Never Welcomed Home

CHAPTER 1

I watched the young Marine place two six-packs of beer on the checkout conveyor.

"Thank you for your service," the young female cashier said with a big smile.

He returned her smile. "Just doing my duty."

I felt my stomach tighten. It was the first time I had heard that phrase and it hit like a taser. All the memories I had pushed down into the abyss of my soul came rushing back.

I got the smile but no "thank you" for I wasn't in uniform and hadn't been in more than thirty-five years.

With a slight limp, I made my way back to my truck. I hated the cold. It always made my leg tighten up. I tossed the grocery bags into the truck bed and pulled myself into the cab. In spite of the cold, sweat poured down the sides of my face, my hands were clammy, and my heart was trying to burst through my chest. I closed my eyes and let out the breath I had been holding since the checkout line.

Have to fight it! I won't go through it all again. I headed for home.

I carried the two bags inside, set them on the kitchen counter, and collapsed in a chair.

"Back already?" my wife, Becky, asked, as she strolled into the kitchen. Talking a mile a minute, she unloaded the bags.

I said nothing. Memories, I had long forgotten, bubbled up from where they'd lain dormant for years.

"Steve, you got the wrong yogurt again. I eat Activia, not Dannon Greek yogurt. I knew I was in trouble when I saw the shopping list still on the counter after you left."

I heard her talking, but the words didn't register.

Becky put a few things in the refrigerator, and then turned to face me. She stood there in silence, watching me for a moment or two.

"Steve, what's wrong?"

"Nothing." I tried to avoid eye contact.

"Don't you bullshit me, Stephen Moore. After knowing you most of my life, divorcing your sorry ass, then letting you talk me into marrying you again, I think I know you better than you know yourself. Spill it!"

I told her what happened at the grocery store.

She sat down in the chair next to me and put a hand on my leg. "Steve, people today have a different mindset when it comes to the military. It's not like it was back then. Nowadays, people are proud of those who serve. Viet Nam was not a popular war."

"Tell that to John! Oh wait. That's right, he died in that unpopular war."

***

I wasn't the naïve boy who had gone to Viet Nam twelve months earlier. I was changed. I was a tired old man on the inside going through the motions of being alive.

I didn't tell anyone when I flew home. I wanted no fanfare—only peace and quiet. I disembarked from the plane and had just reached the main terminal when two girls approached me carrying signs.

"Baby Killer!" one girl screamed at me. "Murderer!" the other girl shouted, thrusting her sign in front of my face.

They said other ugly things, but I was on the move to put distance between them and me. That's when two longhaired men stepped in front of me.

"Fucking killer," one said. Then he spit in my face.

I didn't think. I reacted. In less than a minute, both were lying on the floor.

"Take off, soldier. I'll take it from here." The policeman pushed me towards the baggage claim, his eyes sympathetic. Had he been over there? Did he know what it was like? His eyes gave away his secrets.

I grabbed my duffel and slipped out through the door. I was back in the real world and I needed to get home.

***

In October of 1969, my best friend John and I joined the Marines on the buddy plan. Ever since we were kids, we had done everything together. If I wasn't at his house, he was at mine. When I ran out of money, I dropped out of college and joined the Marines. John said he had nothing better to do so he enlisted along with me.

"We'll let Uncle Sam pick up the tab for our final two years once we get out," he said. "No big deal."

We did basic training together, and when I got orders for Nam and he didn't, John didn't hesitate. He volunteered so we would still be together.

"If you think I'm going to let you go off and have all the fun, you're crazier than I thought. Besides, who better to watch your back than me?"

Our squad leader was a brutal staff sergeant who was constantly on our backs. Our best was never good enough.

"Gentlemen, this is my third tour over here, and if you don't want to go home in a body bag, you'll do what I say." No one said a word. "Now, let's try this again, and by the numbers this time."

We knew he was wrong. We were Marines. We were invincible.

Turns out we weren't.

We suffered through bad food, monsoons, and indigenous people trying to kill us. The only bright spot on base was the enlisted man's club. Even though the only cold beer was the first one, it was a place to kick back and let it all out. Drunken Marines talk a lot. Some guys used marijuana instead of beer to get through the tough times. Me? I wanted my head on straight when we went into the bush. Our luck held. By August we were short timers.

"Twenty-eight days and a wake up," John said, coloring in a square on the short-timers calendar he'd hung next to his rack. "The first thing I'm going to do when I get stateside is grab Linda, then go to The Cast-A-Ways Restaurant. I'm going to eat lobster tails until I puke." He laughed.

Linda was the girl John left behind. She wanted a commitment from him before we shipped out, but John, being John, wasn't quite ready to give her one.

"We can talk about marriage after I get out of the service," he told her.

Back home I had Becky. She lived two doors down from my parents' house. We had walked the half-mile to elementary school together and car-pooled with my dad all the way through high school. Talk about bad timing, our first date was two months before I left for basic training. I spent those last eight weeks regretting my decision to enlist. Letters would have to suffice until I got home.

I spent my last two weeks with Becky before I left for Viet Nam. I would be gone for a year and told her if she wanted to go out with other guys she had my permission. Okay, it was a stupid thing to say because I had to listen to an irate girlfriend explain to me what being exclusive means.

"If you want to break up just say the word but that'll be your decision not mine."

I didn't. We pledged our love to one another. It would be a long year.

CHAPTER 2

With my right arm I tossed my duffel bag into the trunk of the first cab in line and gingerly climbed into the back seat. The throbbing pain in my leg let me know it was unhappy with me. I thought about the pills in my inside jacket pocket. I'll wait until I'm settled in. They made me feel like I was in a fog bank, so I took them only when I went to bed at night.

"Where to?" the cabbie asked, turning around and staring back at me.

"2742 Northeast Cleveland Street. It's two miles northwest of downtown Minneapolis."

"I know where it is. It'll take a half hour and be about forty-five bucks. You okay with that?"

"Yeah. No problem. Just get me the hell out of here."

I glanced toward the terminal. I half expected to see those two crazy girls with their signs rush through the terminal doors looking for me. Relieved, I leaned back in the seat. It was over. I was home. Then I thought about John's mother. What would I say to her? I closed my eyes. It all came rushing back.

***

"Settle down, ladies," our squad leader shouted over the commotion of two guys rough-housing in the squad bay. "I said knock it off," he yelled again, this time with a lot more authority. "Listen up. On tonight's patrol we're going to make a swing around this village." He pointed to a red X on the large wall map. "And then head three klicks to the northwest around this one," he said, dragging his finger along the path we planned to take to the next red X.

"Headquarters got some intel about recent Viet Cong activity there and wants us to check it out. We'll be out all night, so take extra water and a carton of C rats unless you like being hungry. The Captain authorized extra firepower so Doug and Turk will be packing Light Ant-Tank Weapons tonight. I want everyone out front at 1600 hours. Any questions?"

No one said a word.

"Dismissed."

***

It was dusk when we came to the first village. I smelled the smoke from their cook fires long before I saw the half-dozen huts. The only activity we observed were two Mommasans squatting next to a large rice pot. We didn't approach them. We moved on.

Only a few stars poked through the dense cloud cover. What I wouldn't have given for a full moon. Forty minutes later we saw the dark huts of the second village. We split up. Four went left, four right, and the remainder entered the village from the south. It was a good plan.

The VC had a plan of their own.

Ray, Kevin, John, and I crept silently along the left perimeter, eight feet apart on a narrow dirt path between two rice paddies. We never saw it coming.

Their rounds cut through us like a buzz saw. In front of me, Ray and Kevin went down like two balloons that had been hit with thumbtacks. I dove into the rice paddy to my right and emptied my first clip in the direction of the muzzle flashes.

The shots from around me echoed through my brain. I tuned them out. I had more important things on my mind.

I slammed home my second clip and sprayed the area again. In the dark, shots seemed to be coming at us from every direction.

I felt a sharp pain burned through my right thigh.

Son -of-a-bitch!

I fired nonstop until I ran out of ammo.

Damn. Now what do I do? I knew I was in a world of deep shit. I kept praying I had somehow missed a magazine in my pack. I hadn't.

I hunkered down in the water and muck, feeling my body rise with each breath. I tried to slow my rapid heart rate. It didn't work. I knew only one thing for sure. If I didn't get the hell out of there, I was going to die.

I crawled on my belly through the foot-and-a-half deep muck along the side of the path from where we'd come. I came up on John. He was sprawled face down on the path. As quietly as I could, I dragged myself out of the water and onto the path just behind him. He wasn't moving. I flipped him over. His eyes were open and met mine.

"I need help here!" I screamed, immediately drawing fire from my left flank.

Rounds tore up the dirt path around me. I covered John with my body before feeling another sharp pain.

Shit!

No one answered.

We couldn't stay there. We had to move. I let go of my rifle and pumped on sheer adrenalin I dragged John's limp body down the path and behind two fallen trees.

"Don't you even think about fucking dying on me! You hear me?" I yelled, searching for where he'd been hit. Even in the dim light, I could see blood pulse from a neck wound. Pressing one hand over the wound, I ripped open my battle dressing with my teeth and slapped it on John's neck, continuing the pressure on it to stop the bleeding.

"Don't worry, good buddy, you're going to make it. You'll be back home with Linda before you know it." He has to make it. He was my best friend.

John's eyes locked on mine. He opened his mouth, but all I heard was a gurgling sound. He never got out a word.

The next time I yelled out, our squad leader showed up.

"They're sending in a bird to medevac us out of here. How bad's he hit?"

"A neck wound. I think I've stopped the bleeding."

"Hang tight, we'll be out of here soon."

John didn't make it. He was dead before we got back to base camp. The bullet had severed an artery in his neck. I had taken a round in my right thigh and another had gone through my upper left arm. Unlike John, I would live. At least that's what I told myself.

***

"Buddy, that'll be forty bucks," the cabbie said, bringing me back to the present.

I looked at my watch, 7:00 a.m. Everyone would be up getting ready for school and work. I gave the cabbie a ten-dollar tip, grabbed my duffel, and headed for the front door.

To say they were surprised would be an understatement.

"Why didn't you tell us you were coming home? I would have picked you up at the airport," Dad said, giving me a hug as my brothers and sisters looked on. I winced in pain. My left arm wasn't totally healed yet.

"I'll call everyone and tell them you're back home. They'll all want to see you," my mom gushed, trying to get close enough to hug me.

"Can we do that later? I'm really tired and just want to rest and catch up on some sleep. Maybe later in the week." They were disappointed especially my dad. He was proud of me and wanted to show me off to his buddies, but respected my wishes.

I spent most of the morning and afternoon talking with my parents. They didn't ask the questions I know they wanted to, and I didn't offer up anything other than that I was still on the mend and probably would be for a while.

"Well, you look good. A little skinny, but good," Mom said.

"How long are you home for?" Dad asked.

"I've got thirty days leave and then I'll be processed out. The doctors said hopefully my limp will go away with time but they can't be certain. They mentioned something about disability, but I'll have to wait until my leg is totally healed before they can see how much permanent damage was done."

"Does Becky know you're home yet?" my mom asked.

"Not yet. I plan on surprising her when she gets home from work tonight." I smiled at the thought.

I popped a pain pill. It knocked me out for a couple of hours. About 4:30 I stumbled out of bed, grabbed a shower, and put on clothes that had been hanging in my closet unworn for the last two years. I looked at myself in the mirror. They were a little big but I didn't care. I felt almost normal.

When Becky saw me, she nearly busted through the screen door to get to me. She hugged me so tight I thought she'd cracked a rib or two. At five foot eight she was only three inches shorter than me but I never knew she was that strong.

"God, I missed you so much," she said, kissing me again and again as her parents stood behind her taking it all in. Then she was somber. "I'm sorry about John."

"Yeah, so am I."

We stayed up most of the night kissing and talking. Well, she talked, I listened, and steered her away from anything I didn't want to talk about, which included everything about John. The one thing I did notice was that she looked exactly the same. She still wore her shoulder length dark brown hair off to one side, her royal blue eyes still sparkled when she looked at me and I still couldn't get in a word edgewise once she started talking. Nothing about me was the same.

It was hard at times, but I did my best to keep my attention on her and not a place halfway around the world.

"Your mom said you got some kind of commendation for bravery. You going to get a medal or something?"

"No medal, just a piece of paper that said I was some kind of hero for letting John die." It came out sarcastically, but Becky never picked up on it, or if she did, she let the subject drop.

I kissed her goodnight, or in our case good morning, and headed for home. I wasn't looking forward to what I had to do today, but I couldn't put it off any longer. I didn't have a clue how I would begin, but I owed it to John. I would manage some how.

***

That morning I stood in front of a door I had walked through most of my life without knocking. Not this time. My eyes were wet even before I rang the bell. John's mother took one look at me and started to cry. I closed the distance between us and held the woman who had been my second mother growing up. I broke down as I attempted to tell her how sorry I was. She shushed me, telling me over and over it was all right. We both knew it wasn't.

We sat and talked on the living room couch next to each other. I saw the American flag with the Purple Heart pinned to it resting on the fireplace mantel. She followed my gaze.

"I wish you could have been here for John's memorial service. It was very nice and everyone was there. The local V.F.W. Post sent an honor guard and gave John a twenty-one-gun salute." You could tell by the look in her eyes, she was proud of her fallen son. "We buried him at Sunset Gardens next to my parents. I didn't want him to be alone."

She didn't want to know how he died, only that he didn't suffer. It was the hardest two hours of my life. We didn't heal each other's open wounds that morning. We only grieved the loss of someone special together. I walked off the plane when I arrived home. John had come off in a flag-draped coffin. It wasn't fair. As I left she told me not to be a stranger, but I already was—even to myself.

CHAPTER 3

Three weeks after I was discharged, I asked Becky to marry me. She said "yes". I wanted my old life back. I wanted normal.

A notary married us on July 1st 1972. We had a small reception at her parents' house with immediate family and a half-dozen friends. We drove up to the north shore of Lake Superior for our honeymoon. We rented a cabin and got reacquainted after being apart for a year. That week was a slice of heaven. I can do this, I thought.

I went back to college in September. I watched from a distance as other students protested the war. Their war. It wasn't mine any longer.

I got an early Christmas present. I came home from class one afternoon to an insanely excited wife.

"We're pregnant!" she shouted. We skipped dinner. We made love, planned our future, and fell asleep in each other's arms. Our new life was rapidly changing and we couldn't have been happier.

Twelve days after our anniversary, we welcomed Abby into our life. We were a family. That was the last good thing I remember happening that year.

I tried, but I couldn't hold it together.

First I had recurring nightmares that haunted my sleeping hours. Most nights I would wake up screaming and drenched in sweat. Those were the good nights. Other nights I tussled with Becky and pushed her off the bed.

"Honey, if I start to thrash around on the bed just shake me awake."

Sometimes it worked. Other times she dumped a cold glass of water on me. Eventually our king-sized waterbed was replaced with two twin beds. The first chunk of our fractured marriage had broken off.

After only one semester, I dropped out of college. Even with Becky's help, I could no longer concentrate and retain what I had read. Truthfully, I got tired of looking into the faces of students who protested against a war they didn't know shit about. Talks cheap when you're safe in your own bed at night, I wanted to say to them.

I bounced from job to job until there weren't any left. I had a million excuses, but that's all they were. If I wasn't fired for being late for work, I developed an attitude and got canned for that. The day Becky came home and said McDonalds was hiring we had a huge argument.

"You think that's all I'm good for? Flipping burgers at McDonald's!" I slurred the words—because like most days I was either drunk or high.

"If that's what it takes for you to contribute to this marriage then so be it. I can't support the three of us and keep you in alcohol. I don't make that much money. Why don't you grow a set of balls and man up?"

"Well, I got you pregnant with Abby, didn't I? So, it can't be that." I snickered like an idiot. It didn't go over well with Becky.

"I thought I married a grownup. Guess I was wrong." The look she gave me wasn't the loving one she'd given me when we first got married. She scooped up Abby and left me alone with my vodka and the pills I scored on the street that morning. I heard our bedroom door slam. From that night on, I was banished to the couch.

I should have done something. Anything. But I didn't. Her once bright blue eyes were now cold narrow slits. The smile that I had fallen in love with was no more. And the soft, breathy words we'd whispered into each other's ears while we made love were distant memories. They'd been replaced with sharp barbs, ugly confrontations, and finally silence. I watched as the life drained out of our marriage. And as with John, I was powerless to stop it.