J. Curtis: Calexit: The Anthology

The team’s equipment manager came out of the gym, and asked, “Mikey coming back?”

Trish replied, “No, we’re taking him to the hospital. Can you get his clothes for us?”

The equipment manager nodded, “Be right back.” Five minutes later, he was back with Mikey’s gym bag, just as the medic finished bandaging him up for the trip to the hospital.

Trish thanked him for the bag, and Mike helped him up, thanking the medic. They walked slowly to the car, Mikey wobbling a little bit, and Mike asked, “You dizzy?”

Mikey mumbled, “Somebody kicked me. Kinda dizzy.”

Mike and Trish looked at each other, and Trish said, “Mike, leave it. It’s not worth it.”

An hour, and twenty-two stitches later, Mikey was being examined by the on call neuro doc, who finally said, “Maybe a slight concussion. Pupils are equal and reactive, a little bit of a slow nystagmus, but nothing else. Kid’s got a hard head, but I’d watch him for twenty-four hours. If there’s any change in the pupils, or the headache gets worse, bring him back in, okay?”

Two weeks later, Mikey was finally cleared off all protocols and was allowed to eat something other than soft food. His first request was for Mama Rosa’s, down in Harborview. Mike almost vetoed it, due to the problems they were seeing in town, but Trish convinced him it would be okay. They agreed to meet there for lunch, and Mike took civilian clothes in to work with him.

After the morning meetings, Mike finally caught up with the master chief in the smoke pit. “What’s the latest on the situation out in town?”

Shifting his cigar, Cameron replied, “Sucks. They are no longer reporting crime statistics, but my contact is saying petty crime is up fifty percent, violent crime is up thirty-five percent, and murders are up at least twelve percent, at least the ones that get reported.”

Mike shook his head, “Fuck. We need to get the families out of here. Sooner rather than later.”

Cameron shrugged, “As of today, we’re down to fifty that haven’t done anything with their dependents. Most of them are married to Hispanics, so they’re figuring to ride it out.”

“Fifty enlisted, or fifty total?”

“Fifty total. You need to get Trish and Michael out. The sooner the better.”

Mike shrugged, “Two months. That’s all I need. End of May, they are out of here.”

“I’m not sure you’ve got that much time.”

“Lemme know if shit blows up, Jimmy.”

“I will, you know that.”

Mike changed into civvies, and drove down the strand to Harborside, marveling at the tent city that had seemed to spring up along the beaches that were open to the public. Pulling into Mama Rosa’s, he saw the bright yellow Karmann Ghia convertible parked squarely in front of the door. With a sigh, he got out and walked toward the restaurant, Dammit, I know she loves that car, but this isn’t the time to be driving it around, especially with the top down. Not here, not now.

Walking in, Mama Rosa got down from her stool at the cash register and came to the hostess station, giving Mike a hug, “It is so good to see you. I have put you in a quiet place, Señor .” She led him back to the screened private room, and said, “Enjoy your lunch.”

“Thank you, we always do, Mama!”

She cackled a laugh, and walked back to her stool, as a young waitress swooped in with his iced tea, and more chips and salsa. They ordered and enjoyed lunch, with Mikey eating all of the chips in addition to his lunch, Mike asked, “Tired of soft food, huh?”

“I’ve been starving. And not being able to eat anything spicy is… It’s not good Dad.”

“And you haven’t been able to put any liplocks on Alisa either, have you?”

“Daad!” Mikey blushed, “We don’t…”

Trish laughed, and Mikey blushed even more, as Mike said, “I was your age once. Just sayin.”

Mikey, knowing he was losing the battle, just ate more chips and salsa, and didn’t say another word. After they finished, they walked out and Trish handed Mikey the key to the car, “You can drive home.”

Mikey’s smile went ear to ear, and he hopped into the driver’s seat saying, “Yes!”

Mike gave Trish a hug, and said, “I’ll see you later at home.”

He started to walk back to his truck, when he heard an anguished, “Dad, it won’t start!”

Turning back, he shook his head, Now what? If it’s not one thing, it’s another. Gas? Battery? Geez…

The lights worked, the horn beeped, but the car resolutely refused to start. Trish was on her phone, as Mike continued to try different things, checking the starter solenoid, when a voice, said, “Allow me, Señor .”

Mike looked up and saw Chuy standing over him, “You did this on purpose, didn’t you?”

Chuy laughed, “If only Señor , if only I could command cars to break just down from my shop. If I had that power… I would be rich !”

Mike got up and shook hands with him, “Hell, Chuy, you ought to be rich off the amount I’ve spent on this damn bug at your place.”

“Ah, but Señor , you are only one customer, ten like you, maybe…” Chuy fiddled with various things, and finally said, “I think it’s either wiring, or the solenoid and starter both went out simultaneously, which I doubt. I will go get my truck and drag its carcass over to my shop and attempt once again to breathe life into an inanimate object.”

Trish smacked Chuy in the arm, “Hey, don’t talk like that about my baby. She’s been good to me for thirty years.”

“Ah, Señora , for you, anything. Michael, it is good to see you, and I was sorry to hear about your injury.”

Mikey nodded, “Thank you, sir. I’m better now.”

Impatiently Mike, said, “Chuy?”

“ Si , Señor . I will call when she is repaired.”

Mike flipped his keys to Mikey, “I’m almost afraid to do this, but let’s see if you can get us home. Then I’ll go back to work.”

Mike and the master chief sat in the monthly schedules meeting, passing notes back and forth as CDR Pierce, the operations officer, and team and platoon OICs [4] Officer In Charge hashed out training schedules, operational deployments, and watch rotations. What was unusual was that both Team Seventeen and HSC-85 COs were in the meeting, considering that they were reserve outfits and hadn’t been called up. His attention was brought back to the issues as hand as LCDR Villanueva, fourth platoon, interjected, “No, we’re ready to go to Guam. It’s our turn in that barrel, and we need the jungle workup we’ll get doing MIO, [5] Maritime Interdiction Operations and cross training with the JTF partners down there. I’ve got three newbies that definitely need it.”

Mike wrote a note and passed it to the master chief, HOW MANY MARRIED IN P-4? The answer came back, TWO- RAMIREZ AND HILTON BOTH LOCAL HISPAN WIVES. NO PROB. That prompted another thought, and he wrote, WHAT ABOUT T-7? THEY ROTATE PLATOONS NEXT WEEK??? Jimmy Cameron shook his head and scribbled, DID YOU NOT READ AM RPT? DEP PLAT CLR, RTN PLAT USE LV TO MV.

Mike cocked his head as he unscrambled Cameron’s writing, Oh yeah, the Team Seven guys all have their dependents out, and the plan is to give the returning platoons enough basket leave to get their dependents out of California. Dammit… I need to get Trish and Mikey out… Another fucking month.

“Captain? Any words?” CDR Pierce asked.

Mike thought for a second, “Um, no, not really.” Glancing down the table at CDR Gherson, Team Seven’s CO, he added, “Need any commendation or award write ups as soon as you can get them in. I’ll be going out with Fourth Platoon to Guam Friday. I need to do a handshake tour out there, and want to possibly get to Manila, and talk to the Joint Task Force rep on the embassy staff there. With MIO and CARAT [6] Cooperation Afloat Readiness And Training exercises ops coming up, we might need to push a second platoon out to cover all the options.”