Celebrating Quietly

A man celebrates his 50th birthday over dinner... feeling the world won't let him do more.

         “Al… I’m flattered you’d invite me to celebrate your birthday. But tell me – why invite me? And why doesn’t this feel like a celebration?”

         Why indeed, the man thought to himself. He wasn’t often introspective – an almost-30-year career in the Marine Corps could keep a man from being that way. But now, sitting across the table from a lady who had been a friend since junior high, Aali “Al” Kasaab found his mind going over all the reasons he didn’t celebrate just his birthday, but holidays in general. I also need someone to talk to, Shelly. I hope you’re ready for this.

         “Shelly… how long have we known each other?”

         “Geez… we met in what, eighth grade? I’m not sure I want to admit how long ago that was,” Michelle “Shelly” née McBride Richardson replied with a rueful chuckle. “Hell, some days it seems like forever since that bastard ran Mike off the road, not five years. Others… it seems like it was only yesterday. And when I look at Mike, Jr., I can’t always accept that he’s a college senior and not the boy I sent off to kindergarten.”

         “How’s he doing, anyway?”

         “Still maintaining a 3.6 GPA in architecture,” Shelly replied, her motherly pride momentarily brightening her face. “Been dating the same girl for three years now. I’m pretty sure they’ll get married, though they’ll probably wait for her to graduate, since she’s only a junior. At least, I hope so.” Taking a sip of her wine, Shelly said, “and that was a nice deflection on your part, Al. I didn’t know they taught verbal judo in the Corps.” As Aali Kasaab shook his head, Shelly said, “but it’s over now, Al. Enough about me. Tell me why you’re spending your fiftieth birthday with an old widow from your junior high and high school days instead of out painting the town red.”

         “Okay, okay, you caught me,” Al chuckled, lifting his hands in mock surrender. “And no, they didn’t teach me that move in the Corps, either. But this isn’t combat… and frankly, a part of me needs to talk.”

         “Then please talk to me,” Shelly said while reaching over and lifting his chin with her fingers. “I’m in front of you, not on your empty dinner plate. And what would you have to say that would be so bad?”

         “It’s a combination of bad and embarrassing, Shelly. I’m embarrassed because, except for my time in the Corps, I never really knew how to celebrate my birthday. When I was growing up, things like that weren’t celebrated loudly in my family, if at all. My parents never seemed to put much stock in birthdays beyond a small cake or a cupcake with a candle, and a few presents. For the life of me, I’ve never been able to figure out why my parents, God rest their souls, acted that way about birthdays. Or holidays in general, except for Christmas; they always went all out for that.”

         “And how do you handle other holidays Al? Do you ‘go all out,’ like they did at Christmas?”

         “Why? What’s the point,” he replied, disgust creeping into his voice. “Mom and dad are gone, after all. Hell, Dad died on Thanksgiving Day of 1989. By that point, I had been in the Corps for five years and was starting to think about making it a career. And my unit was under-manned at the time; I was lucky to get bereavement leave to attend the funeral. Thank God I did, though. Mom would’ve never forgiven me if I hadn’t made it back, and I’m not sure my brother or sister would have cut me much slack, either.”

         “I know Hansa wasn’t that keen about you becoming a Marine. But from what you’ve told me, she came around at least somewhat.”

         “Yeah, she did. But it wouldn’t have happened if she hadn’t done some of her training rotations in a Veterans’ Hospital during nursing school. After she dealt with the patients there, she realized that very few guys in the military were the bloodthirsty gung-ho stereotype she’d held for years. Once she saw that, she was more wiling to accept my decision to join the military.”

         “And Farouk?”

         “He wanted to follow me into the service, but he couldn’t pass the physical. So he went to college and got a computer sciences degree, then got a job in the federal government. And he’s been there ever since. In a way… I envy them.”

         “Why?”

         “They’ve both been married for years, raised families… I sure didn’t pull that off.” Taking a sip of water, he added, “I was actually a bigamist. Married to both Alicia and The Corps. And the Corps won out. In one way I was lucky, though. It was June when Alicia served me the divorce papers, instead of on my birthday. That would have been just more manure on that pile.” Al started to take another sip of his drink when someone roughly bumped him from behind. He looked over his shoulder to see a younger couple. The man was weaving badly and obviously drunk.

         “I’m sorry, sir,” the woman said. “I’m afraid my husband had a little too much to –”

         “Shut up, Marie! He doesn’t deserve… deserve anything from me… except a bullet!” Turning to look at Al, the drunk continued, “All of you… should be slaughtered! You fucking… sand-niggers… are a menace… menace to the world!” Then man kept weaving on his feet as he said, “It was a camel… fucking camel jockey like you… that killed my brother… at the pentagon that day!”

         “Sir, I’m very sorry for –” Al's voice was cut off by the <STING> of the man’s backhand across his right cheek. As people around them gasped, Shelly started to get out of her chair. When Al motioned for her stay seated, however, she did. People at the tables around him were also returning to their seats as the Maitre ‘D arrived.

         “I am so sorry about this,” he said to Al and Shelly. “If there’s anything I can do… if you need me to report anything…”

         “That won’t be necessary,” Al replied, his voice so even that people’s jaws dropped all around him. “This gentleman is simply drunk… drunk, and apparently quite angry over world events. I think it's best for all that he just goes home and gets some rest.” The relief on his wife’s face on hearing that was obvious. “Sir, could you help these people find a cab home?”

         “Yes, sir,” the Maitre ‘D replied, his own relief at not having a fight erupt in his restaurant more than apparent.

         “Fuck off,” the drunk said as the Maitre ‘D tried to take his arm. “Fucking camel jockeys… gotta kill ‘em... kill 'em all.” As the drunk turned to leave, his wife mouthed a quick “Thank you” to Al, who nodded in reply. Then they were gone, escorted to the door by the Maitre ‘D.

         “Al, I have to say… I’m amazed.”

         “Why?”

         “I thought Marines were trained to fight at the drop of a hat!”

         “Oh, we are,” Al said with a chuckle before taking another sip of wine. “But we’re also trained on when to fight, not just how. And that was not the time, place or reason for a fight. Especially…. especially for someone like me.”

         “Al… do you mean as someone born of Palestinian parents?”

         “Someone born of Palestinian parents… with Middle Eastern skin tone and features… post 9/11… nope, nobody I know!” As Shelly shook her head, Al smiled and said, “Yeah, honey, you nailed it. And it doesn’t matter that my parents were Christians before they came to the States in 1965, and raised all three of their kids in a Christian church and faith. A lot of people simply see my skin color and face and decide that I might be an enemy or a terrorist, or at the least a troublemaker. Even now, some people shy their kids away from me on the street. And here I thought I was a teddy bear!”

         “Oh, you have been for years. Which was why I was surprised when you joined the Marines. Frankly, Al… of everyone I knew in high school, you were one of the last I expected to go into the military! You were so nice and polite, I just couldn’t see you going into the service! Not to mention combat! You’d ask someone to back down before shooting them!”

         “Oh, I did my fair share of shooting and killing, believe me. Am I proud of it? In a way, yes.” Seeing the surprise on Shelly’s face, he added, “Don’t worry, you’re right in that I was never one to want to go out and kill for the sake of killing. The military actually tries to weed those people out; they’re too unstable, you can’t count on them to be there when needed. I also know that when the time comes, I’m going to have some explaining to do when I face St. Peter at The Gates. What I’m proud of, Shelly... was that I was able to defend my fellow Marines and the civilians nearby from people who wanted to kill them, possibly for the joy of killing as well as acting on their own beliefs. I’m proud that I only killed when it was necessary, when the moment demanded it, and that I was able to also do a lot of humanitarian good as a Marine. I served my country… and a lot of my country has respected me for it.”

         “But obviously not everyone.”

         “And that’s not always bad either, Shelly. We need the thought diversity and debate to keep our country going. Granted, we could certainly do without the hate that’s sometimes a by-product. But I don’t think you can get away from that. After all, good and bad have to balance each other out.”

         “And when did you grow so philosophical,” she chuckled.

         “How do you think I did so well on the high school debate team?” Shelly’s laugh at that was so loud that people around them turned to look. This time, however, they were smiling and seemed to share in her laughter. “All seriousness aside, though, the last 15 years haven’t been easy. Who would have thought that my 35th birthday… would be a day that changed the world.”

         “Al… what was that day like for you?”

         “I had planned to go off base with some friends that night and celebrate my birthday. But once the plane hit the second tower… we were on instant mobilization. I spent the next several days at the hangar waiting to found out if my helicopters and fellow crew dogs were going to get sent somewhere on the other side of the globe.”

         “Did it get rough for you after that?”

         “Outside the military, yes. You just saw an example of that tonight. Some people can’t look past my appearance, even 15 years later. As for the Marines, they gave me the least trouble. One, the guys I was serving with all knew me, and I knew them. Two, I had been in for over 17 years by that point, and I was an enlistee who’d become a warrant. The grunts always respected me because I’d been a grunt before becoming a pilot. And one thing above all else – in the Corps, the only color that matters is Marine Green, being part of The Green Machine. Once you become a Marine, unless you massively screw up – or worse, turn traitor – you’re in. That’s why you never hear someone who’s left the Corps call themselves a ‘Former Marine.’ Semper Fidelis, always faithful, always a Marine. Even when your birthday... is 9/11.”

Word count: 1958