After almost nine weeks of running 5 miles a day, doing calisthenics twice a day, running the PT test twice a week and a 25-mile force full pack march once a week - plus the meager food rationed out to me - no wonder I lost 100 pounds. My progress was so spectacular that I was made squad leader, a position that did not endear me to everyone in Special Company B 1^st Sqaud, especially Krasnar.

What was that shit you were chanting when while you ran the mile?

None of your business.

I heard you. "Never give up, the Lord is with me!"

Yeah. My faith gets me through all this. Do you mind

You are the biggest fucking hypocrite in this place. "Never give up - the Lord is with me" Hon, you should drop that shit and just sing a show tune like the rest of us. In Judy Garland is our hope.

Listen, get away from me.

Let’s not bicker boys. We had a nice day in the park and I want to sleep without worrying about you two.

Go carve something will you.

Just go back to you bunk.

O the big ass squad leader is giving me an order. O yes you lordship - I’m going now.

(under his breath) Bastard.

(hearing him) Listen, you’re not so fit now that I couldn’t beat your ass to crap.

Get back here, before you get yourself in real trouble.

(to Avilia) He’s getting so cute. Remember when he was such a fat pig.

He hasn’t changed.

What do you mean? I remember seeing him in the shower when he first came here - and he had more rolls of fat than my Eskimo mother. Now look at him - just little love handles and hung like a horse. Hon, he can spark me anytime.

Is there room for three in your bunk?

You guys. What I meant was that Gibbs hasn’t changed in any way. He was nice when he came in and he’s nice now.

Nice. He’s a fucking closet queen.

At least he’s a queen. What I hate are those closet breeders who will do anything to get out of here.

I’m bisexual.

You mean asexual. You’re as cold as they come and wouldn’t know a nice guy if you saw one.

I know you.

You think you do. You’re a user - but nothing I could say would shook you into the truth.

Well, it’s time for the show.

I’ll join you.

No, I’ll visit you later. Let me work this one myself.

You guys are sick. I’m gonna tell Gibbs.

Shut up garden-boy! Chola, be careful. Our new squad leader’s a homophobic prick.

You peaked.

I don’t know girls. All this PT has gone to your head.

Chauncier’s right. It’s bad enough we have the sergeants on our ass. We need to stay off each other’s ass.

What? What’s so funny?

"On a tree by a river a little tom Tit

Sang willow tit, willow, tit willow.

And I said to him dickie bird, why do you sit

Singing willow, tit willow tit willow."

The Mikado?

Yeah, the Mikado. Are you . . .

Yes. I love Gilbert &Sullivan. I know the Mikado well:

"Three little maid from school are we,

Pert as a school girl well should be,

Filled to the brim with girlish glee.

Three little maids from school."

What’s the matter, Gibbs? Don’t be ashamed to sing the girl’s part. We’re just singing good music. It has no other meaning.

"The sun whose rays are all ablaze

With ever living glory,

Cannot deny his majesty

He means to tell a story."

Wow, hear the in echo in here. Did you ever notice how butch we sound in the shower?

I always sing in the shower.

You have a good voice. Did you study?

At the Brooklyn Conservatory of Music. Opera.

Well it shows. You know what else shows.

Don’t go there.

No, really. You’ve lost so much weight. I know they torture us here, but such an achievement to loose so much weight.

Did I have a choice? But I must admit it’s nice to touch my ribs. I didn’t even know I had ribs - I’ve been big since age 13.

And I see other improvements as well - you know, the smaller you get, the bigger you get.

Stop. You know I’m not queer.

I know no such thing. I don’t believe in categories and labels. We live in the moment and whatever floats your boat is ok. But looking at the state of things down there, I can only say that you are either aroused by something in this room or maybe it’s the Gilbert & Sullivan.

(whispering) Help me!

What’s this I see?

Shit. (to Chola) Get away from me you queer!

What’s wrong Gibbs? Aren’t we gonna go over the General Orders tonight?

No. I’m in no mood.

But the test’s tomorrow.

(shouting) No! Don’t you understand English!

Ok.

Don’t be so rough.

Shit. Hertbie, don’t cry. I’m just upset.

I told Chola to be careful of that prick - but if I didn’t walk in on them just now, Gibbs would have lost his cherry!

(shouting at Chola) That fucking faggot tried to molest me in the shower. Pretty boy is a worthless piece of shit! Now, I’m not putting up with this. You can act up among yourselves all you want, but don’t come near me with that shit again.

I may be a worthless piece a shit, but I’m a wonderful piece of ass - and you’ll never know it. And you wanted it. I’m an expert at this and I know.

Where are you going? What’s going on?

Listen, I need to be alone right now. I can’t take this queer shit. I really need to get out of here.

(whimpering) Jesus, watch over us. I can never understand why we find a need to dig our own graves, while others are standing watching us do it. Don’t you all know how much they love to see us tear each other apart?

I’m not one of you. I want all of you to get in gear and get in bed. Lights out in five minutes.

You all saw that! I should bring him up on charges.

Cool your jets. You’re just as much at fault as Gibbs. You’ve been goading him since he got here.

(to Chola) Are you all right?

I’m fine - but Gibbs is not. And you, fuck-boy (to Krasnar), I don’t need anyone going bizerko for me and I didn’t need for you to come in on us. You knew what was going on - you still came in and created this mess, so don’t bad mouth him or any of us again, you bastard!

You ungrateful . . . .

Ungrateful! I didn’t ask you to come in and I didn’t ask you to provoke him! You’re a cold son-of-a-bitch!

Just go to bed and jerk-off. That’s all you can muster anyway.

This is very unsettling.

Well, in Gibbs there’s a warm heart - and it’s alive and it’s queer, dear.

But we all know how that works - we all know the sanctity of the closet.

Not me. I’ve never been in the closet. I’ve been openly beat up, spit on, whipped, cursed, raped and passed about as fuck-fodder since age five. But I’d rather that, than be in the closet. So don’t cry for me anyone. I love who I am and need no sympathy.

I didn’t mean . . .

I know you didn’t, dear. But I tell you, Gibbs is percolating. He was going into heat over me - so sensual. His eyes were hazing over with passion and confusion. I was trying to lift that veil of confusion, when asshole came in and spoiled it. I tell you, I was about to perform a miracle - a fucking miracle. Just call me Mother Mary Diesel - this little flower was about to raise the dead. And he is a wonderful sight to behold. But, I guess, I’ll settle for spaced-out Huey here. He may have his head and nose in the snuff, but his dick is worth the risk.

(gives Chola as kiss on the cheek) Sweet dreams.

Hertbie, what are you still doing up?

(in a whisper) Huey’s dicking Chola.

What? That little bastard.

Huey’s dicking . . .

Stay here. (exits)

What’s that little fuck doing?

Huey’s dicking Chola. I just told Gibbs.

Shit.

You assholes. Gibbs has gone to get Gonvea.

OK, you tweety birds. What have we here?

I have heard that you’ve been open for business tonight and you (to Huey) were the customer. (to Chola) You’re fucking lucky I didn’t see this with my own two eyes or you’d both be heading off to a Court Marshal and then to Leavenworth! Leavenworth!!

I was just sleeping like I always do.

Well at least you’re smart enough to tell the truth you fucking fairy! (To Huey - who has had difficulty standing up) And you macho troop. Not enough pussy in the world, you need assholes to . . .what’s with you. Look me in the eye! Shit man, what are you on? This man’s on heavy drugs or something.

Good evening sergeant.

Gibbs, get Sergeant Pike and tell him to bring some cuffs.

Sergeant Pike, this man is on drugs.

(to Gibbs) You son of a bitch. Don’t even come on this side of the room.

I did what I had to do. I’m the squad leader.

Squad leader? You did a terrible thing. You wanted my ass - you couldn’t have it - so you decided to punish me. Well, you managed to get poor Huey.

You wouldn’t ratfink on Ormond.

That was different.

Yeah, you thought he was straight - but you can’t stand us homo folk!

Gibbs, that wasn’t very nice.

Avilia - you can see I did what I had to do.

Gee, I wish he’d help me with this test.

(jumping up) No. I did the right thing. They shouldn’t be doing such stuff in the barracks; and I’m in charge. Squad leaders are suppose to set examples and to make sure rules aren’t violated. Besides, Huey’s drug problem will probably get some cure now. It wasn’t getting the proper attention here. I’m sure he’ll wind up in the hospital with good care.

I feel a strange warmth and sadness. It’s like there’s music in the air - brash and yet calming. The change in appearance has touched my soul with fresh reward and punishment. Once in a lifetime, I am attractive - the unfortunate waif, encased in fat and sinew, has emerged from it with some splendor and song. Yet, I am unhinged by it. I have never been so alone and afraid. They hate me now because they don’t understand this strangeness - this strange music I hear in my mind. It calls me to another place like a sweet mystery unlocked - but I am afraid to follow its sweet tones. I know there is danger in the water, danger deep in this soul and passion.

The angels know me. They guard my folly and surround my foolishness. They sing caution and mount their steeds and sound their bugles to give me the security I need and want. Oh, heavens forbid that I am the madness that I think and know I am. Oh sullied past, come not now to haunt me, despised of men of all kinds for my folly. Frightful past.

I was alone with him in his house. His mother was away - shopping - and he assured me know one would know. So we played on the bed, got naked and played some more. He told me know one would know - but somehow they found out. And soon there were others wanting to play. In the rain on the porch beneath a tarpaulin. In the backyard, behind the garage in the darkness of night - oh the pleasure and the terror. In the shed, with an air compressor. Soon, mothers told their sons to avoid me - and I was the playmate of girls only.

Despised of men of all kinds for my folly. Last to be chosen for ball - and then the arguments for a missed catch. Betrayed and followed. Bloody noses when thrown to the pavement. High school rivalries and a day at a gay beach. Terror of terror, to think of it all. Hours locked in my room with a little contraband of frisky magazines and a swearing to God almighty that I will be better and good. I am a good boy - not one of those.

Mother - Father - dearest Mother. If you only knew what I knew. And if you knew, if you hadn’t denied it. This is not your fault, but when the other mothers told you what I had been doing, you must have known or suspected. And when you went to school and the guidance councilor said "he writes of death in his essays. We suggest counciling, "you should have known then that I wrote of death - because I had been rejected by those I fell in love with. And I loved - like no man on earth can love.

He sat next to me in homeroom. I adored him at first sight. But he told me of the girls he fucked - and he never gave me a chance to tell him how much I loved him. Then, when I declared myself, he told the others - and that was my darkest hour. I did nothing but weep - and turned to the angels to help me. Take me. When I am dead and gone, they’ll love me then. They’ll miss and love me then.

Seeing one’s own funeral - the reactions of those who spit on you and called you "queer" - their tears of farewell, their tributes to your life - this was better than life itself. To die for this sin would be the settlement for this minor soul’s transition - for it would be best for all - and the angels would give me their shoulder for a long and well-deserved rest in peace.

So I closed ears to the music - and if this is what I am - I must find my other self - the normal one. So I sang and read and studied and worked hard - and avoided people and went to church and prayed for guidance - and got drafted into this fucking place.

But now I hear the music once again. I heard it when I saw Chola’s face and that smooth, satin body. I am calling to the angels now to preserve my sanity. I am at the last trumpet sounding for this soul - this dying soul.

The demons are winning this battle. I am falling fast into an abyss and cannot catch myself. But the music is so sweet, so deathly sweet I fear the poison is too far-gone in my veins to find an antidote. Who will catch me? Who will love this lost soul - I am so alone and afraid - so very much alone and the world is nothing to me - nothing to me.

Hey troop - what are you doing up?

Just needed a little air, Sergeant.

( sits next to Gibbs) What’s this? You don’t need no stinking air. This air is rotten here - nothing but the stink of the coal stoves. You look upset, but no need to worry.

What will happen to Huey?

Oh, so that’s it. You did a good job Gibbs. You did right by reporting those two fuckers - I only wish I’d been faster to see it or that you’d been an eyewitness. Could have nailed them both.

But what will happen to Huey?

He’ll be court marshaled, maybe - but I think he’ll probably end up with an Article 15 and a slap on the hand. But I think he will be discharged - Section 8.

But how will he get his job back with a Section 8. Shit, this is all my fault.

No troop. You followed the General Orders. You did well. I’m proud of you. You know, you’ve lost a shit load of fat - you look good - you’re stronger - you’re passing the PT test - you’ll be back in training real soon.

Back in training?

You still need to get rifle training - so, you’ll get recycled into a basic training company.

Shit.

But that’s good. Remember when I told you to repeat after me that you were a worthless piece of shit, well . . .

Well what?

Well you’re not - and you’re not a fatboy and a faggot either. You’re a grade A specimen of All-American male-soldier, troop.

So, get some sleep - the routine is still he-man tomorrow and you’ll still feel it. You did good troop, very good.

"I’m a worthless piece of shit, Sergeant!"

"I’m a worthless piece of shit!"

What’s all this?

They all hate me. They all hate me for what I did? I hate me for what I did?

I don’t hate you - and they understand. Deep down they all understand - they all know about it.

I hate what I feel. I hate it!

Now cry here on my shoulder. You shouldn’t hate what you feel. What you feel is real. What you’ve done is not. It’s a symptom. When we hate what we feel, we lash out at those who also feel that way. You blame us. You want us to go away and not remind you. But, guess what, what you feel is natural.

How can it be natural? It’s an abomination.

Who says? Some old book that asks the question "What is truth" and cannot provide that answer? Some minister who condemns you because they take that book literally only when they want to - and only the passages to make you a scapegoat for the rest of the flock? All those friends who beat us and grind us into the ground? What is friendship, if it includes that? We have enough people gaining an advantage by putting us at a disadvantage. Why be our own enemy?

But the feelings are strong and getting stronger.

They are true feelings and correct. There’s nothing wrong with them. You are as normal as pie. There’s cherry pie and apple pie. You’re cherry - this army is apple. You’re sweeter than the apple pie and last longer. You’re more prominent and very special indeed, baked for the special occasion.

Oh, I am so confused.

No you’re not. You were confused. Now you just need a road map. When God created you He created someone special. All people are special in His eye. But, because we are a minority, like all minorities we have a struggle, a struggle which makes us either strong or dead. There’s no real in-between. And Gibbs, I for one don’t want you dead.

So what should I do?

Nothing. Love yourself. That’s what’s happening here. You are learning to love yourself - so when you say you’re a worthless piece of shit, you’re not moving forward with this challenge.

But how do you . . .

One day at a time. There’s no great plan for us here. We wake up and see the sunshine or the rain and take flight as we need to, as we want to. To survive, we need to tell the pink lie - or not. To be free, and I wish I were, I’d tell everyone without fear about who I am. But I can’t. But the consolation is that I am basically a fine person, nurturing and caring. I want to serve my country as proudly as I am proud of her. So, I will continue to tell the pink lie to serve her well. Those who hear the lie will never really know me. What a shame - because it’s their loss. They will never know what beauty could have touched their lives or how I could help them lift their heavy burdens, the one’s we carry in our soul.

You are my angel

Why sir, I’m blushing. I’m no angel - just a man who loves life and men. I love women too, but I can’t be in bed with them. One day at a time, dear. One day at a time.

You are indeed my angel.