Alternate Memories - Norfol

Author's Preface

About two years ago, I received an unexpected letter from a woman named Maribeth who I had dated for a short time in the fall of 1965 as I was finishing up my last semester at the University of Dayton. After graduation, I had accepted an ROTC commission in the U.S. Army and had subsequently deployed to Vietnam the following year. As is common in such circumstances I had lost touch with Maribeth, so it was with some surprise that I discovered that she had not only found me, but reached out after all these years.

To make a long story short; Maribeth told me that she was extremely ill and was fighting cancer for the second time. Her Doctor's prognosis was not encouraging, but she was determined, and I remembered that she was a fighter. In her letter she brought me more or less up to date on her life which, as with us all, had both up's and down's, but for her, mostly the latter.

On the up side, she had risen to the top of her profession as a clinical psychologist and had earned a doctorate in that field with multiple honors and awards.

However this was more than counterbalanced by a horrible childhood, a stern aloof mother and an unknown father. A failed marriage of her own followed by several less than desirable attempts with other relationships. No children and no relatives, and a series of medical problems that could bring several individuals to their knees. As she wrote;

"As I look back on my life, the one and only time I ever felt really happy was the few months I spent with you."

For a long time I pondered on how I should respond to Maribeth's letter. She lived a thousand miles away, I was married for almost 50 years and had three grown children and four grandchildren. What could I possibly do to reach across all those years and, in some way, aid Maribeth in her latest struggle?

We had corresponded for a while when I had the germ of an idea. Often, Maribeth would remark that she had few good memories of her life and so I began to consider the possibility that perhaps, through my writing, I could replace those bad memories with better, more exciting ones.

This was the genesis of a series of stories that I have collectively titled "Alternative Memories." While these are fictional accounts, the people, places and events in them are real and evoke a realistic timeline that Maribeth could adapt into her mind and actually achieve the intended purpose.

Maribeth has since joined in this project by adding her own new memories which is serving to heighten the realism and impact. Obviously I hope that these "Alternate Memories'' will make Maribeth's burden easier to bear. If so, I'm satisfied with that. But, in truth, I wonder about myself. What are memories anyway, and who's to say these stories weren't real.

Does it matter after almost 50 years? What is reality anyway? Consciousness creates everything we take to be real and true and my opinion is that...

If it feels real, it must be so. You be the judge.

May, 1966 - Ft. Eustice, Virginia

I've been on active duty as a 2nd Lieutenant in the Army for about three months. Currently I'm stationed at Ft. Eustis, VA going through basic officers Transportation School. A lot of classroom work interspersed with small arms qualification, field exercises, hands on work with trucks, forklifts, warehousing policies, cargo handling and various other arcane subjects we absolutely must know. Actually, I'm finding this pretty easy and straightforward stuff, so often I find my mind wandering.

Today, I'm thinking a lot about Maribeth. When I saw her last, it was in Dayton. I was on my way here from my home in California, and we didn't have a lot of time to be together since I'd cut it pretty close and had to leave before we had any real opportunity to become 'reacquainted'. Before I left though, Maribeth said that she might have a nice surprise in the near future. I kept trying to get her to give me a hint of what this surprise might be, but she remained coy and refused to tell me any more. I pointed out that the persona of "a woman of mystery" wasn't usual for her, but she just smiled in a way that communicated that perhaps she was enjoying this new found role.

Returning to my wandering thoughts, I had tucked her letter into my notebook and had pulled it out several times to re-read it's words. Today's topic is covering radio conventions and operations, but I already read the manual, and so it's all repetitious, so one ear on the speaker is more than enough attention.

In the first few sentences Maribeth described what she's been doing lately and how things are going in general. The weather is getting warm and she was really p.o.'ed with all the snow that had fallen the previous winter. Page two was where her 'nice surprise' was finally revealed. I read it again for about the tenth time.

Maribeth's coming to Virginia!

Apparently her Aunt lives in Portsmouth which is about 35 miles away, and Maribeth and her mother are coming to help her celebrate her 50th birthday. I didn't know about her Aunt and on reflection I realized that I knew virtually nothing about her family at all. In the times we'd been together I remember that the only relative ever mentioned was her Mother, as in "my mom will probably be waiting up for me." What about her Dad? Brothers and Sisters? I haven't a clue. Did we ever talk about these people and I have just forgotten? I can't believe that's the case, but since I'm drawing a complete blank, it must be so. In any event, she's coming here!

From Maribeth's letter, It appeared that it is to be a quick trip and we will only be able to see each other on Saturday while she's here since they won't arrive until late Friday and plan to leave Sunday evening after her Aunt's birthday party, so Saturday it will be.

In the ensuing week's we've gotten a chance to talk on the phone once and shared a few letters. Maribeth had been able to fill me in on some more details about her visit, so my anticipation increased as the time grew closer. We've agreed that I should pick up Maribeth at her Aunt's house on Saturday around noon.

The directions I've been given are really weird because Portsmouth is basically built on a delta where the James River flows into the lower Chesapeake Bay, so there's a ton of turns that are necessary in order to navigate around the many streams and swamps that surround the city. I have a fairly detailed street map of the area, and so, without any missteps I manage to find the right house and arrive at the appointed time.

We're going to be lucky. The day was gorgeous, nothing but blue sky and temperature in the high 70's. I'm driving the red Datsun 3000 convertible I bought a few months earlier in California, and with the gorgeous weather, I had the top down and my sunglasses on. It was almost twelve o'clock on the dot when I pulled up in front of a white house with a large front porch in a nice neighborhood. I glanced down to check my notes just to make sure it was the correct address, but a quick second later I became aware that this step was unnecessary.

I hadn't even had a chance to turn off the ignition when the front screen door slammed open and all of a sudden my arms are full of Maribeth.

After jumping over the three steps leading to the house's large front porch, Maribeth just launched herself over the door of the car and into my lap, knocking off my baseball cap in the process. Her arms wrapped around my neck and I became aware that she was twisting her head around, her lips obviously searching for mine, all the while squealing and yelling something I didn't quite understand. Chaotic entrance aside, Maribeth was clearly glad to see me.

Despite the awkward position, Maribeth's lips did find their goal and we filled a full five or six seconds with a memorable welcome kiss. Equally memorable however, was the predicament in which we found ourselves. Maribeth's leap over the door had completely wedged her body into my lap and I found myself unable to move. Worse, she's also managed to squeeze herself under the steering wheel so she couldn't get up either. We squirmed around a bit but nothing seemed to help. We were absolutely and definitely stuck. It was only when Maribeth's Aunt and Mother appeared and were able to open the car door from the outside, that we were able to get enough room to extricate ourselves.

With everybody now standing on the sidewalk Maribeth made the appropriate introductions and it was immediately apparent from a casual glance that her Mom and Aunt were related and I noted that the family resemblance had filtered down to Maribeth. We went up into the porch for a couple of minutes while Maribeth went to put on her shoes and get her purse. I hadn't noticed that she had been barefoot, but in that explosive greeting there were a few other things I hadn't really noticed that were finally entering my conscious awareness.

For one thing, Maribeth herself looked great! She had put her long hair up in the style that I had previously told her was my favorite, and she was dressed in a pretty yellow sleeveless blouse and a pair of dungaree shorts which combined to accentuate her wonderfully feminine bare arms and legs.

As for me, I hadn't had much need for civilian attire, so my wardrobe choices were somewhat limited. I had on a pair of khaki trousers, a blue polo shirt, a camouflaged U.S. Army baseball cap, sunglasses and a pair of loafers with no socks. With my hair trimmed short, I screamed military from a mile away, but Maribeth seemed to approve, so after a few more minutes of small talk it was time to go.

In the few weeks I was living in California after I graduated from Dayton, I had purchased my first new car. It was a fire engine red Datsun 3000 two seater sports car which was quite a step up from the 1960 Valiant station wagon I had driven my last two years at Dayton. Maribeth had seen it for the first time about 6 weeks prior when I had driven through on my way to Virginia, and we had a mutual laugh when I first told you it was a Datsun LRSW...."Little Red Sex Wagon." She hadn't forgotten, because as we pulled away she said that she remembered the LSRW. The little devil that lives on my left shoulder whispered in my ear that he considered that a good sign.

In truth, I hadn't planned out the day in any great detail, but this is pretty much me. I have a strong preference of not trying to over plan because I believe that sometimes it hampers the spontaneity that often becomes more memorable than the original plan.

With this in mind, it was still necessary to start somewhere, so we drove east in the direction of Norfolk. I had a general intention of driving to the beach for lunch and I thought I knew exactly where.

As we drove, Maribeth had turned, as much as the bucket seat would allow, and had rested her left hand on my right thigh. With the top down,the wind was doing some interesting things with her hair which was dancing around her face. Occasionally she would reach up and do whatever women do to their hair and it would be back where it was before, until, of course, the wind unwound it again. Somewhere along the line she found and put on a pair of yellow framed sunglasses which matched her yellow blouse.

We drove fairly close to the Norfolk Navy Base and there were probably thirty or so ships at anchor including two huge aircraft carriers. Maribeth mentioned that she had never seen one in person before and she laughed when I said I hadn't either. About twelve bridges and forty minutes later we turned into a gate, over which a sign said "Fort Story."

Fort Story really isn't much of a military establishment since it's only reason for existence is that it's located on perhaps the most pristine stretch of beach in Virginia. It's essentially an R&R (Rest & Relaxation) facility that's managed by the Army for use by military personnel and their families. I had never been there before, but I had gotten a lot of information from people who had. This was where I thought we'd have lunch.

Just inside the gate the entrance road reached a dead end at a white sign with black letters and arrows which directed officers to the right and enlisted to the left. Going back to at least the Romans, it's been customary for officers and enlisted personnel to be separated when any activity is considered non-duty. I turned right.

As an aside, which I will try to explain to Maribeth later over lunch, 2nd Lieutenants (me) are really weird ducks. Technically we're officers and supposedly leaders, but no one in their right mind wants us to be their leader; we're just too raw and inexperienced. Most senior officers tolerate us, but really don't want us making any real decisions. They just hope that if we're assigned to one if them we don't fuck up their careers.

Sergeants and other enlisted personnel will salute us but laugh at us behind our backs. It takes a lot of demonstrated leadership to get respect from sergeants and we haven't had time to demonstrate jack shit. I jokingly told Maribeth that there should be a separate beach for 2nd Lieutenants.

In any event, there was a very nice restaurant on the beach with a huge outdoor patio under umbrellas. Most of the lunch crowd had gone since it was now around two in the afternoon, so we got a nice table overlooking the beach. To my surprise, Maribeth told me that it's the first time she'd ever seen a beach...or an ocean. Why I thought a nice girl from Ohio was well acquainted with these things is just a question for the ages, and just confirmed the assumption that 2nd Lieutenants really aren't very smart?

We ordered drinks, definitely something alcoholic. I'm pretty sure mine was probably beer, but I don't recall what Maribeth had, nor do I remember what we eventually ordered as a meal.

Here's what I do remember. We were holding hands under the table which turned eating lunch into a one handed affair. One strand of hair kept falling across Maribeth's face which she tried to fix several times, but after a while she just gave up. I could smell her body, obviously some kind of perfume, but something more than that. The scent of a woman perhaps.

Gazing out toward the ocean, Mariberh remarked on how young and fit all the bathers were. I told her that almost every soldier did some form of PT every morning. I, myself, was doing a five mile run every day at 6:30 am before breakfast and I suspected most of the guys on the beach were doing something similar. Most of the women we could see also appeared to be in good shape with only a couple that seemed a little matronly.

July days in Virginia can sometimes be oppressive, as hot and humid is generally the norm. However, this day had started out good and as the afternoon progressed it just kept getting better and better. If weather can ever be called 'perfect', this was it.

After we finished lunch we just pulled our chairs together, put our feet up on a low wall that separated the patio from the sand, held hands, ordered another drink and talked. Most of what we discussed was trivial, Mariberh told me about school, her job and some of her friends. I told her all about how to field strip a machine gun.

As we talked our hands would squeeze and carress and our eyes would meet for extended periods. I could feel sexual tension building. It was just below the surface, but it was definitely there.

I had noticed earlier, that in the right light and maybe at the right angle Maribeth's blouse seemed to have a certain transparency, and as she would lean forward I could discern the silhouette of her breasts through the material. I'm also sure that at least one button that had previously been buttoned had come undone and my view now included the first hint of the swell of her boobs.

The sun, the gentle breeze and perhaps the alcohol, when combined with the closeness of our bodies was creating a mood that is hard to describe. Our conversation became more sporadic, interspersed by long moments of silence when we just looked at each other or out on the waves rolling in from the Atlantic.

After a while, I rose and suggested a walk on the beach. We left our shoes on the wall and set off across the sand. It was hot, but not burning. Pretty soon we were wading in the surf. I had rolled up my pants to the knees, but of course Maribeth was wearing shorts, which presented no problem. The waves were tiny, no more than a few inches, and the water felt cool and refreshing. We walked for about a mile and then walked back.

It was now about four in the afternoon but the sun was still high in the sky. As we approached the restaurant, Still standing in the tiny waves, I stopped and turned Maribeth toward me while taking both of her hands in mine. I told her that I needed to ask an important question. She nodded and looked into my eyes expectantly.

I said that I had no idea that today would turn out to be the most perfect of days, but just in case I had taken the liberty of renting a hotel room in Norfolk. At this point the sexual tension between us was palpable. I paused a second to let her process that piece of information and then asked the critical question; "would you like me to take you there?"

Tears welled up in Maribeth's eyes and her lips began to tremble. Words didn't seem to want to come, so she began to just nod her head, first tentatively, then assertively. Her hair fell across her face, and she seemed to have trouble getting it to behave.

Placing my hand under her chin, I lifted it until our eyes met. I kissed her gently and continued; "Do you understand what I'm suggesting?''

Suddenly, the tears really began to flow. Maribeth grabbed me by my shoulders and pressed her breasts into my chest. The kiss that followed was so violent and demanding that when she pulled away I tasted a small amount of blood. The final answer to the question was another nod as she tried to choke back the tears that just kept flowing.

I wondered to myself, whether a seduction intention had ever been communicated as subtly as I had just done? My little left shoulder devil was doing a fist pump and the little angel on my right shoulder was just shaking her head.

Whether it had been clever or not, it was being made crystal clear to me that Maribeth was more than aware of the implied purpose of my questions and was agreeing in a most enthusiastic way.

We walked back to get our shoes and Maribeth's purse, while the whole time she had both of her arms embracing one of mine, only releasing me to wipe her eyes which, from my point of view, wasn't doing much to stem the flow. Before we left, Mariberh retreated to the ladies room and by the time she returned she had succeeded in pretty much putting herself back together.

If I hadn't noticed the slight puffiness around her eyes I would have never picked her out as the emotional wreck I had seen just a few minutes before. Her hair was back in place, new lipstick had been applied, and the streaks of tears had been covered up with something that I'm sure is a state secret among women. All this, and one of the biggest smiles I had ever seen. We held hands as we walked toward the car.

I knew that I'd like to get something for us to drink at the hotel, but truly I didn't know very much about the liquor laws in the state of Virginia. I had only been off-base a couple of times so I was pretty much clueless. I did know there was a small PX (Post Exchange) at Fort Story, so I headed there first. I asked Mariberh to wait in the car while I went in. A few minutes later I returned with a liter bottle of Sangria. She took a look at the strange looking bottle wrapped in a wicker basket and asked what it was. I explained that it was a fruity Spanish wine I had liked when I lived in Europe and I was sure she'd be pleased. This answer was met with an approving smile, and off we went, headed to Norfolk.

Norfolk was about 20 miles away and over 1960's roads it took us almost an hour. It was a strange drive. Neither of us said very much and I often wonder about the reason we both fell into silence. My personal opinion was the day had turned out to be so magical that we both were aware of how fragile it was, and neither of us wanted to do anything at that moment to tip the balance. So we drove, both knowing where we were headed and why, but terrified that fate was just waiting to intercede.