The Barrel
Jackson Smith, Corporal USMC was in the thick of it. What seemed like a routine operation had spiraled out of control and into what they referred to in the Marine Corps as a complete fucking shit show. He was on his back pinned down in a space that barely contained him. His legs were sticking out as he kicked, trying to retrieve the only object that could save him. His right hand was gridlocked, and if he let go now he would be completely inundated.
He reached down with his free hand and found what he was looking for, the screwdriver. With quickness and precision, he tightened the screw on the hose clamp while still holding the hose onto the connection until it was secure. He had done it; he had fixed the faucet on the kitchen sink all without turning off the water. Sure, there was a little mess, or a big puddle depending how you wanted to look at it, but Jackson had to mop the floor before he started dinner anyway.
The situation had spiraled when Jackson went to fill his mop bucket and then noticed a small leak in two different places. Not being a plumber, he made the leaks worse at first. Being a Marine, he was able to improvise, adapt, and overcome the situation. Using an old hose that had come with the new washing machine, and some clamps he was able to fashion a replacement for the leaking parts.
Most people don’t realize that in addition to being the world’s most dangerous and elite fighting force, the United States Marines were the best janitors in all of history. In the Marine Corps, there are no Janitors. Therefore, in addition to every Marine being a rifleman, each of them is also their own custodian. They’re the best because their free time is hinged on it. After-work inspections of personal living quarters are frequent and uncompromising. A failed inspection would result in having it again on Sunday. Of course, they would have ample time to clean once weekend liberty had been taken away. The same went for workspaces, kitchens, motor pools, and Armories.
The sink was working, the mop bucket was filled, and Jackson was admittedly a little bit stoned. It was a natural consequence of having a medical cannabis dispensary at the end of his block. He had gone to the special doctor that wrote prescriptions for these places expecting to have to list his list of ailments and other complications from serving multiple combat deployments. Instead, the doctor just signed the paperwork after learning that he served.
He enjoyed his house husband lifestyle even though some of his friends had taken to calling him a “stay at home dad with no kids”. It was service in a different way. He took pride in the job he did and not just maintaining the floors. He also maintained a garden of mostly ornamental plants, but left room for some herbs to use in the meals he cooked.
He was about to start mopping when he looked at the counter and saw the box of pasta that he had purchased that morning. It was regular penne, the kind that was delicious because it was made from gluten. Gluten was a substance that had been banned from the house nearly three weeks ago after Jackson’s wife Sara had visited her doctor and learned that gluten and other things were causing inflammation. He should have gotten chickpea pasta or some other noodle-like substance made from a legume.
Quickly, he changed out of the cutoff sweatpants he was wearing, crated the dogs, and headed to the Wal-Mart grocery store that was named something dumb like “fresh market” or “neighborhood grocer” or whatever bullshit some marketing executive had come up with. As he was walking towards the front door he noticed a mass of fire ants coming out of a crack between the door frame and the door. They were piling on something they considered food and were biting and then retreating with pieces of it for their colony back the way they had come.
As he got closer, he realized it was a small lizard that had tried to sneak in the last time Jackson was out back. It had been crushed at its midsection and had probably been there for hours. When he opened the door, it was stuck to the frame where it had been crushed. As he went to brush it off the lizard seemed to inflate like someone was blowing up a pool toy. It then walked back up the wall still covered in ants and escaped back outside.
The ride to the store was less than five minutes. It was exactly long enough to hear one and a half songs on the classic R&B station. KC and JoJo and then Boys to Men. The station was low signal, automated, and only played the same 30 songs on rotation.
Inside the store he was on a mission. Jackson intended to hit the pasta aisle and get through self-checkout in record time even though the store was extremely crowded. He made it to the pasta section, but they didn’t have chickpea. He quickly decided on red lentil pasta and was moving again making sure he didn’t stumble into someone inside the packed aisle.
He made it back to the front of the store, rang himself up, and was on his way. Jackson was back in his car in less than 6 minutes, a record time if he was remembering correctly. It didn’t hurt that he only needed the one item. He checked behind him and quickly backed out of the spot, trying to make the light to turn left. It changed from green to yellow to red, moments before he got there.
Perturbed, he had to wait another 4 minutes to turn left, he sought out something else to listen to and settled on the talk station where a guy with a silly name he could never remember complained about how crowded the new Universal Studios theme park was. He was thinking about how cool the Mario Kart ride would be when he happened to glance into his rearview mirror.
What he saw was a gun pointed at him. The man was pointing the pistol at his own windshield or rather through it at Jackson. He saw the man, and what he was driving (an early 2000s black dodge minivan) and would recall every detail but his face later on. In the moment though he only saw the barrel of the weapon.
It was a large caliber automatic, but Jackson could only focus on the hole pointed at him. The hole was nothing or rather it could create nothing. It was a void. A tunnel of darkness that led only to pain and grief. He had stared into that void many times and he recognized the feeling of pressure over every inch of his body, and the hyper-alertness that came with it. His ears were ringing with anticipation of the shot and time was frozen. He felt like the gun was right there in front of him, two inches away. The man seemed to squeeze the pistol in slow motion the way an animal squeezes a piece of fruit impatiently and with a sense of glee.
And then, nothing happened. Time snapped back into motion all around him and at that very second the light changed to green. Jackson sped away to the left and quickly accelerated to 50 mph and then 60. The black van kept pace right behind him and then started swerving back and forth just feet from his tailgate in what seemed like a mocking gesture. Before the van made contact Jackson again sped up flooring the accelerator and quickly swerved around the car in front of him.
Not wanting to lead the mad man with the pistol to his home he drove past his turn and hauled ass into a different neighborhood. He slowed down a bit and made 3 random turns in succession and then checked the rearview again. There was nothing.
No van, no man, no barrel, and no void. He slowed down to the speed limit and watched. After a few more minutes he started to head home. He still felt like he was being followed but eventually made his way back into the driveway. He thought of the trapped lizard. It was surely dead, suffocated, broken, and covered with ants. Then in a single moment it wasn’t. It was up and walking, shaking off the ants. He felt those ants crawling on his skin now. Small bites stung his back and legs, and he reflexively brushed at his skin with his hands.
Back inside his kitchen he put his headphones back on and hit shuffle on his phone. Black Pumas cover of “Fast Car” started playing. Jackson soaked his mop in the bucket, wrung it out and then fell to his knees and proceeded to wretch into the clean mop water.
John J Murray is a veteran of the USMC. He served from 2001-2005 and completed 3 combat tours in Iraq with 3rd Battalion 4th Marines. John is a comedian, podcaster and writer.
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