Date: Fri, 8 Jun 2012 00:40:27 -0400
From: Judah Mark Stahl <jmark.stahl@gmail.com>
Subject: Navy Corpsman - Chapter 2

Many of you have e-mailed with comments about this story, and I am
eternally grateful.  I will be honest with why I did not continue writing
this story. . . I had written it based on the inspiration of a friend,
someone who I had grown close to in a very short period of time.
Unfortunately, about one week after I started putting electronic pen to
paper, he was overcome by whatever demons he had and now he is no longer
with us.  I just felt like I couldn't continue telling even the fictional
parts of the story without completely losing it.

I have been told it will be cathartic to continue the story now, so that's
what I'm doing.  So far, it's been nothing but torture.  Please be patient;
it may take some time to get each chapter out, especially since I lost my
inspiration.  Also, I refuse to let anyone see or edit it before I post it,
so please excuse any awkward phrasing, bad grammar, or typos.

With that, and an ever fading memory, I will try to finally finish writing
what I intended to more than a year ago.  I can't even bring myself to look
at my old e-mails for guidance, because I just won't make it.

As always, if you need help, PLEASE reach out before it is too late.


Navy Corpsman - Chapter 2

===

Friday, Jan. 8, 2010

Mark looked at the clock.  12:30 p.m., lunch time.  He couldn't bring
himself to eat, even as co-workers drifted by his office and asked if he
was free for lunch.  No, he wasn't hungry.  He finally closed his door, and
put his head in his hands for a bit.  He fought back some tears.

Thoughts rushed through his head: you don't know this guy, who just came
into your life; now he's going, and you don't know what to do about it;
maybe it's time you see a therapist because you're talking to yourself; you
haven't billed one hour today and someone is eventually going to notice
that you billed the entire day to "Administrative Tasks"; why, oh why are
you still talking to yourself??

And then even more, Mark felt like, maybe this is a good thing.  He had
been incredibly lonely since he had moved, and started this new job-- maybe
this guy could be a shining light, a beacon in his sea of loneliness.

Mark cracked up at his dramatic attitude, and called his friend Jenn.

"Hey J, he's leaving today."

"Who?" she asked, absentmindedly.

"Ridge!  That guy you forced into my life.  He's deploying today," Mark
said, sounding irritated.  Because he was irritated.

"Ahhhhhh, I see.  OK, let's get this over with.  You want to have lunch and
talk about it?" Jenn finally understood why he called her.

"I thought you'd never ask."  Mark quickly left the building, ignoring
everyone's quizzical looks-- he usually ate at his desk.  He felt his
pocket buzz at 12:58 p.m.

"Leaving in a few.  Thanks for your help with the will.  I really hope I
get to see you again.  Ridge"

Mark stopped running, and typed back: "You will, you're a doctor.  Take
care of yourself, and be safe.  -M"

===

Lunch

Mark talked about Ridge non-stop for about thirty minutes.  Finally, all
Jenn could say was, "Wow.  He sounds like a deep guy.  I wish I had gotten
to know him better."

She relayed the story of how her and Ridge met-- apparently, she met him at
a holiday party.  Ridge was one of the most eligible guys there-- a
military man, a doctor, and he had a great smile.  She couldn't stop
talking about his smile, which made Mark keep remembering his smile from
their hours-long coffee date.  Date?  Maybe that was a bit optimistic.
Meeting?  No, it was more than that.

Jenn kept going about the things she learned about him-- that he was an
only child, and his parents had passed away; he seemed nice, but he had
this dark-and-brooding thing that she found intriguing (Mark rolled his
eyes), and they had met up for dinner or drinks every other day or from the
party until he announced he was being deployed.  That kind of slowed the
friendship way down, but that's when Mark met Ridge.

Mark finally asked: "So, did you guys ever, you know... hook up?"

Jenn laughed.  "The fact that you still call it 'hooking up' illustrates
how long it has been for you, my dear.  No, we did not.  We shared what
could charitably be described as a kiss under some mistletoe.  But he was
always a gentleman-- he never let me pay for drinks, or dinner.  I just
never got to pay him back. . . I guess I will have to wait until he
returns."

Mark looked at her strangely.  "I guess so. . ." he said.

===

Mark went back to work and felt better than he had all day.  He ended up
staying at the office until about 11 p.m., and then hailed a taxi to get
him home.  He kept looking at his Blackberry, which taunted him with work
e-mails but no personal ones.

At about 1 a.m., after a protracted battle inside his head, Mark sent this
e-mail to Ridge: "Let me know that you got in safe.  -M"

How lame, he thought.  He went to bed.

===

Jan. 9, 2010

Mark was in a meeting that felt endless.  He sat on several administrative
committees at his firm, and this one was tasked with planning the annual
firm Superbowl party.  Mark counted the ceiling tiles.

His Blackberry buzzed.  "Please, let this be an emergency," he thought.

"Mark.  I feel like this is not my life.  I am going to be attached to a
Marine company that is protecting a high-risk target in Baghdad.  I'm
supposed to provide medical and logistical support to them-- I am in over
my --

"MARK!  HELLO?"  Mark blinked twice and looked up from his phone.  And
everyone looked back at him, including the partner that just yelled his
name.

He lied, and did it quickly.  "Listen guys, I've got a client emergency."
OK, that wasn't a total lie, technically Ridge was a client.  "I have to
run and deal-- this guy needs a response right away."  Also not a complete
lie.  "Just e-mail me with what you need done, and I will happily do it."
OK, THAT was a complete lie.

Mark rushed back to his office.  He read the e-mail again, start to finish.

===

"Mark.  I feel like this is not my life.  I am going to be attached to a
Marine company that is protecting a high-risk target in Kabul.  I'm
supposed to provide medical and logistical support to them.  I am in over
my head.

Anyway, I've reached here safely, and the guys I'm with are awesome.
Everyone has their own story, and their own reasons for joining the Corps,
that I am actually really looking forward to learning.  I can't believe I'm
saying this, but these guys could really end up being my brothers.  I've
never had a brother, so maybe I just have no clue what I'm talking about.

I am sure the military is screening these e-mails, so you may not hear
everything from me.  I'll try to send you updates as often as possible.  I
can't tell you where exactly I am, but I can tell you so far what's
happened (I think).  We reached a military staging area and I was
introduced to my company.  We're working in conjunction with another group
with another Corpsman, so I'm hoping he'll give me some pointers.

I hear they try to make deployment areas look like home, so I'm curious to
see if there's a Starbucks floating around here somewhere.  It would be
nice to have a Machiatto, it would make me think of you.  That was the last
time i had Starbucks before I deployed.

You may think this is crazy, but could you tell me a bit about your life?
I feel like we talked so much, but all we talked was "business."  What I
did for work and what you did for work.  I want to feel like I'm still over
there, so will you tell me something, anything?  I just want to continue to
feel normal.

Anyway, tell Jenn I said hi.  You can give her my e-mail address too.  I
know, just from the way that you and I talked before I left, that cutting
people out of my life hurts me more than helps.  I want to change that.  I
WILL change that.

Hope you're doing well.  I have to let someone else on the computer now--
but write me back.  I heard I can get my smartphone working here, so if I
do, I will let you know.

Here's to sending e-mails around the world!  Ridge"

===

Mark sat back in his chair, with a half-grin-half-frown.  He was worried
about Ridge, which made him worried that he was worried.  Ridge wasn't
exactly a guy who needed to be worried about-- dude was a six-foot-tall,
military-trained doctor.  He could handle himself.

No, it wasn't that.  Mark looked at a specific part of the e-mail-- where
the Machiatto would make Ridge "think of" him.  And that was the part he
was worried about.  Because deep down, Mark knew an Americano would make
him think of Ridge, too.

===

Mark decided to wait until later that night to write back.  He had so much
to say, and yet, couldn't really find the energy or get over himself enough
to say it.

At 10 p.m., with the staff gone and the cleaning people buzzing around him,
he began to write.

"Ridge--

It's been a long day at work, so apologies for the ramble.  It's good to
hear you got there safely.  What are you guys going to be protecting?  Can
you tell me?  Is it dangerous?  I hope not.

I hope they have a Starbucks there.  I will think of you whenever I get an
Americano (which is like, every day).

I'm trying to find something comparable to tell you about my days at work,
but I'm coming up empty handed.  My days are woefully boring compared to
yours.  I want to hear more about your life and what you will be doing out
there, but I can understand if you can't tell me.  Or if the military won't
let you.  Hello, censors!

Instead of that, how about my bio.  I am from Cleveland, which I think I
told you.  My mom and dad still live there, in a house they can't really
afford anymore.  I actually don't mind it too much, but the rest of the
family lives in other states and I wish they would just move already.  I
have an older brother, who I've grown to love (more on that later), and a
sister-in-law who I think is crazy but she thinks the world of me.  So
there.

How, I mean, how am I really supposed to just talk about myself over
e-mail??  What questions do you have of me?  What about you??  If I'm going
to sit here and bare my soul to you (and, apparently, the Department of
Defense), then shouldn't you have to do the same?

Back to me: I always wanted to be a lawyer, and now I am.  It actually is a
pretty great job, but people hate and rag on lawyers so much that it makes
we want to hate doing it.  But I don't.  Not even when friends force me to
give legal help to pathetic-looking soldiers in need.

Did you always want to be a doctor?  I can't imagine putting myself in the
position to do that.  I don't want people's lives in my hands-- I'm way
more comfortable having corporations in my hands.

What do you do for fun?  I feel like that's probably going to change now,
but what did you do for fun before?

Also, one last thing.  I don't know why I'm telling you this now, and I'm
not sure that it even matters, but I'm gay.  It should be something that
you know, if you intend on forcing me to continue to be friends with you
over the long haul.  And, just in case you ask me the same question my
father did, yes, I am sure.  I checked.  A lot.  This is not one of the
questions you have to answer.

If you get this and still feel like writing me back, go for it.  -M"

===

Mark pressed send, realizing that he never was going to get any work done
until he got a reply, and he had no clue when that would be.

He wasn't sure why he brought up the gay thing.  Did it really matter?  The
guy was boku miles away and who knows when, or if, he would be back.  But
still, Mark felt like he owed it to his new friend to be honest.

His new friend.  Mark felt like, instead of being a new friend, Ridge was
quickly filling the space in Mark's thoughts as a boyfriend.  And that was
dangerous territory.

===

Mark got home that night and turned on the news.  Eight solders were killed
in a helicopter crash in Afghanistan.  Mark suddenly got queasy, ran to the
bathroom, and threw up.

He stayed in the bathroom well past the 11 p.m. news, and eventually pulled
up the details on CNN.  He scanned for the names of the dead, but the DoD
was not releasing them pending notification of next-of-kin.

Mark realized, this was going to be his life from now on.  Constantly
worried about this guy he didn't really know, and every time a soldier was
killed, he thought it was going to be Ridge.  This had to stop.

He cleaned himself up, and went to bed.  This had to stop, he said again.
This had to stop.

===


You can reach me at jmark.stahl@gmail.com.


copyright 2012