Motorcycle Pope

The Pope visits me in a dream. He is riding a motorcycle. I know immediately that he is the Pope, even though he is not the current Pope. He is somewhere between twenty-eight and thirty-five years old with a five-o'clock shadow. He is wearing a leather jacket. He is straddling his black bike and taking his futuristic black helmet off and running a hand through his wavy black hair. He smiles at me and nods, a knowing nod that means he understands me.

Then he drives away, riding his Harley with no hands.

The first thing I do when I wake up is buy a motorcycle. It seems like the logical thing to do. I am at a point in my life where I am looking for a guiding sign of any sort, and I hope this is it. I am not a particularly spiritual or superstitious person, but I do not think the Pope just visits people in their dreams for no reason. Also, the Pope is very successful in an ancient hierarchical organization that resembles my beloved United States Marine Corps in many ways. I would be foolish not to follow his example.

It is emotional, driving my '99 Civic out the base gate one last time. I have to sell it to help offset the cost of my motorcycle. The Civic has taken me lots of places. We even crossed the country together, the Civic and I, when I drove from my first duty station in Camp Lejeune, North Carolina, to Twentynine Palms, California. I have some fond memories from that road trip, like when I had my picture taken in front of the Nebraska State Capitol. It is the second-tallest state capitol building, behind only Louisiana.

I also have some not-so-fond memories from that road trip. Like when I got a phone call from the unit I was joining to tell me we would be deploying to Japan instead of Afghanistan. The government had signed a peace deal. I was going to miss the war.

I cried for most of New Mexico, because I wanted to go to Afghanistan. This is why: I used to be a little bit of a loser, before I enlisted. First, I flunked out of college....