A Yellow Rose for the Missing
The Plane touched down and rolled to the terminal. The cabin was quiet and the passengers disembarked and headed to customs. I was sitting in my seat when the stewardess approaches.
“Sir we need you to proceed to customs along with the rest of the passengers.” She smiles but her smile makes no difference as I am miles away, in a different world. She gently touches my shoulder and I come slowly back. “Sir, are you alright?” She asks.
I look up and nodded then I stand up and take my small hand bag form the overhead compartment. She continues on down the aisle checking the seats and I head towards the exit. On the tarmac now and then a short walk to customs. I look at the people all around and they all seem busy with their tasks. They are smiling at me and telling it is ok to go now. I pick up my duffle bag and small hand bag and report for debriefing and processing. They all look like robots to me and they speak to me with no particular emotion, just matter of fact blankness. Proceed to this building, attend this debriefing, report back to that building, check in here, and check out there.
I spend the night in a transit building on a metal bunk. Report to Out Processing, a physical and then report to Finance for final pay and copy of discharge paperwork. Still feeling numb I proceed to the air terminal and find a payphone. Make the call and sit and wait.
What am I doing? Where am I going, and what happened to me?
It’s July 1972, and the Air Terminal at Travis Air Force Base is busy with arriving and departing military personnel. The wait for his parents and his younger sister goes by in a flash and it’s time to snap out of it and put on my game face. I need to reach inside and gather myself and play the part. I’m numb inside and I lack the emotion to play the loving son and brother but I must …for them.
There they are walking this way. I turn on the smile and walk towards them. I need to look happy…they look happy and I need to follow suit.
We are in the car now and heading home. The car moves down the highway and the buildings and scenery is flashing by but I am somewhere else. I see what is not there; the pictures and smells of a far away land fill my senses. I respond to news of things that are going on at home in Campbell, with an almost robotic yes, wow, I see, and on and on it goes.
Nobody asks about what it was like. They are walking on egg shells and don’t want to tip my apple cart. It’s all the better for me. I can barely keep my apples on the cart as it is. I start to feel my mood change and with it a wave of emotion builds and the tears start to well up. No, I can’t do this …not now…I must keep it back. I am lost and I don’t know who will come out if I let down. I lost myself over there and I can’t seem to get back. I’m an empty shell. They don’t know this and I can’t tell them. I need to find enough of me to make them think it is me. At least until I make it back. Will I …make it back that is? I am missing and I can’t find myself…I’m scared and the only weapon I have is the power over my emotion. I can’t cry I can’t ask for help and I can’t let them know that this is not me!
They tell me to make myself at home and I put my duffle bag in my old room. We sit down and make small talk. I do well they seem to think I am the same son and brother that left for Vietnam. Only I know he is still there and I am here in his place.
What do they want from me? Do I need to tell them war stories…do I need to stay quiet about the war? What am I supposed to do? Why couldn’t he have come back instead of me?
The beer in front of me looks good. They offer me another as I finish off the first. After a few more the mama-son puts a plate in front of me. I hear the sound of a two cycle engine and the smell of gas and oil exhaust. The rattle of gun fire and then the ringing starts and I am back at the dining table. His sister stands and walks to the phone. She answers and tells whoever is on the line that her brother is back. It’s what she wants but I can’t bring it to be. He is still far away and I don’t know how to get in touch with him!
I am doing real well and the time is going by quickly. We settle into the family room and watch television. Its good and I don’t have to talk…I don’t have to pretend that I am him. We just sit and watch the screen.
It’s late and the family is going to bed. I lay down on the bed…a real bed. The time goes by and the house is quiet. I check the windows and then get up and walk the floor, go to the front room and check the door then the others. All secure but I need to keep watch. I can’t let my guard down. A siren sounds in the distance and I look up automatically and the ceiling is now an open sky and I am looking for the trail of the rocket and anticipate the impact of the 122. The siren drifts off and there is no impact…must have been a dud. I sit at the table and wait. The light comes through the windows and it is time to rest. I go back to the bedroom and lay down. A real bed…feels so good.
The smells of frying bacon wake me and I find his mother and sister in the kitchen. His father has gone to work. They talk of a party that a friend is having and they want Mike to attend. I smile and want to decline but I need to get away for a while. I need to get my head together and a party would be just the place. I could sit in a corner and just be by myself while everyone else did their thing.
I spend part of the day walking around the neighborhood and say hello to a few people who see me and act surprised when I don’t stop to converse. I notice how clean the air is. There are no jet engines or rotor blades whipping the air over head. I sit on the curb in front of the house and just stare across the street at the curb. A memory tries to impress its self on my brain. It’s a bunch of kids running in the street, their laughing and chasing each other. They look familiar but they start to blur and then are replaced by other children. These children are crying and running down the street. Their skin is falling off and I smell the flames and hear the impact of the napalm canisters. I drop my head into my hands and try to cry…cry for the children. No! No tears. Can’t cry now…not now! I can’t help those kids. Where are the kids who were laughing? I want them back.
I arrive at the party. Lots of people, long hair, physcodelic posters, pot, incense burning. Beer and whisky flows. Some people say hello… must be his friends. Pretty girl looking at me but, does not smile. She approaches and asks why I am at their party. She tells me that I am scum and that I fought in a criminal war and that I am responsible for murdering thousands if not millions of women and children. She tells me I disgust her. The room begins to spin and her face whirls in front of me and I hear her voice repeating over and over baby killer…baby killer! I get up and leave. I am sick and my head is spinning. I just want to get away. I run down the street and then keep on running. I get to a little park, along the side of a creek and sit on the edge of a sand pit. I pray for him to come back and take over because I can’t do this any longer. I am sick want to die.
I make it back to his parent’s house and I get a phone call from his wife. She is in Cheyenne Wyoming and wants to know why I haven’t gotten back there yet. I tell her that I will leave the next day.
The bus pulls out of San Jose and I wonder if his family knows. Will they ever see him again? What am I going to do in Cheyenne? I will just have to put my game face on and keep on playing the part until he comes back or I die. Maybe I can find him in Cheyenne.
As for now He is missing and all I can do is set out a yellow rose until he comes back.
Wow! Intense!
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