Unlikely Love

August 2005

"Hurry up...get off the bus!!!!" screamed the Recruit Division Commanders.

I didn't know exactly what I was doing. Was I going to be able to pass for straight? All I knew was that I wanted to escape my parents and the life that had shielded me for many years. We all stood in ranks in the atrium at Recruit Training Command Great Lakes. There before us stood a Master Chief. He walked through the ranks, inspecting every single one of us with the help of his fellow RDCs. Then, the questions began.

"How many of you have used marijuana? Raise your hand."

Some raised their hands and were ushered away.

"How many of you are homosexuals?"

Some raised their hands and were ushered away.

"How many of you have committed a felony?"

Some raised their hands and were ushered away.

After the questions were finished, we still had a large group. We were split up, males and females.

"You will have five minutes to call your families to let them know that you made it safely. As soon as you have spoken with them. Get in line so that you can get a haircut."

We all rushed to the telephones and began making phone calls. I had written the house number on a napkin, as we were instructed to hand over our cell phones before we got on the bus at the MEPs station.

"Hello," my mom's voice rang in my ear. She didn't sound the same though. She sounded softer, more maternal than I'd remembered.

"Ma, I'm just calling to let you know I made it."

"Okay, that's good. Do you want to talk to your dad?"

"No, ma'am. Can you let him and the girls know that I made it?"

"Okay. Well...be safe."

"Okay."

Back then, we never said I love you. I don't know what it was; maybe it was just another societal thing. I know there were times when my parents said they loved me, but I feel that all of those times were blocked out by the immense emotional toll taken following my coming out. As a young black gay man, coming out to my devoutly religious parents was seen as an atrocity. My mother couldn't even look at me the first couple of days following. Every time she saw my face, she cried. She told me that I would get AIDs and die. Hence, I made the decision to join the military.

I got into the haircut line, and I was at the end. I desperately needed a haircut as I had just pulled my shoulder-length braids out, and my hair resembled that of a lion's mane.

"Would you like to donate?" Asked the female barber.

"Sure."

Before I knew it, she had placed my hair in a ponytail and cut it as close as possible. She showed me my hair, and I was whisked off before I could say another word. I still had a substantial amount of hair on my head.

"You will be able to go back next week. It's late, and we have to get you all through processing and off to bed," said one of the RDCs.

He was a kind man. I can't remember his name, but he resembled Cuba Gooding Junior. A first-class from the rank on his sleeve. Cleanly shaven and squared away. I said nothing back. I didn't want to be an issue. He placed me in the back of the line for processing. There, we took off our clothes and placed them in our duffle bags. They then placed a box in front of us and told us to put those items into the box. We got to keep nothing from our old lives. Nothing that could remind us of where we came from.

Following processing, we made our way into our divisions. The RDC's counted off 80 men and started over. The women went through the same process. That's what made up our divisions. Following division makeup, we were marched to our temporary dwellings for the night. They called them our ships. Inside, we were instructed to find a bunk. Being 6'2, it was easier for me to climb into a top bunk, so that's where I found myself. We were then instructed to take a shower. We took our items and made our way into the showers.

I've been asked by many friends over the years if showering with 80 guys turned me on. My response is always a resounding no. Men stink; it's just something that we have to come to grips with. We sweat and smell like something ungodly. I showered quickly, adverted my eyes, and got out as fast as I got in. I dried off, put on my PT gear, and returned to the foot of my bunk. I placed on a pair of socks, which I would regret in the morning. But in the moment, they kept me warm. As everyone stood at the foot of their bunks, the RDCs yelled.

"TAPS TAPS! All lights out; get in your racks."

I got into bed, and for the first time, my anxiety subsided, and night fell over me.

The following day came with hellish fury as the RDCs banged on trashcans and yelled at the top of their lungs, "GET UP!"

I flung my body out of the bed, only to slip, cracking my head on the slippery floor. I wasn't the only one. Many of us who stayed on the top bunks and wore socks did the same. We sounded like cold bologna hitting a countertop. Confused, I lay there and tried to regain my bearing. That's when I saw him. He was taller than me, muscular, but cornbread-fed thick from years of playing whatever godly sport he'd played. Full lips made him look Hispanic, blue eyes, and a deep voice. He also wore these hideous brown glasses that we called BCDs or birth control devices, giving context to how horrid they looked. But he made them work.

"Let me help you up."

"Thank you," I said softly but as deeply as possible. Trying my best to avoid being made out.

"Kent."

"Richardson."

Kent. With the BCDs, he looked like Clark Kent had he had strawberry blond hair. I had no idea that that one interaction would start an avalanche. In the height line, Kent stood right behind me.

"Unless someone is out or gets sent back to P-days. This is the position in the height line that you will always be in. Nut to Butt," said the Senior RDC. He was an older guy who resembled a young Anthony Hopkins.

For the next eight weeks, Kent and I were almost inseparable. We told each other jokes. Stood side by side while marching. He even accompanied me to choir practice but couldn't hold a note. There was one thing holding me back from him. If anyone knew I was gay, I would go back to the life I so desperately wanted out of. That and I didn't even know if Kent was even gay. Maybe it was the fear of rejection. Things changed following our last Physical Fitness Assessment.

Kent didn't have an issue with anything. He blew out his push-ups and killed his sit-ups, but that run was a bitch for him. Like I said, he was thick. One of his thighs was the size of both of my arms put together. I remembered that he looked at me before we started running.

"I'm nervous, Rich."

"Why?"

"You know I failed my other runs."

"I know, but I won't let you fail. We got this; you just gotta keep pace with me."

Now, for me I only needed the bare minimum on the push-ups, and I maxed out the sit-ups. The run, that was my baby. In school, I did cross country and also played tennis. Running was not an issue for me, and I was hell-bent on ensuring that Kent didn't have an issue with it.

"Ready, set, go!"

We were off. I kept a conservative pace so that Kent could keep up with me. I watched the clock, and each time around, I got just a little faster, and Kent pushed through. When we completed our six laps, Kent ran over to the trashcans and projectile vomited. At that moment, I didn't care if anyone saw me. I rubbed his back like he was mine. He grabbed my shirt and continued to vomit. When he was finished, he wiped his mouth with a disinfectant wipe and threw it in the trash can. He then turned and looked me in the eyes. I wanted to avert my stare, but there was something in his look that I couldn't get away from.

"You didn't leave me."

"I told you I wouldn't. We got this. We are in this together."

"He hugged me and spun me around."

I didn't care who was looking. I allowed myself a moment of happiness in his warm embrace. When he put me down, he just looked at me and kept smiling. I couldn't help myself. I smiled all the way back to the ship. We showered and were able to commence holiday routine. During that time, I would typically refold my clothes and write short stories in my recruit notebook. Kent was a part of the cleaning detail, so he usually did laundry, but today, he sat on the opposite side of the bunk. I kept catching him looking over at me. When I did, he would look away.

Later that night, I got into my bottom bunk, and he got into the top. I slid my hand under my pillow. There was an envelope neatly tucked between my pillow and the sheet. I opened it up and began to read.

Hey Rich, it's Kent. I wanted to say thank you for today. I don't know why you've been so kind to me over these last eight weeks, but I really appreciate it. I come from a small farming town where I didn't have any black friends. I didn't even know any black people. My high school was mostly white and Hispanic. That was it. So, the first time I met you, I knew that I wanted to get to know you. You've shown me the best parts of being a human. Your compassion is unlike anything I've ever experienced, and maybe that's because you had a different life experience than me. I know your dad was in the military. Even though you don't like to talk about home. With all of this being said, I hope you can keep this next part to yourself. Even if you don't feel the same way that I do. I think my friendship with you changed in week two. I remember watching you learn to swim. Seeing you complete the pool test warmed my heart. I hugged you when you got out of the pool, and I could feel your heart beating a mile a minute. It was at that moment that I was dead set on protecting you. I didn't know why I needed to. Although they gave you the nickname Cupcake, you were anything but sweet. I've watched you handle grown men half your age and size like nothing.

You also gave me my nickname. Clark. I knew what that meant. I was your Superman. From hospital visits with a twisted ankle to me passing out because I locked my knees in formation, and you got in trouble for catching me. You have always been there. But it wasn't until today that I felt that I could say these words to you. I love you. Does this make me gay?; I don't know. What I do know is that I've never felt for a man what I feel for you. I hate that this is coming to an end. But I will treasure what we have for the rest of my life.

Love Always,

Your Clark Kent

I didn't know what to say. I felt tears rolling down my face. My chest heaved. I looked up from my bunk, and he leaned over, looking down at me. His face was beat red. I could tell that he felt shame. However, he had no reason to. As we locked eyes, I looked around to ensure no one was looking and mouthed at him. I LOVE YOU TOO and blew him a kiss. A tear landed on my neck, and he rolled over on his back, facing the ceiling.

Every day following the confession, staying away from him felt harder and harder. Following Battle Stations, our crucible event, we all felt free. We had our hat ceremony and went to the mess decks to have chow. This wasn't any regular chow. This was the chow of champions. These young people had completed an eight-week initiation into one of the world's largest brother and sisterhoods. The United States Navy.

As we ate breakfast, Kent sat across from me. I look up between bites to smile and breathe. He then did the boldest thing he'd done since sending the letter. His leg reached over and touched mine. He did it so innocently that if anyone had seen it, they would clearly just think we were hungry and could care less that our legs were touching. But it was a level of intimacy I hadn't felt in a long time. The hairs on his leg brushed up against my smooth skin. At 19, I still didn't have hair on my face or body.

When we got back to the ship. I think that's when everything started to set in. We began packing our seabags and throwing out things we didn't intend to take to our follow-on duty stations. I was going to Meridian, Mississippi, and Kent was heading across the street in Great Lakes. He stopped and placed his arms on his rack, looking at me. I looked up.

"What's wrong."

He whispered, "I'm gonna miss you."

"I can write you and can call you all the time."

"But it won't be the same. You are probably going to meet someone."

"Clark."

"Don't do that."

"Don't do what?"

"Don't Clark me like you aren't beautiful."

I stopped talking. The room was loud as everyone was having their own conversations. I hadn't thought of myself as beautiful. My entire life, my dark skin had never been praised. I would often get anxiety-ridden acne; I was built like a bare-chested little boy and had no shape. But I guess he saw something different. He saw past my crust into my core.

"I love you. I will always love you," I replied.

"I'll always love you," he whispered back.

Later that evening, as we donned our seabags and moved to our temporary barracks, he never left my side. We were allowed to leave the base in our dress uniforms for the first time in eight weeks, seeing as we had no other clothing. The first place he and I went was AT&T. We both got cell phones and placed each other's numbers inside. Our next spot was the darkest place you can go: the movies. He bought our tickets to see The Exorcism of Emily Rose. There were people in the theatre, but no one in uniform but us. We took the seats way in the back. As the movie started, he positioned his hand within mine. His hands were bigger, firm, and warm. He was nervous and sweating.

"If you aren't comfortable, we don't have to hold hands," I lean over whispering.

He leans in, his nose touching mine, lips inches away from connecting, "I love you."

I couldn't say a word; I just nodded my head up and down and smiled at him. When the movie ended, I was sure we would stay behind to share our first kiss, but it didn't happen. We got up and made our way back to base. His hand lingered on mine the entire ride back. When we got into the room with our 80 brothers, we didn't look at anything but our phones. We didn't care about the text charge. We were both single with no bills other than this phone.

After TAPs, I felt my phone buzz. I looked, and it was a message from him that read, "Meet me in the bathroom."

I looked around, adrenaline pumping, and walked to the bathroom in my PT shorts and tank top. I didn't put on my shower shoes, afraid someone would hear me walking. As I walked into the bathroom, I didn't see anyone. Kent reached out of the last stall and pulled me in. There we were again. Face to face.

He whispered as he cupped my face in the palm of his hands, "You know I would fight a mountain lion bare-handed for you, right?"

I nodded.

"You know that I love you so much and don't want to leave you," he said as his eyes swelled with tears.

At this point, I am lightly sobbing into his hands. I nodded again.

"Can I kiss you?"

"I've been waiting for this all day," I said jokingly, laughing through my sobs.

He was slow and gentle, and his lips felt like marshmallows. He smelled of axe body spray, and it engulfed me. His tongue tasted of mint bubble gum and copper pennies. My head felt big, and my body was starting to take on a life of its own. After the long French kiss, he placed two more small pecks on my lips, causing me to smile.

"I'll never forget you."

"Same here."

The following day, we met up quickly for one last kiss, and that was the last time I saw Kent. We kept in touch until my cell phone was stolen. After that, I never spoke to him again. Over the years, I'd searched for him on Myspace, Facebook, and even Together We Served. I wrote letters to his last known address, and they were sent back, return to sender. I never found him. I am now married to a wonderful man. But in the back of my mind, I still think about Kent when I think back on my boot camp days. All I hope is that he has found love. Like the love he showed me. A young black gay man who found the most unlikely love in the most unlikely place.