I've been thinking about an episode in my past, and I finally feel like I'm ready to share it. In the past, when I've told people this story, I've been greeted with laughter and incredulity. It offended me some, but I realize now that some people were simple unprepared for how brutal my life has been at times. So, here goes...
**Now would be a good time to pour another glass of wine/light a cigarette (or joint)/use the bathroom, or do anything else that might take you away from your keyboard**
When people ask me about my unusually brief time in the Navy, I give them two choices: the polite answer or the honest one. The polite answer is that "military life just wasn't for me..." The honest answer is "I got caught in bed with a Marine." But the truth is more than that--he wasn't just some Marine, and we weren't just in bed. His name was Monty (LCPL R. Montanez), and he was the one. The One. He was a Puerto Rican former football player with steel-gray eyes and a smile that could melt an ice cube. We met when I was temporarily assigned to the mailroom at NATTC (at Pensacola, FL) and he would come in every morning to collect the mail for his Marine barracks. He started joking with me about how tight my uniform pants were (that was no accident) and eventually his jokes turned into flirts. One day, it occured to me that he wasn't just messing with my head, and I flirted back. I was rewarded with that killer smile of his, and I fell--hard.
We dated for about a month and a half, which is like a lifetime for two men. While we were dating, we established something of a routine. We spent our free days walking downtown or out on Pensacola Beach. At nights, we'd either go to Van Gogh's (an awesome little coffee shop downtown), or we'd go to one of Pensacola's many clubs or bars. Since I was underage at the time, it was a very good thing that Monty was so slick at sneaking me into bars: military id's have the picture on the front and the date of birth on the back. Most places were so concerned with the date of birth that they never looked at the picture on the front. After Monty had his id checked and had paid, he'd slip me his id, and I'd present it with the date of birth facing the doorman and my thumb clamped over his (gorgeous) picture. We only got caught at this once, and the doorman (at a gay bar) was so amused at such a ballsy stunt that he gave me a wrist band anyway.
On nights when one or both of us had to stand watch on base, we developed a routine for that also. Monty was friends with just about everyone in the Marine barracks, so when he wanted to go out, he would just tell the person on the quarterdeck (the "lobby" in civilian terms) to cover for him, and to report in for him as if he was present. When I had duty, I would bribe someone to switch shifts with me, giving me the night off. Unfortunately, these weren't fool-proof methods, and it was this sneakiness that eventually did us in.
One weekend night, we both had duty, and we both made our plans to get out of it so we could go out together. I found some loser with no life to switch shifts with me, and Monty made his normal arrangements to take off. We went out, and had a grand old time. It may only be because of what happened next, but in my mind that night was one of the most glorious of my life. We partied like an old married couple that knew just what to do for the other--he knew which drinks I liked, I knew which songs to request for him. While the club was packed, it seemed as if it was just the two of us, dancing forever in a private party for two.
When we left the club, we headed back to base, and to another one of our routines. He entered the barracks through the quarterdeck, as required, then let me in through his window. Monty did have a roommate, but the guy was married to a local woman, and spent almost all of his time with her at her off-base house.
What we didn't know was that while we were out, the guy covering for Monty had gotten sick. His replacement didn't know anything about Monty's arrangement, so he reported him missing. The Staff Sgt. on duty left a note for the guy on quarterdeck watch to allow Monty back into the barracks then notify SSgt. So while Monty was letting me into his room (and we were drunkenly getting down to "business"), SSgt. Hall was heading in our direction. He had a master key (one of those key-card systems), and he was planning on surprising Monty. Monty had latched the security chain over the door, but SSgt. Hall easily kicked the door in.
I was (to put it bluntly) on top, so SSgt. Hall got to me first. He grabbed the back of my neck and threw me to the floor next to the bed. If he hadn't known what was going on when he walked in (certain...movements can only be one thing, and the smell of sex filled the room), it was crystal clear when he pulled me, naked, from on top of Monty. Monty was equally undressed and in an equally compromising position, so there was no hiding what we'd been up to. I looked up at him, already stuttering on excuses and lies, but they fell on deaf ears. SSgt. Hall was enraged, and he took it out on me. He kicked me and hit me, raining down blows on the back of my head and my exposed back. I'd curled into a protective fetal position, but I just couldn't get away from his fury.
After beating me for what seemed like an eternity, he stopped, panting and sweating heavily. Looking up at him as he stood there gasping for air, a perverse thought ran though my mind, "The way he's sucking air, you would think he's the one that was in bed..."
He pulled me to my feet and push/pulled me into the bathroom. I honestly thought he meant to kill me in there. Instead, he grabbed a towel off a nearby rack, turned the water on, and ordered me to "get cleaned up." I gingerly washed my face, taking note of the boot-shaped bruises already forming on my arm and shoulder. When I walked back out of the bathroom, Monty was sitting on the edge of his bed in his PT shorts and a tee-shirt. His shoulders were slumped, and his head was hanging in defeat. I hoped he would look at me, give me some hope, but he determinedly avoided my eyes. SSgt. Hall spent the following hour and a half calling us worthless trash. He promised to send us "back to mama" branded as fags. He then had me escorted back to my own barracks. I spent the night trying to cry quietly and failing miserably. My roommate tried to find out what happened, but I just couldn't bring myself to tell him. I felt ashamed, dirty, worthless. After a couple of hours of trying to get past my dejected silence, my roomie quietly got up and rounded up all the razors and medications and locked them in his closet. To this day, I'm grateful he did that--it was one of the lowest points in my life, and I really didn't want to live.
Needless to say, it didn't take long for word to spread. By the next afternoon, I was a pariah on base. Everywhere I went, the whispers and accusing stares followed.
Two days later, a special Captain's Mast was held for me. If a court martial is the military equivalent of a judge/jury trial, then a CM is the equivalent of a hearing. It's just as binding, but not quite as formal. Frankly, I might have preferred a more formal setting. The base commander stood there and smilingly told me that I was what was wrong with today's military. My actions had "undermined [his] command" and he couldn't stand the sight of me. I was sentenced to 45 days in restricted barracks, followed by an "other than honorable" discharge from the Navy. My JAG officer (military attorney) advised me that my discharge was a sure thing, and my only real option was to request an appeal. I didn't expect the appeal to work (and it didn't) but it bought me time to continue drawing a paycheck while I was assigned to a temporary (read "cushy") job.
I never heard from Monty again. I heard rumors that he'd basically "denounced" me. I'd heard from some people that he claimed I'd seduced him while he was drunk, while others said I'd raped him outright. Deep down, I don't think Monty would ever lie about me like that, but it's hard to say what a person will do when they're between the proverbial rock and hard place. Monty was a "lifer"--he talked about staying in the Corps for life, so he just might have lied to save his career. I've seen people do a lot worse for a lot simpler things. If he did lie, I've long-since forgiven him.
Looking back, that moment set me up for a lifetime of thinking "It's me against the world." Feeling that despised and hated justified my fears, and gave me a reason to keep lying to the world. But finally I realized I'd been through my worst nightmare: I'd been violently outed, beaten, cursed, and rejected. And it hadn't killed me. It was close for a while, but I was still standing. After that I figured if it was going to cause me that much grief, I might as well own it. I finally came out to my parents a year later and there was no going back.
No comments:
Post a Comment