and sat under the bunk bed and tried to draw. He began creating his own world, galaxies away, a world without guns and bombs. A world where happy families could take their hover cars for rides over the countryside, basking under the two suns and taking pictures of the alien flora and fauna. Four months have passed and he still has the drawings tacked above his desk underneath the bed.

11:30am-1:30pm

In and out he went all morning, never staying in the present for too long as he replayed the events of the past few months in his head. When the class sang, “Happy Birthday” to him before they left for lunch and recess he was imagining his father, 8,033 miles away at the Kuwaiti border.

He watched his Dad inventory the platoon’s medical supplies, and check the seal of his MOPP suit before going down the line and checking the seal of each Marine’s suit, their ankles and wrists wrapped in duct tape. Sadaam was known for using chemical weapons in the past, and intelligence reported he still possessed an arsenal, so they had to be prepared for chemical warfare. Even if the MOPP suits forest camo stuck out in the desert sands, and the rubber material made it so hot the Marines were more likely to die from heatstroke than mustard gas, it was still the right decision.

Being Thursday, Tierra Bontia’s school lunch consisted of a choice between a chicken patty sandwich or burger, waffle fries, a selection of flavored milks, and fresh fruit. Today’s dessert was chocolate or vanilla pudding. Normally, Jeremy would sit beside Michael, but he had been sent home to change his pants, because the chains on them could be used as a weapon. So, he dined alone which suited him just fine. After lunch the children needed to burn off energy, and were thus shuttled outside to enjoy the cool and cloudy day.

Recess proved more of the same for Jeremy who occupied a swing, watching the other kids play. The two boys from the bus had assembled their own platoon, cradling hockey sticks like rifles, and stuffing their pockets with various playground balls. Tennis balls would be used for grenades, the artillery carried basketballs, and bombers were armed with red rubber balls. Handfuls of wood chips would be thrown into the air for explosions and shrapnel.

They had mustered in ranks on the basketball courts, facing the jungle gym, their primary objective. First, came the bombardiers, circling the island of plastic and steel, lobbing bombs at its occupants. Next, bigger kids who could throw basketballs commenced the artillery strikes. Finally, in a sudden mad dash, the infantry stormed forward, meeting little resistance as the kids already in the jungle gym fled from the cannonade or fear of capture.

Once liberated, they took defensive positions, fortifying the jungle gym, and began sending out patrolls into the other areas of the playground. Out on patrol, the miniature Marines would gather intelligence by intimidating and interrogating any other kids they came across, seeking out Iraqi sympathizers and their next target. One of the patrols was snaking its way over towards the swingset when the bell rang.

1:30-3:00 pm

After Ms. Forrest corralled her class; she led them down the hall into the auditorium where the school would be having a special assembly. Here, Jeremy sat with all of the other students on the pullout bleachers. The school’s mascot, a large cartoon cheetah, was painted on the wall behind them. In front of the student body stood Dr. Jiminez, their principal. She was dressed in a robin's egg colored pantsuit emulating Hillary Clinton, and in her office a photograph of the senator hung on the wall of fame. Days like today were a challenge, having to explain to the children what was happening while simultaneously trying to calm fears and anxieties. In the new, post 9/11 world those days had become more frequent.

She raised her fist into the air, the agreed upon gesture meaning it was time for the kids to be quiet. After an exhale she began to tell the kids about the invasion. Dr. Jiminez never used a microphone but rather projected her voice from deep within, clear and audible without the excitement that comes from shouting. She related that San Diego is home to the largest Navy and Marine Corps bases on the west coast, and at this moment, many of their classmates had a Mother or Father crossing the Kuwaiti border, or anchored in the Persian Gulf. Dr. Jiminez drew upon President Bush’s speech from the oval office where he was surrounded by photographs of his own children. Modifying what the President had said, she told them that the people of Iraq are going to be freed from tyranny and that this is a time for bravery, integrity, and empathy. Afterward she addressed the rumors she had heard about what had happened during recess, telling the students that war is a very serious thing and not a game, and that those who were causing fear and threatening violence on the playground would be punished harshly.

With that said, she then shifted to a somewhat lighter subject, saying that there would be a canned food drive to donate precious food to the Iraqi civilians. A care package drive for the service members would also happen, with each student writing an accompanying card. Whichever class managed to collect the most cans and various goodies would then receive a pizza party at the end of the year.

To close her speech she stressed the importance of communicating feelings like fear, anger, and sadness. Soothing the children, she explained that strong emotions were perfectly natural in times like these and the students could always confide in their teachers, the school counselor Mr. Matthews, or herself. Before dismissing Tierra Bonita Elementary back to their classes, she led the students in their Cheetah Chant.

3:00-6:00 pm

Ms. Forrest took her class back to their room where they packed their bags and waited for the bus numbers to be called over the PA system. A few minutes later, Bus #33 was called, and Jeremy left the class behind, embarking on his homeward journey. This time, he flipped the cassette for the B-side of London Calling, starting with “Wrong’Em Boyo”. After the harmonica in “Train in the Vain” faded he put away his Walkman and saw that he was home. He didn’t know why, but he loved timing things together like that.

Alexis didn’t get home until 4:30 and Mom usually didn’t get home until around 5:00, so he had to let himself in. It took him a moment to dig his keys out of his backpack, but at least he hadn’t lost them again. He kicked off his shoes in the doorway and then grabbed a granola bar from the pantry, backpack still over his shoulders. Snack in hand, he went upstairs to his room and closed the door behind him, revealing a poster he had gotten at his first concert, the 2002 Vans Warped Tour.

Underneath his alien skies, he sat down at his desk to do his homework. As he worked he listened to The Offspring, drumming along with his pencil to the beat of “Come out and Play”.

6:00pm-9:00pm

Mom came home a little after six, arms cradling a large present, wrapped in the comics section from last Sunday's paper. On top of the present, held in place by her chin, was a brown paper bag radiating the warm smell of slightly charred flour tortillas. Hearing the door, Jeremy came running down the stairs.

“Happy Birthday Sweetie!” Mom said, kicking the door shut behind her.

“I got us burritos from El Ranchito, and I rented The Lord of the Rings.” she said to Jeremy before shouting up the stairs to where she assumed Alexis was, “Alexis! I got burritos! Come down here!”

Together they sat around the kitchen island and ate, talking about how their days had been, and whether or not anything interesting had happened. Jeremy didn’t tell her about what he saw on the playground, or about the assembly that afternoon. In fact, it was Alexis who was always the extroverted one that steered the conversation. Most of the conversation was centered around basketball practice, bio class, and asking Mom to give her and Chelsey a ride to the movies on Friday, and for twenty bucks to spend at the mall. They ate, pouring red or green sauces into their burritos right where they were about to take a bite. Mom washed hers down with a bottle of Pacifico while the kids drank deep red Aguas Frescas.

“Do you wanna open your presents now?” Mom asked.

“Yea!” he said with guacamole smeared around his mouth.

“Okay, let’s clear the table first and wipe that guac off your face young man” said Mom.

And so they did, dispensing the yellow burrito wrappers into the trash, snapping lids back on the little to-go cups of hot sauce before putting them in the fridge. Then, with the table cleared, his Mom placed the large present in front of the smiling boy.

“Open it!” she said, savoring the happiest moment either of them have had in weeks.

The boy tore away the comicstrip wrapping paper, and opened the box, only to find several smaller presents within. He went to work unwrapping his presents, unveiling a copy of Tony Hawk’s Pro Skater 4 for his Playstation, a portable CD player, AFI’s Sing the Sorrow, and a hardcover edition of The Thief Lord by Cornelia Funke.

“Thanks Mom!” he son said.

“You’re very welcome!” replied his Mom, “Whaddya say, shall we watch The Lord of the Rings now?”

They went into the living room while Alexis went back upstairs, and Mother and son sat together on the couch watching the movie. An hour in he turned and laid on his side, resting his head on Mom’s lap. After the credits rolled he said good night to Mom who she kissed him on the forehead before sending him upstairs to get ready for bed.

9:00 pm

After squeezing more neon green on the matted bristles of his toothbrush, flossing, and filling a fresh glass of water, he went back to his room. He swapped out his track pants for some green flannel pajamas, and tossed his shirt into the hamper. Ending his day, he climbed the ladder into bed, and tucked himself in under the soft fleece blankets. Then, laying flat on his back, he reached over and rolled the volume wheel of his radio, clicking it on. He was welcomed by the voice of his favorite DJ, Garrett.

Up next we’ve got an absolute masterpiece of a song and I always feel so blessed whenever I get a chance to play it, but before we dive in I need to tell you something. A few weeks ago one of our local service members gave me a call and said he was about to leave for the Middle East, and that he was gonna miss his boy’s tenth birthday. After we chatted for a while I found out that his son is a huge fan of this show, and he listens to it every night in bed. Then he asked if I could play his son’s, and coincidentally one of my, favorite songs. But before we sit back and bask in the ten minutes of blissful beauty that is Television’s “Marquee Moon” we have a word from our sponsor.

The prerecorded voice of Jeremy’s father came through the radio,

Happy Birthday Jeremy, I love you.

****

Ryan Hopkins is a hybrid writer from Red Lion, Pennsylvania whose work has appeared in As You Were: The Military Review Vol. 17 and Hayden’s Ferry Review. He is a Navy veteran and currently resides in California.