My nephew sleeps in what we yoga doers call the "corpse" pose. He is on his back, legs straight out and hands folded to the center of his chest. As a kid, he slept in all kinds of weird positions. But during a recent visit with him in Miami, I noticed that he has drastically changed his sleeping habits.
We went swimming for about an hour the other day, and I asked him how things are going. He responded with a series of stories that I sort of understood but were full of so many military acronyms I didn't bother to ask for definitions. He was so excited to share his stories from the front line in Afghanistan. As a corporal in the U.S. Marines, he is also an ammunition specialist with extensive training operating the M777 howitzer.
He has notebooks lying all around his mother's home. They're those small spiral flip notebooks you might keep a grocery list on or set by the phone for messages. He tells me he uses about four of them a day on the job. He writes ammo info and coordinates and other mystery letters and numbers in them.
He has an 8-year-old daughter who was born when he was 18. He is now 26 and trying to do right by her. He recently had her name legally changed to his last name. That way, he can make her his benefactor "just in case."
In the pool, he was telling me of plans to get housing on his base at Camp Lejeune, N.C. That way, his daughter, Cadence, can spend summers with him. During the rest of the year, she lives with her grandparents in Ohio, Monday through Friday, and then with her mom on weekends. She sees her dad once or twice a year.
My nephew tells me there is a tattoo tradition among Marines designed to send any captors or enemies a final message upon capture or death. Some bodies have "The undesirable doing the unimaginable for the ungrateful," running across their chests. Another favorite is "Death Before Dishonor."
My nephew was excited to share his latest tattoo with me, which he claims will outshine any of those his fellow Marines have.
It's so unique that his tattoo artist had to look up what one looks like on the Internet to sketch its likeliness.
There is a string leading from his big toe that attaches to a 4-by-2-inch tag that bears "NAME: DJ SCHAEFFER" and then has empty lines running from "TIME:," "DATE EX:" and a message "ATTACH TO TOE."
The "DATE EX:________" means "date expired," as in the date he might die.
It seems a little extreme, but I guess that his how Marines live. He tells me, "I have seen some things, Aunt Suzette." And then no specific story follows, after which he looks down, breaking eye contact. It's like he can't put what he witnesses into words. He did tell me his buddy just lost a foot and how weird it is to see an empty seat or bed in the barracks that someone was actually sleeping in the day before.
Then he proclaims that he would like to serve in Afghanistan at least three more times, because upon the fourth he'll be known as a "Senior Salt Dog." That doesn't mean anything official, like a promotion or a raise; it's just something he strives for to up the competition in the barracks.
I hugged my nephew goodbye and noticed he had bulked up in his spare time in the desert with 5-inch-high biceps.
I headed back to Gainesville, and, for the first time, I wasn't sure if or when I would see him again. Each year he serves he becomes embedded deeper and deeper into the culture and language of war and Marine life.
I can only hope he remains safe and anchored, retaining some of the laid-back "go with the flow" nature he had as a kid and that one day, he'll find words to describe these "things" he has seen.
Suzette Cook is a master's student in the UF College of Journalism and Communications. She received her undergraduate degree from UF in 1990.
