I, Soldier - part 16

 It was rare for troops from the same unit to be on the same flight home. Unlike WW2, where units were moved by ship and stayed together for a few days or more as they went out and came back, troops returning from Vietnam were with a bunch of strangers. This lack of social cohesion was traumatic for many, I think. And since the war had become very unpopular by 1972, there were no homecoming celebrations. I had heard some horror stories about clashes between returning troops and protestors, which was another practical reason for keeping my long hair and beard. After a layover in Honolulu, I finally touched down back in the lower 48. Home sweet home was so close.

I walked off the plane and walked towards the baggage claim. The airport was quiet because was fairly late at night. To my great surprise, my dad was there to greet me. He had a "WELCOME HOME, SON" sign with an American flag stapled to it. He even had on his WW2 garrison cap. That took some courage because military clothing was definitely not popular at the time. What a relief it was to get in his old truck and drive home. We stopped at a pizza place in Shepherdstown. I couldn't remember the last time I ate pizza. He didn't say much during the drive, but before he took a bite, he said "I hear the Rumsey Monument is a good place to look at the stars." I dropped my pizza slice and ran out the door. 

The run was less than a mile, but it felt like hours passed. As I approached the monument, I could see a figure silhouetted against the sky. She was using one arm to lean against the monument, I could see her long hair and dress gently waving in the breeze. I climbed the steps slowly. When I reached the top, she spoke.

"What took you so long, war hero?"

OK, it was time for decisive action. Given the amount of stuff in this book that will cause parents, teachers, librarians, politicians, and other busybodies to pitch a hissy fit, I will be vague in describing what happened next: the removal of clothing in a wooded area at night. To get a feel for it, play the finale to the 1812 Overture, the version that uses real cannons. As I redressed, bid her farewell for the night, and walked away, I thought to myself that I would need to order a new hot, slice of pizza to replace the one I had abandoned. The cashier at the pizza place was surprised to see me again.

"Weren't you just here?"

"Yes, and now I'm back. I would like a slice with mushrooms and anchovies please."

I ate it quickly and decided it was best to return to the monument. Since my dad had driven off, I'd been spending the night in town anyway. 

To my surprise and relief, she was once again leaning on the monument, though when I approached her, her hair was messed up and there were twigs and such stuck in it.

"Sorry, my love. Pizza is one of my few priorities."

"Come with me if you want to live."

"Sounds like a plan. I have a duffel bag full of money and nowhere to sleep. Mind if I crash at your place? Also, will you marry me?"

I produced a ring from my Army jacket. I got custom made in Vietnam. I wasn't sure what she'd like, so I went with a gold band and a small diamond. I spent very little money in Vietnam and in the Army in general, so it was no big deal for me. 

"Yes, but we need to talk about a lot of things first. Let's walk and talk."

We set off for her place. I decided to take her advice. 

"Maybe tomorrow I can show you the house I grew up in."

"Your dad showed me around it already. I liked the big tree out front and the tire swing."

"Yeah, I loved that thing as a kid. It's proof you don't need to spend a lot of money to make a kid happy."

"Listen, you need therapy and lots of it. Are you still doing drugs?"

"No, I switched my addiction to beer. It's cheap, legal, and it works."

"That's not good either."

"Remember that guy I told you about? Barry Delmar? I was thinking of going to visit him in Washington state. Here's a picture of the two of us at OCS."

"That could be helpful. You should talk more to your dad about what happened. He'll understand."

"Makes sense. I'd like to stay with you here for a while though. Ask me anything."

We reached her place, entered, and she told me to lie in bed. I took off my sandals and shirt. I really liked those sandals. They were made from an old tire. Lots of people in Vietnam wore them. 

We woke up in each other's arms. She spoke first.

"Rise and shine. Wakey, wakey eggs and bakey!"

"I'm pretty sure I need to be on a leash if you're taking me for a walk."

"After breakfast, I'm taking you to the bank to open an account. Bank. B-A-N-K."

"I know what a bank is."

"Then why are you carrying around a duffle bag full of money like a mob hitman?"

"Good point."

Later that day, I went into the bank and approached a teller.

"Hello, hope you are well. Listen, I just got back from Vietnam, and I need to open an account for my money. It's in this duffle bag here."

There was a dramatic pause and I enjoyed watching her eyebrows return from the back of her head. 

"I see. OK, please fill out these forms. I need to check with manager. I'll be right back."

I used Alexandra's address on the form. It didn't matter anyway. The teller came back with the manager. He spoke next.

"OK, sir. You can put the money up here and we'll count it for you."

I cashed all my checks back in Vietnam because I was worried something would go wrong with them later. I also kept some GI scrip as a souvenir. Many soldiers in Vietnam got paid with that instead of dollars to discourage them from mingling with the locals. I heard stories about when everyone was lining up for pay at the same time and place every month, there would always be a rocket attack. No one bothered to change the system though. That would require paperwork. Maybe even a meeting or two.

The Katyusha rockets go howl, howl, howl...