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The Ballad of El Losero

El Chaptero Uno

I have the most wonderful boyfriend in the world.

Everything about our relationship is picture-perfect. When we met, it was love at first sight. We were both stationed in Pensacola, Florida, he as a Marine, and I as Navy. I was visiting the enlisted entertainment club with a friend of mine I‘d met in boot camp, and we wandered into the bar, being sociable. Chatting, greeting, air kisses, the whole shebang. Then my friend introduced me to one of her friends that I had not previously encountered.

Our eyes met amidst the raucous laughter of inebriation and the wildly flashing lights of the karaoke bar. Sparks flew to a lovely serenade of “What a Wonderful World,” and the singer had his Louis Armstrong impression dead on--if Louis Armstrong had been stuffed inside a tuba and was being beaten with a bag of kittens. Despite this less-than-glamorous setting, the connection was there.

The next seven months were pure bliss. We were known base wide as “the Couple,” and one was rarely seen without the other. Long, wonderful summer days of kissing on the beach, holding each other bathed in moonlight, laughing and teasing as we hid from the world under the bed covers.

All too soon, we were cut orders that took us away from each other. However, holding me close as we stood in the soft sand, listening to the waves crash against the shore, he vowed he would wait for me. The knowledge that we would find each other again soon was a soothing balm to me; it made the separation easier to bear. Whenever my longing for him became too much to bear, I closed my eyes and remembered those wonderful months in Florida. Those moments, around him, were nothing short of Utopia.

Unfortunately for me, Utopia was in the middle of being raided, pillaged, and burned to the ground by the much-feared Breakup Horde.

“Say that again?” I said incredulously, clutching my cell phone so tightly I could hear the plastic creaking. “I’m sorry, my love, but I’m dating someone else,” Cody said again, his voice sounding regretful. It was a very simple concept--You don’t interest me anymore, and I’ve moved on to someone else--but the logic center of my brain was having none of it. No, he wasn’t breaking up with me, I was just mishearing him.

I gave a frantic laugh. “You’re joking, right? You can’t be serious. You’re not serious. Jesus, you should know better than to joke like that, you scared the hell out of me!” I chuckled. There was a beat of silence. “Um… I’m not joking. I’m dating someone else. I would have called you and let you know, but, you know, you’re so busy there in Cali,” he said, adding the last rather lamely.

My eyes narrowed as a sudden suspicion hit me. “You’re being serious, aren’t you?” I demanded. “Wow, you caught on quick,” Cody drawled. “Don’t you talk back to me, you slimey, disgusting sludge-minded little--!” I interrupted myself by giving a delicate cough, then continued more calmly, “And you couldn’t call me because I was… what was it again? ‘So busy?’ This isn’t like you’re telling me you forgot to pick up milk at the store, you’re breaking up with me! Don’t you think you could have taken a minute to call me and let me know, hey, guess what, you’re single again?!”

I could hear him shifting uncomfortably. “Well, I’m calling you now, though--”

“Yeah! After dropping off the face of the earth for a week! No calls, no texts, nothing! Hell, the only reason you’re freaking talking to me now is because I blocked my number and you picked up accidentally!” I screamed. “I really am sorry, my love,” he said, and I was almost inclined to believe him. “Not sorry enough to freaking wait for me!! ‘Semper Fidelis,’ huh, Cody?!” I snarled. “Hey, listen, I’m, um, at dinner with my parents… I’ll call you later, and we can talk about this some more,” he interjected, then quickly hung up before I could give my opinion of this suggestion. I knew I would see Babe soaring through the heavens before I ever heard from him again. Coward.

I snapped my phone shut and hid it under my pillow before I could be tempted to throw it. I drew my knees up to my chin and crossed my arms around them, resting my head on my kneecaps. I was sitting on my Navy-issue bed in my Navy-issue barracks room, staring at my wall coated in Navy-issue paint. Previously, my room had seemed very spacious--only two people could fit in here comfortably, as compared to the three they crammed into every room in Pensacola. Now, however, I felt stifled and restless.

I refused to cry. Tears were for sissies! I was a Hardcore Navy Bad a**! I didn’t take anything from anybody! What does one measly male mean to me? I’m surrounded by gorgeous men that any female with feeling between her legs could hope for! The sheer diversity of flavors was awe-inspiring: White, black, Hispanic, Japanese, Italian, German… the list goes on! I’ll show him! I’ll replace him faster than a drunken Anna Nicole Smith can embarrass herself publicly!

First off on my checkpoints of Operation Kiss My a** Cody was a little clean-up. I thoroughly trashed my barracks room, hunting savagely for anything that even vaguely reminded me of anyone that slightly resembled my now-ex boyfriend. My pile was rather large. A multitude of letters, a treasure trove of small mementos, a teddy bear with a shirt saying, “Someone in the Marines Loves Me!” and a bottle of Cody’s cologne with which to scent said teddy bear. Armed with a knife and a lighter, I took my stash outside, the chill January air reminding me that I’d forgotten my jacket, and moved past the parking lot, hiding behind a dumpster.

The mementos went first, unceremoniously dumped into the bin. The letters were next, savagely slashed to ribbons and then burned to ash on their way after the mementos. The cologne, I threw as hard as I could against the side of the dumpster, shattering the bottle and immediately sending a very cloying scent into the air. I grabbed the teddy bear, stripping the shirt off it. Snarling and growling to myself, I used my knife to shred the shirt seam from seam, then tore the remaining cloth into pieces as small as I could make them. That done, I turned on the teddy bear, and stopped.

The hand that held the knife trembled, eagerly wanting to destroy this last, final piece of Cody. The point of the knife drifted closer. But, looking at it… feeling its soft fur under my fingers as I held it, remembering all the nights I had drifted to sleep with it tucked underneath my arm… I couldn’t do it. I sighed, dropping my arm, and glared at the teddy bear. “You’re lucky you’re so huggable,” I grumbled. I swore the bear gave me a look of gratitude. With the knife back in its sheath and the teddy bear whole and in hand, I made my way back to my room.

There was an eerie silence as the door closed behind me. I had a strange feeling in my chest, something akin to a child being blindfolded, given a metal pipe, and let loose into a room to flail about as he pleased. I hiccupped as I moved to my bed, clutching the teddy bear to my chest. I was not going to cry! “I j-just don’t get it,” I said thickly to the bear. “What did I do wrong? What happened?”

Another hiccup, and I realized my nose was running. I must be getting sick, of course. “I tried my best… I thought we were doing so well!” I complained. Man, this sickness moved really quick. Already my eyes were starting to burn, and my face was tingling slightly. “W-we were so h-happy… h-he said we’d m-make it… that we’d s-see each other again when he c-c-came out here!”

I slumped down into my bed, nuzzling the bear against my cheek. A strange pressure was building within me, and I knew it was close to bursting free. I stared off into nothing, my mind replaying every memory I had of him. “He told me he loved me,” I whispered to the bear, then realized that something wet was trickling down my cheeks.

Crap. I was crying.

--

Author's Note: Please R&R! I'm a strong person, I can take a little criticism... or even a lot, if I messed up that bad. But I want to know!

That is very good. Congratulations! You have done the impossible. You have earned the Lemminglord's respect.

Ballad of El Losero

El Chaptero Dos

It was heavenly.

Cody and I were lying on a beach. The sand was almost pure white, and the water such a crystal-clear blue that it almost made me weep to look at it. There was no one else for miles, and to my imagination, there was no one else in existence. Just him and me. That was all I needed in order to be happy. The only noise was the sound of the sea lapping against the shore, with an occasional gull cry to break the monotony. It really reminded me of those Corona commercials you see on TV.

Cody brushed back my hair, smiling that adorable smile of his as he captured a lock in his fingers, bringing it to his nose. “Every time I smell your hair, I fall in love with you all over again,” he murmured, kissing the strands. I smiled at him, not removing my arms from around his waist. “I love you,” I sighed, tilting my head up to be kissed.

Those gorgeous lips curled into a grin, his blue eyes sparkling merrily. “Hey,” he said softly. “Yes?” I asked, still not surrendering my silent demand for a kiss.

“Hey… you’re a crazy b***h, but you ******** so good, I’m on top of it…”

I stared at him. “What the hell?!” I demanded, jerking my arms away from him. Fury lashed within me. How dare he ruin such a perfectly good moment with such a lame-brained comment like--!

A noise.

Not just any kind of noise, but a rather noisy noise. I scrunched my eyes, growling irritably as I fumbled for my blankets. When my hands found nothing, I irritably assumed that I had kicked them off in my sleep. The noise continued, loud enough that it was damned near impossible to ignore. I sighed, thumping my head against the pillow in an attempt to knock the hearing abilities out of my ears.

This produced the opposite effect, so now my hearing was clearer. The lyrics to “Crazy b***h” sank into my ear drum, slightly tinny and produced by a speaker with horrible sound quality. But the song meant something to me; it was an alert of some kind. I scowled, trying to remain asleep enough to drift back into that dream but awake enough to figure out the importance of the song. The quality marked it as a ring tone of some sort; almost like my… ring… tone…

My eyes flew open, and I lunged for my phone before even really seeing it. The result was my knocking the thing halfway across the room, with my half-awake self scrambling after it. Snatching it up, I feverishly pressed it against my ear. “What is it?!” I snapped.

Being abruptly awoken by a surge of panic was enough to make anyone have a sour tone. Don’t judge me.

“Morning, sunshine,” came a fairly amused voice. It took me a moment, but I managed to place it. “C, what’re you doing calling me at…” I glanced at my watch. You know that feeling of raw, unadulterated fear? Where you just freeze solid, and your stomach feels like it wraps itself around your spine? Yeah. That was me, right at that moment. If I had possessed testicles, they would have been thoroughly lodged in my throat.

Caracciolo chuckled. “Ah, I see you just realized the time,” he said. “Holy s**t!” I shrieked, leaping to my feet. “We’ve got you covered for about ten more minutes--we told the OOD that you had a really bad case of the shits, and had locked yourself in the head--but after that, you’re screwed,” he warned. “Thankyougottogobye!” I said hurriedly, snapping my phone shut and diving for my uniform as I shucked the clothes I had slept in last night.

Today was Monday, and I was fifteen minutes late.

My Navy regulation uniform is a delightful ensemble called “utilities.” The first layer, naturally, is underwear. The only acceptable form of undergarments in uniform is white briefs, accompanied with a white brassier for females. Who’s going to check? I asked myself, glancing down at my current accoutrements: lacy black thong with a matching black bra. The second layer consisted of a cleanly-pressed, snug-fitting white shirt. The one I donned wasn’t so much “cleanly-pressed” as it was “an ungodly mass of wrinkles,” and the collar had been stretched beyond hope of redemption before I’d even left boot camp, but it would do. Next came the utility shirt, a sky-blue button-up top, free of any wrinkles save for “military creases”--one on either side of the buttons, and three evenly-spaced creases in the back, all sharp enough to cut yourself on. I had the creases, accompanied by their inbred cousins, “summer creases.” (“Some ‘re here, some ‘re there.” The Navy’s a riot.) While not quite necessary, it is also advised to employ shirt stays, two elastic bands that clip onto the bottom of the utility shirt and either clip to your sock or are slipped around the foot in a stirrup fashion, depending on the kind you bought. It took me two minutes to wrestle the shirt stays into accepting my authority, but eventually I managed to get the right ends where they belonged. After that were utility pants; midnight blue slacks, again with awesomely sharp creases. I’m sure you’re seeing a pattern concerning me and creases, so I’ll spare you the redundancy of describing the state of my pants. The belt wasn’t too bad, except the buckle was scratched to hell--a no-no in the Navy, regardless of whatever humbling, menial labor they set you to. A pair of knee-high, itchy socks, and it was time for the boots. Speaking of the utility boots…

I grimaced at the sight of mine. Once, my boots had been shiny enough for me to fix my hair in them. After many, many months of trumping around bases, performing the most mind-numbing physical labor anyone could possibly expect another human being to accomplish, they were a mass of grey patches, where the leather wasn’t ripped off entirely. I really needed new boots.

I haphazardly donned the aforementioned articles of clothing, then dashed into the bathroom. Performing my morning routine of teeth-brushing, deodorant-applying, and hair-brushing, and managing to enslave my hair into a sloppy bun using a mass of hair bands, I was grabbing my wallet, keys, phone, cigarette pack, and cover (see also: hat) and out the door.

Fortunately for me, I had refined the skill of quick-dressing to an art form, and had gotten everything necessary done in about five minutes. By car, the schoolhouse was only a few minutes away, so with any luck, I would be securely nestled in my seat, ready for any learning the Navy could throw at me, and none the wiser to my prolonged absence.

You ever notice how whenever the phrase “with any luck” is mentioned, everything goes horribly, horribly wrong? Especially on a Monday.

First, there was the cop. Now, I’m a California girl, born and raised, which means I treat driving like a gladiatorial match to the death. You stick a cop car right behind me, and my vehicular manipulation skill drops to the level of a six-year-old playing “Burn Out” for the first time. So with the fuzz hovering about my rear bumper, almost daring me to do something stupid, I refused to do anything that might be even vaguely considered as unsafe. That included driving twenty-five miles an hour no matter how high the speed limit on the sign read, and signaling every time I so much as brushed the steering wheel.

Then there was the four-way stop. Normally, this stop is relatively unused at the time I head to the schoolhouse. This being a Monday and me being late, however, naturally everyone and their mother decided to travel down that particular stretch of road, and pause at that particular set of stop signs. Minutes stretched to years. I actually caught myself checking for grey hairs by the time I managed to make it up to that white line.

Three other cars were rumbling around me, one at every stop sign. We all eyed each other, remarkably aware of the cop idling behind me, and all uncertain as to who had the right of way. Now, there’s a trick I discovered in California: if ever you’re stuck at a four-way stop sign, and everyone else refuses to move, allow your car to creep forward. For some reason, the sight of someone else’s tires in motion makes all other drivers think, “Hey! This is my turn to go, then!” After a gut-wrenching minute of the other three cars deciphering who my signal had been to, eventually the tangle got sorted out, and I was able to continue on my way.

I flew towards the schoolhouse parking lot, leaving the cop far behind me. Once I had found a suitable location, I brought the car to a halt, and before the thing had even really stopped moving, I was jerking out my keys, halfway out the door, and in the process of sprinting.

If only I could run this fast during my Physical Readiness Assessment, I would get an Outstanding every time.

I burst into the doors in a cloud of curses, my eyes darting frantically about for the OOD. The OOD was the enlisted man or woman in charge of all other enlisted men or women for that particular day, an experience much like being an officer for a twenty-four hour period. Thusly, they were titled “Officer of the Day,” or OOD. Now if only the other Navy nomenclatures made as much sense.

One of the duties of the OOD was to punish wayward sailors. Say, for instance, a young woman that was currently twenty-five minutes late. Therefore, it was in my best interest to steer clear of any official-looking petty officers until they could forget ever being suspicious of me.

“Glad you could show up, MacKee.”

I jumped about a foot in the air, whirling around to face my captor. Seeing the arrogant posture and smirking mouth, I breathed a sigh of relief before glaring venomously. “Jesus, C, you scared the s**t out of me!” I snapped. Richard Caracciolo, or “C-9” as he was better-known, harrumphed. “Is that any way to greet the man that saved your skinny neck?” he asked mockingly. He had a point, but he could never know that. It went against every Female Rule there was. “That’s no cause for sneaking up behind me like… like, um… like some sneaky thief!” I growled irritably. Man, my own wit was sharp enough to cut, this morning. Rich pointed out as much, and I very politely told him exactly where he could shove his assessment.

As Rich laughed, I couldn’t help but admire him one more time. Rich was every girl’s absolute dream--more notably that dream that made you wake up blushing in the morning. A wonderful blend of Italian and Japanese, he had the highlight of both races. Dark, sun-bronzed skin, hair you almost couldn’t resist running your fingers through, dark, almond-shaped eyes, and a smile to make any woman weak-kneed… all that would have been enough, but as if to put a delectable topping on an already-scrumptious male specimen, Richard’s 6’ frame was decked with the most perfectly-formed musculature I’d ever had the pleasure of leering at. You know those statues of Roman gods by famous artists like Michelangelo and Raphael? Yeah. That was Richard. I wasn’t sure yet if Rich was bedecked with the fanciful oak leaf when fully nude, but I intended to find out. I guess there were perks to being single, after all.

“What happened, man?” Rich asked me. The use of gender-specific nouns had never been Richard’s strong point. I grimaced. “Man, don’t even ask… it’s a long story,” I sighed.

“I’m not sure about Caracciolo, MacKee, but I for one would be absolutely delighted to hear about it,” came a gravelly voice behind me. Both me and Rich froze. Swallowing hard past the heart-shaped lump in my throat, I made myself turn slowly around, a sickly smile springing to my face. “Why, Petty Officer! How nice to see you! How are you doing this day?” I asked, trying my damnedest not to notice the large, glaringly red badge on the Petty Officer’s chest with two O’s and a D emblazoned in white across it. AT1 McNallen smiled back at me. “Absolutely wonderful, MacKee, thank you for asking. Now, if you’d accompany me to my office, you can fill me in on this long story as I figure out which watch you’re going to have this weekend,” he said sweetly, standing aside and gesturing down the hall.

With a quick glance at Richard, who gave me a slight shrug that said, Well, we tried, I gave a sigh of defeat and walked down the hall, my shoulders slumping dejectedly.

Author’s Note: Yes, I know, some of the names and descriptions might be a little difficult to comprehend. I did my best to squeeze it all in there, but it’s rather difficult to do. If anything is unclear, be patient until the next installment, and I’ll try to make things more understandable. Again, please R&R!

Go get published already.

Honestly! I'm a huge critic, and If you published this as a book, I'd read it, and tell others to read it. You have pulled off a miracle, be happy.