Pork Chop Pride

By Jared Rice

This true story starts off in the summer of 2005, after Jared graduates high school. His summer is filled with debauchery, as he slowly slips into alcoholism, with only one thing to save him; his cousin Luke and an offer to join the few and the proud with him. But to Jared’s dismay, he gets sent to the Special Training Company, where he sits in limbo for a month. There, he finds friendship and while sifting through all the suffering, suicides, and physical abuse, he finds redemption in the unlikeliest of places.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jared Rice
• Release date: Mar 19, 2013
• ISBN: 9781301827558

Jared Rice

Jared is an American actor and writer, who served 6 years in the Marine Corps. He enlisted after graduating as Valedictorian and served in Operation Iraqi Freedom. He has three children; Hailey, Taelynn, and Levi, and is married to his high school sweetheart, Ashley, whom he's known since kindergarten. Jared unfortunately resides in Fresno, California, and is currently attending college for Psychology.

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Pork Chop Pride

A MEMOIR

Jared Rice

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Smashwords Edition

Copyright 2012 Jared Rice

License Notes: This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this ebook with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you share it with. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then you should return to Smashwords.com and purchase your own copy. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.

Ebook formatting by www.ebooklaunch.com

Table of Contents

Chapter One: The Proposition

Chapter Two: The Commitment

Chapter Three: The Progress

Chapter Four: The Dotted Line

Chapter Five: The Yellow Footprints

Chapter Six: The Receiving Barracks

Chapter Seven: The New Arrival

Chapter Eight: The New Friend

Chapter Nine: The Taking

Chapter Ten: The Act of Vengeance

Chapter Eleven: The Visit

Chapter Twelve: The Great Lie

Chapter Thirteen: The Delicious Sip

Chapter Fourteen: The Second Betrayal

Chapter Fifteen: The Exodus

Epilogue

Chapter One:

The Proposition

It was in November of 2005 when I found myself choking on the sea air, wearing tight green shorts and a green shirt. My tennis shoes were tied so tight I could feel my toes slowly throbbing from the lack of blood flow. I was in the middle of the Marine Corps Recruit Depot San Diego, and I was about to do the Initial Strength Test. Hopefully, I would pass, and move on to training to become a Marine.

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We were crowded around a line painted on the ground in red spray paint. This marked the start of the two mile run of the Initial Strength Test, otherwise called the IST. I looked down, watching ants suffer in the hazardous red film that coated their bodies, and then I looked up, staring in the distance that I would have to travel in under eighteen minutes. I felt nervous, and my body began to shake. I had never been good at running, and now I had to be.

Get ready! shouted the Drill Instructor with his megaphone. I looked around and saw recruits bending down, getting ready for their quick take off. I followed suit, and as I bent down, my bones started popping. I knew I was going to hurt when I was finished.

Go! he shouted again. Everyone sprinted off of the starting line, including myself. I ran as fast as I could, even though it seemed like everyone was passing me up. As the air entered my lungs it stung, causing me to grunt as I exhaled. My ankles ached with every step, and my sides began to cramp.

As I made it to the turnaround point, I began dry heaving. I made my way back to the finish line, only to see several recruits walking with their arms up in a giant circle. They had already finished. I glanced behind me, where there were a few overweight kids with snot and drool streaming down their faces. I started to vomit as I kept running, hoping I would make it in time. I began to sprint.

I crossed the finish line, and as I did, the Drill Instructor with the megaphone shouted out my time to me.

Seventeen fifty one! he bellowed. I suppressed a smile, knowing that I had passed and I made my way to the giant circle. As I walked with the others, my arms up, I vomited again, choking on the acidic liquid that coated my mouth. I felt like I was going to die, yet I felt happy with myself. I was glad I was puking, only because that meant I gave it everything I had, and by doing so, I passed the first part of the IST.

I heard several Drill Instructors shouting angrily at a recruit. I couldn't make out what they said, but as I looked at them, I saw that they were screaming at an overweight recruit, who was now walking the rest of the way. He was grabbing at his chest, gasping for air. The recruit collapsed to the ground, and the Drill Instructors started screaming at him to get back up. The recruit didn't move. I wondered what could've possibly happened to this kid. A Drill Instructor kneeled down beside the recruit, and put his hand to his neck. He looked back up at the others, and shook his head. I knew then what that meant. He was dead. The other Drill Instructors ran toward us, and started screaming.

Turn around! Turn the fuck around right god damned now! they growled at us. We all turned and faced the other way.

Make your way through the opening in the bushes! One screamed, and we all walked through the gap between the shrubs. I kept playing in my mind what I had just seen. Was this possible? Can people really die in boot camp? I stared to panic. I was regretting that I enlisted in this nightmare, and I wondered to myself how the hell I got to his point. What in the world could have possibly made me want to go through this?

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I was sitting at the dining room table when my cousin, Luke, entered the room. It was a very hot day because I can remember the ceiling fan being on, and drying my eyes out. He seemed very excited about something as he tossed a handful of papers on the table. I wondered what he could be smiling about, considering he, for the most part, never really smiled.

What's this? I asked. He pulled up the chair next to me, and sat down.

Oh, probably just the best idea I've had in years. he replied. He slid the papers toward me, barely dodging the ketchup drip lying dormant on the oak top. I flipped through them, noticing a distinct symbol on every page. It was a majestic symbol, drawn in gold and silver, shimmering with fine ink as it danced in my eyes. It was a globe, with an eagle perched on top. Behind it was an anchor, wrapped in rope with a sailor's knot. I finally took my eyes off of the enchanting symbol, and looked just below it. There, underneath the eagle, globe, and anchor was the written words that instilled fear in my heart. For what reason? I could not tell you why, but somehow, just reading the fateful words made my heart drop, and my stomach hurt. Those very words written in gold, and all capital letters were: THE UNITED STATES MARINE CORPS. I looked up at Luke and saw him smiling still.

You want to join the Marines? I asked.

"No... I want us to join the Marines." he responded with a confident tone. My heart sank further. I couldn't believe what he was asking me. I didn't want to join. It was suicide. Besides, I was 230 pounds of damn near pure fat.

I can't do this. It's going to be way too hard! I cried out. He only rolled his eyes as I stared at him with confusion. It's not like you'll be doing it alone. I'll be with you every step of the way. I mean, read over that shit. You can make decent money. he told me.

Yeah, if I want some big ass dude yelling in my face!

That's only for three months! Boot camp ends, and then... then you get to call yourself a Marine. He stood up, and held up a flyer with that damned symbol on it. He pointed at it, and looked me in the eyes. Do you know what that means? he asked. I shook my head.

It means pussy, everywhere you go... pussy! The girls will be throwing it at you. You won't know what to do with it! To be honest, that's all I needed to hear. As a fat, out of shape, lazy eighteen year old kid, I never had it very easy with the female species. For him to say those words, with that timing, I was sold. However, I was still very afraid of the idea. I knew it would be the hardest journey of my life. But with those words, I committed.

I nodded, and Luke began to tell me all the positive points of the Corps, and everything I needed to do. It was almost an ongoing list that always ended with the words girls, money, or uniforms, which that itself brought us back to girls. I almost felt obligated.

Chapter Two:

The Commitment

The sun was beating down as Luke and I got out of my green Ford F-150. I shut the door, and as it slammed, I saw an office with Marines written on the glass. My heart dropped once more. It felt as if it were being yanked down toward my stomach by strands of barbed wire. As we walked nervously toward the glass doors, a crow cawed, almost as if it were warning me of my decision. Luke grabbed the black, metal handles, and pulled the door open. He gestured for me to go in first. I could feel the cold air flowing out, and wrapping itself around me, like it was welcoming me inside. Maybe even tricking me. Nonetheless, I stepped in. A Marine in camouflaged utilities sitting behind a desk stared at me as I nervously stared back.

How's it going? he inquired.

Good. I told him. Luke stepped in behind me, nudging me further inside.

Hey, Luke... You read over those papers? The Marine asked. Luke nodded and the Marine gestured for us to sit at his desk. I felt sick, but still Luke and I pulled up the burgundy chairs as the Marine introduced himself to me.

I'm Staff Sergeant Campbell. he said. I shook his hand, and replied,

I'm Jared.

Jared's my cousin. He was thinking about joining, Staff Sergeant. said Luke.

Oh... OK. Let me give you my card. said Campbell. He reached into his drawer, and handed me his card. I glared at it as I pondered to myself about my decision. I could have vomited from the fear.

Now, what do you know about the Marine Corps? he asked me.

Only that... they're the hardest branch of the military.

You're absolutely, fucking right! he said, enthusiastically, It'll be tough, but if you are determined enough, you can make it. I know that for a fact. He pointed to the wall behind us. I turned around, popping my back, and latched my eyes on a poster. The poster had a hand, with that same, majestic symbol in its palm. This time it was all black, which I thought was more handsome than the one in silver and gold. On it was written, Earn this medal, and you'll have the strength to succeed. I read those words over and over, and it made me feel more confident about myself, and mine and Luke's decision.

I got to tell you though, kid. If you want to join, you're going to need to work on it. Come here, let me weigh you in. said Campbell. All three of us stood up, and he led us to a room in the very back of the office. As we walked down the hallway, I observed several posters which depicted Marines from all eras of war. The famous photograph from the flag raising in Mt. Suribachi was etched in gold, and caressed by a mahogany frame. I've seen that picture before, but never so attractive.

He opened the large white door, which led into a dark room. I saw the darkness and I began to feel nervous. As if weighing in was some code for getting murdered. SSgt Campbell turned on the light, and there it was. The menacing, cream colored scale that would display my embarrassing measurements sat right there in front of me. It was one of those old ones, where you had to move the slide from left to right to balance the arm in which the numbers were engraved. Some rust spots held their rank along the trim, having weighed past Marines as they signed along the dotted line.

Campbell motioned for me to step onto the scale. I looked at my cousin, who obviously didn't feel as nervous about this situation as I was, and I stepped on. The loud clanking noise from the balancing arm echoed through the room, almost startling Luke. Campbell grabbed the slide, and moved it toward the higher numbers. He stopped on 100, and the arm didn't move. He slid the smaller one over to fifty, yet it still didn't move. At this point I felt like crawling into a hole, sticking a plastic bag over my head, and zip tying it to my neck.

Hmmm. was all he said, but I knew what he was thinking. He slid the larger one to 200 and the smaller one all the way back to zero. The arm didn't move. Then he slid the smaller slide to twenty five, and finally, the arm started to dance. However, it went back to being unbalanced. Then he slid the small one to thirty. The arm bounced up and down, I only stared at it, holding my breath. It slowed down, the arrows passing each other back and forth, almost meeting. The silence was deafening. It finally stopped at 230 god damned pounds. I felt sick.

.

I found myself sitting at that desk again, this time, a little more reluctant. Luke was completely quiet. SSgt Campbell was going over some papers, when he stopped and looked at me.

How tall are you? he asked.

Five nine. I replied with disappointment. He looked back down at his papers, and then back at me.

At your height, you're expected to be 191 pounds, maximum. He said. I only nodded. What else could I do?

Listen, guys, I'm going to be straight forward about this. If Jared wants to join, I can get you promoted, Luke, and on top of that, I can send you together on the buddy program. Which means you'll be together in boot camp, you'll be in the same platoon. However, Jared... you need to lose weight before I can send you to MEPS.

Well... I guess-. started Luke. I cut him off before he could finish.

I can do it. I said. They looked at me with a smile. At that point I knew I had to work hard to go to boot camp with my cousin, and to earn that medal. I had to work hard to become a Marine.

Chapter Three:

The Progress

I was sleeping in my piece of junk, wooden cot/couch that was incredibly uncomfortable, when the sunlight decided to wake me up by annoyingly shining in my eyes. I opened my eyes reluctantly, and took a deep breath. I threw the blankets off, and sat up. My eyes wanted to close on me, but I didn't let them. I rubbed them and rubbed them. I looked over at the digital Tasmanian Devil clock my mother gave me and noticed the numbers flashing 12:00, over and over in a red glowing light. I hated that damn clock. Every time the power went out, it would flash 12:00, which was almost every week.

I put my feet on the floor, and stood up. My bones popped and ached, probably from carrying so much weight. The carpet felt stiff as it scraped against my soft feet. I walked toward the restroom, flipped on the light, and tried desperately to maneuver my morning erection so I could take a piss. Finally, the urine glided elegantly throughout the yellow stained porcelain bowl. After a glorious finish, I flushed, and leaned over to turn on the shower. I made sure I turned the knob all the way to the right so it would heat up faster. I turned it to the right, because our shower knob was backwards, making hot, cold, and cold, hot, inconveniently. The mildewed knob fogged up as the water grew hot, relieving my sinuses of its early morning congestion.

The steam flowed over the sides of the tub, and the mirrors began to fog, and the door knob grew slippery. I turned around, to look at the clock, and the time really was 12:00, only this was coincidence. I stepped into the shower, and I let the water run over me. The whole time, things were running through my head. Things like my weight, and what I was going to do to change it. Things like girls. Oh, how I loved girls. Then the water starting getting hotter, almost burning me, and I immediately shut it off. I stared at the drain, almost pissed off at the shower. Maybe it was a sign. Maybe someone telling me to get off my fat, lazy, cellulite ass, and do something about the girls. Work out, lose the weight, go to boot camp, and get some girls. It all went hand in hand. And I realized this.

I jumped out of the shower, almost slipping and falling, and I ran into my room. I threw on some shorts, an E Three Apparel T-shirt I bought the week before, and some old, tattered running shoes I got for P.E. I couldn't put them on fast enough, the laces strangling my ankles as I tightened them upon my soft, weak feet.

I ran out the front door, stepped out onto the cement walkway my grandfather and I paved two summers before, and realized it was hotter than hell outside. I knew I was about to regret what I was going to do. But I did it anyway. I just took off running, as fast as I could, without even stretching. The sun beat upon my skin, almost teasing it into submission. The black asphalt reflected the heat toward me, and in the distance, it reflected the parked cars that lined the cracked street. It was almost instant when I started breathing heavy. My shins hurt, and my back ached. I started sweating, and feeling nauseated. I hated running. I