Corp. Robert Westmoreland (ret.) joined the Marines in 1960. When he enlisted, he did not have a high school education. When he was honorably discharged in 1964 he had become an NCO in charge of 5 other men. They maintained the generators in Vieques, Puerto Rico, and were in charge of the 105 mm Howitzer gun placements in Guantanamo Bay, Cuba.
Young
Robert Westmoreland sat quietly, calmly, at a bus stop on a stone bench while
children laughed in the town below. He was waiting for the bus to take him away
to Marines boot camp. As he sat, he thought. He thought, and he doubted, and he
was scared because he didn’t know what to expect. Jesus what am I
doing I don’t know I wonder if I’ve made the right decision. I want
to get away from home sure but is this how I want to do it? A bead of sweat trickled down his brow. I
don’t have anything but maybe I could. I’ve heard bad things about
the Marines things I mean they treat you like dogs herd you like cattle but oh
no it can’t be that bad can it? Serving my country that’s the right
thing to do it’s better than taking up space and doing nothing I can
fight for my freedom it’s not as if anything’s going to happen to
me what could happen?
His eyes settled on a scrap of newspaper on the ground. The wind started to pick up. It nudged the paper, softly at first, then harder. Suddenly, with one grand sweep, the wind picked up the paper and hurled it high into the air. Westmoreland’s eyes followed it. Look at that the wind doesn’t let it come down. It starts falling and the wind just picks it up again and throws it back in the air. He watched the paper intently, watched as the wind whipped it around and it danced in the invisible currents twisting, twirling, around and around like a weightless ballerina.
Damn I wonder where the damn bus is it’s late I wonder if I missed it maybe it was 6:45 not 7:45 maybe I’ve just been sitting here waiting for nothing I missed the bus already and I’m going to be AWOL but can you be AWOL to boot camp? But soon the bus rumbled down the street, screeching to a halt at the stop. The doors swung open and slowly, deliberately, Robert Westmoreland got on the bus. The doors closed. The bus drove away and the wind died down. The newspaper fluttered down to the ground and came to a rest softly by the stone bench. The setting sun bathed everything in soft peaceful orange while children laughed in the town below.