I see him
There are some interesting things that develop when you serve in the grunts. One of them is the way we can recognize each other. Not in some vaguely familiar way, I mean even in the dark. We see the guy’s silhouette from afar and we can immediately discern “that’s Hernandez”. It’s some combination of their gait, the way they carry their weapon, wear their cover, and just knowing them. We spend more time with each other than we spend with our own families.
I’ve seen Marines get off the bus after deployment. It’s a sea of tan or green, we are all in the same uniform. Wives can’t figure out which one is their husband, parents can’t locate their son. Almost all of us have looked down to see someone else’s kid hugging our leg. I’ve also seen a Marine approaching a post at 0230 in the morning, pitch black. Before he identifies himself the Marine on watch says “Marshall, you got a dip?” It’s remarkable, and it is not uncommon. Ask any Marine who’s spent some time in the infantry. They will smirk as they remember this overlooked detail, and respond “yeah, that’s true”.
These subtle episodes reflect the intimacy within the brotherhood, but there is a drawback.
I’ve been retired for a number of years now, and the three tours in Iraq are well into the rearview mirror. I still live in a military community, I have as a job as a contractor, and I am around Marines daily. Sometimes, not often, but sometimes for a brief moment I see a young Marine in passing and it looks like him. The Marine who didn’t come home. The one who drew his last breath in that hostile land. The one who was young and strong. I know it’s not him, but the way this guy walks, the shape of his head, sometimes his voice. I swear it could have been him. I am frozen for just a few seconds. Sometimes they see my stare, and what must be a shocked, yet blank face. I snap out of it and keep moving, but my thoughts take longer to move on.
I remember him. I remember his walk. He was a good dude.