Excerpt for The Collateral Group by Gary Bonner, available in its entirety at Smashwords
This page may contain adult content. If you are under age 18, or you arrived by accident, please do not read further.
The Collateral Group
By Gary Bonner
Chapter One
Endicott City, Maryland – July, 1986
Clive Miller, US Army Colonel, retired, was doing something he hated. Shopping. Every since his wife passed away in 1984 he had to fend for himself in doing things his wonderful bride had done all their previous years together. That meant cooking, cleaning the house, paying the bills and grocery and clothes shopping. He didn’t mind cooking. He actually began to like it, had bought himself a few cookbooks, and started making some homemade dishes instead of dining out all the time or living on TV Dinners. House cleaning? Well, he refused to do that so he hired a woman to come in twice a week and do the dusting and vacuuming, along with the laundry. However, he hated shopping. He had noticed his underwear and socks were getting to the point where it was either learn how to sew or go shopping for new clothes. He was damned if he was going to learn how to sew. Having done two tours of duty in Vietnam, the first as a Major and Squad Leader with Delta Company, 1st Battalion, 27th Marines, Da Nang in 1965 and the second with Charlie Company, 1st Battalion, 1st Marines as a Lt. Colonel in 1967, he just felt thread and thimbles were not his forte.
Miller was one of the few officers who spent time in the field with his troops. He was both respected and admired by his men for being there in battle. He never asked his soldiers to do anything he wouldn’t do. He believed the key to leadership was earning respect, not demanding it because of rank. He tried to keep in touch with as many of the troops he commanded on his two tours as he could. He had compiled an address book on his computer at home and every year he sent over nine hundred Christmas cards, over three hundred birthday cards and many a wedding, new baby or special occasion card. He looked at his men as family. It was a costly venture to do what he did, both in time and in money. But he considered it was well worth it.
Miller was a military man, West Point and thirty-seven years of active duty. He took immense pride in his leadership roles and in all aspects of serving his country, with honor. He still serves his fellow man and veterans by being a trustee at the Maryland Veterans Hospital and he volunteers time helping many veterans with G.I. loans for home mortgages and education.
As Miller was heading to the checkout counter at the local Sears with five pairs of socks and a half dozen tee shirts and boxers in his hands, mumbling to himself about the prices, he looked up and thought he saw a ghost. “Jesus, Mary and Joseph, it can’t be,” he muttered. He walked anxiously over to the man he was staring at and said, “Corporal Moynihan? Is that you? I’m Colonel Miller. Do you remember me? Quang Tri?”
The man looked at him, took his change from his purchase at the cash register, totally ignoring him, and walked out the door.
Chapter Two
Boston, Massachusetts - 1987
I was sitting at the bar close to the sidewalk on Newbury Street at this little French bistro having a cold Budweiser draught and watching the scenery go by. Around five o’clock the bar began to fill up with the after-work crowd. It was one of those beautiful, delicious, early spring days in Boston, Dogwoods in full bloom, and office workers spilling out of their buildings eager to enjoy the warm weather they had been craving for so many months. A very attractive woman, her perfect figure clad in a beige silk blouse and black skirt, walked by the open-air window carrying a Louie’s shopping bag. As my eyes followed her, another woman happened into my view, and I was quite intrigued. She appeared to be all business as she hurried by the outside café tables, drawing amorous glances and head turns from the many men sitting out there. Yet none of them whistled or attempted to gain her attention. She walked into the bistro, removing her sunglasses, and looked around. I noticed, as I peered at her through the mirrored glass behind the bar, that she was only carrying a simple, black Prada purse and she was wearing a light blue sun-dress that accentuated her blondish brown hair and blue eyes. Finding no seats at the bar, she walked over and stood behind me. I continued to sip my beer and ignored her presence.
I noticed the two guys next to me really check her out and I heard one of them murmur what a great ass she had. I smiled to myself. The bartender came over, stood in front of me, and asked her if he could get her something.
“I’ll have what he’s having,” she said, and I saw her in the mirror pointing a finger at my back. The guy next to me got off his stool and asked if she would like a seat.
“No thanks, I’m probably going to sit on this guy’s lap,” she quipped, again pointing to my back. The two guys looked at me, then back at her and smiled.
I continued to ignore her, squeezing a lime into my beer. One of the guys tapped me on the shoulder and whispered, “Did you hear that?” I said I did, and sipped my beer again. They both looked at me, shaking their heads, and the other guy said, “Hey pal, not for nothing but I think you ought to turn around and check her out,” and he wiggled his eyebrows like Groucho Marx, sans cigar.
I turned around, looked at the woman, and then turned back to sipping my beer. The bartender came over and set her drink to my right and she said, “Put it on his tab, please,” tapping my shoulder.
The bartender looked at me with a questionable look, a shy smile appearing on his face, and asked me if that was okay. I nodded my head and said, “No problem.”
Now, the two guys next to me were really getting a kick out of this.
“Aren’t you going to talk to her?” Sir Walter Raleigh, the seat offerer, said.
“I don’t think so.”
“Ah, listen, friend,” the one furthest from me leaned over and whispered,
“Unless you are gay or blind, you’re really messing me up here. I mean, this woman behind you is downright gorgeous.”
“I know. I saw her.” I continued to sip my beer.
Two more guys came over and said something to the woman about ‘snobs’ and tried to chat her up. She set her beer down, put her arms around my neck from behind me and whispered in my ear. She then began to nibble on my ear.
“Okay,” I said, and I turned around, spread my legs so she could move in closer, slipped my arms around her waist while she was encircling her arms around my neck, and said, “You forgot to pick up my tuxedo, babe,” and kissed her on the lips.
“Aw, gees, man. For a while there you had us going,” the guy next to me said. “Your wife, huh?” We nodded, and smiled at them, oblivious to any one else being there but us.
My name is Mark Young. I was brought up living next to the Lady of the Sea church in a small coastal town in Massachusetts. My mother worked for the Monsignor and my father sold paint. It was a normal upbringing. I mean, didn’t every family have a sixteen-year old brother who ran card games, was the local bookie and had fistfights with his old man all the time? Yeah, that was my older brother Chip but I’ll get more into him later. A classic enigma!
When I was in the eighth grade, my dad had moved up the ladder with his company and became a Regional Sales Manager. The family moved further south to another small coastal town in Massachusetts called Scituate where we bought our first home. We had always rented. Chip was off in the service by then through no choice of his own. I believe the comment made by the judge to my father was, “Jail or the military.” Chip opted for the obvious, with a little prompting from my dad.
My older sister, Ann, had left to go to college at the University of Miami and she was now pursuing a career as a Financial Advisor for a large Florida brokerage firm. It was while living in Vero Beach that she met and married a professional golfer, Craig Bright. That left me, my older brother Allen, and my older brother Frank at home at that time. As you can see I was the baby of the family. My nickname was ‘Rags’ and I’m sure you can guess where that came from. With three older brothers and the age span between Chip and me being eight years, by the time the hand me down clothes reached me they were pretty much reduced to rags. At least they weren’t Ann’s!
Things started to change for the better, somewhat, when we moved to Scituate. I mean we weren’t rich or anything but we had an in-ground pool and lived on the ninth fairway of a private golf country club, and although we were not members there, Frank and I would sneak out on the course and play a few holes regularly until the greens keeper would kick us off. By the time we got out of high school we would be on a first name basis with him as he kicked us off a lot.
Mom had a beautiful 1966 Pontiac Bonneville convertible that Dad bought for her. It was powder blue with a navy blue top. I couldn’t wait to drive it to my prom some day.
Frank and I also got to share a bedroom instead of all four boys in one, like we did in Maine, and Allen had his own room. Allen was attending parochial high school out of town and Mom wanted Frank and me to go there, also. We pleaded with her that we would never get to meet anybody from our new hometown if we did, so the compromise was that we had to get above average grades or she would yank us out and send us to parochial school. All three of us lived up to our agreement. The best thing to me about our move was that I got to get new clothes regularly!
It was a fun place to grow up and I made many new friends throughout my high school days. We could walk to the beach in the summer and sneak on to the golf course at twilight and hone up our game. In the winter, there was a large pond across the street that would freeze up so Frank and I would go skating after school and weekends. After high school it was off to college and my life began to change. It was 1968.
Chapter Three
“What do you think? Want to try and get in?” my brother, Frank was asking me. It was a warm, Saturday night in June and we were standing outside a local bar called the Hatherly Inn in Scituate. They had a live band playing, the parking lot was full and the place was packed. It was one of the few places in town where I dared to try to get in underage. Frank and I were both home from college for the summer. Frank was going into his senior year at Georgetown and I was going to be a junior at Boston College. I was twenty and Frank was twenty-one but I had a fake ID that said I was twenty-one also. Therein, laid the problem. With Frank actually being twenty-one and having the same address on his license, it would take a real dumb shit not to pick up on it because we were Irish twins, born thirteen months apart, so we didn’t look like identical twins. So, I rarely tried to use it in our hometown, as I knew too many people and could ill afford to be both embarrassed and, to lose the ID. I had paid a hundred bucks to have it made up but my main concern was, how would I drink at school if it were taken away?
“I don’t recognize the guy at the door, do you?” I asked as I was checking him out eyeing ID’s from two young girls. He was flirting with them and pretending to really check the ID’s. Then he opened the door and let them in. They looked about twelve.
“No. Never saw him before,” he said. “Let’s give it a try anyway, as I’m not going to stand around in the parking lot all night while you get up the balls to try and get in.” Frank headed towards the door with me tailing closely after him.
“Hey, what’s up? Pretty crowded in there, huh? Got room for a two more?” Frank asked.
“Got ID’s, boys?” the doorman asked, smirking.” I didn’t like the sound of boys but what the hell; I did have decent ID’s. A friend of mine at school made them and they were quite good. License and college ID with a picture. Both had my date of birth as November 18, 1946, a year earlier than I was born. I wouldn’t turn twenty-one until that coming November. We both pulled them out and the doorman stepped over by the light to the side of the door and began to scrutinize them. “What year were you born, Mark?” he asked me, still smirking.
“1946,” I said. “November. My first year being legal and I’m going to really enjoy this summer.” Might as well act ballsy and hope he was a dumb shit.
“Ok, dudes, go on in. Have a good time,” he said, and he opened the door to a smoky, loud, crowded barroom and we sauntered in as if we owned the place.
“Good job, Mark,” Frank said as we walked to the bar and ordered two Buds. “Good thing he was a dumb shit.”
The band was playing Dylan’s ‘Like a Rolling Stone.’ The dance floor crowd was singing along, and everyone was having a good time. The place was happening. I was looking around, trying to see if I recognized anybody and spotted a few guys at the other end of the bar that I knew from high school. They were a few years ahead of me but both Frank and I had played sports with them. Frank started rapping with some babe at the bar so I grabbed my beer and went over to chat with the friends I knew. As I was walking by the corner of the bar, away from the band area and dance floor, a hand with an emerald ring on the fourth finger reached out and grabbed me by the sleeve. It belonged to an attractive blond, with beautiful green eyes, wearing a white halter-top and pedal-pusher tan slacks. Looking down at what appeared to be a great set of wheels, I noticed she was wearing leather sandals and her toenails were painted red, white and blue, alternately. Interesting? Must be jumping the gun on the Fourth of July.
“Hey handsome, what’s your hurry? Can I buy you another beer?” she asked as she was still holding on to the sleeve of my shirt.
“Ah, well sure, I guess. But I just got one so maybe later? I was just going to go over to say hello to some old friends that I haven’t seen in a while. Can I come back in a few minutes?” She was a good-looking girl so I knew I would be coming back.
“How come?” she said, frowning
“How come, what?”
“How come you haven’t seen your friends in a while?”
“Oh? Well, I’ve been away at college and don’t get back to the old homestead much anymore, just holidays and summers.”
“Where do you go to college?”
“BC.”
“What year are you in?”
“Umm, ah, I’m going into my senior year,” I lied.
“You look too young to be a senior,” she said, showing me a perfect set of white teeth.
“Well, I guess that will come in handy when I’m forty, huh?”
“What school at BC?” I assumed she meant my major. “Business.” I replied.
“Plan to be a big executive when you get out. Make a lot of money, marry the homecoming queen, have the three kids and the white picket fence?” She was definitely playing me.
“I don’t know what I plan to do at this juncture. I just want to graduate first then see what happens. See what job offers there are out there. I think you’re fast-forwarding my life a wee bit with the marriage and kiddos.”
“Yeah, you think so, huh? Well, I’m psychic and that’s what I foresee. What’s your name, by the way?”
“It’s Mark and if you’re psychic, how come you had to ask?”
“Ha! You’re quick. I like that. Hi Mark, I’m Donna,” she said, and shook my hand with a firm grip. I liked it that she didn’t give me a limp, half-hearted handshake. It said a lot about her right off the bat. Athletic, assertive and confident. In addition, very sexy looking.
“That’s what I see. Mark, with the belle of the ball, earning big buckaroos and being the great family man. How about that?”
“Well Donna, I hope you’re right. It all sounds nice and certainly not out of the question. Just a little too early in my life to be thinking of all of that right now. Like I said, let’s get the degree and go from there.”
“I’m telling you, Mark, I can see it in the cards for you. You’re a great looking guy, seem to have a lot on the ball and some woman is going to snatch you right up”
“Well, it isn’t going to happen tonight so let’s have that drink?”
“Why?” She asked a lot of tough questions for one word!
“Why, what?”
“Why isn’t it going to happen tonight?” And she reached up, pulled me towards her and kissed me on the lips, softly and quickly. Now my mind’s running a hundred miles an hour, and my hearts beating the same, and my penis was ready to come out and party too. I was looking around
the bar wondering how many people just saw her kiss me when I see Frank jawing with two guys. Two big guys, I might add. I saw one of them give him a shove on the shoulder.
“Oh, oh. Excuse me, Donna, I need to go see what’s up with my brother,” I said, pointing over to where Frank was. “Could you watch my beer, please? I’ll be right back.”
I walked over to where Frank was now saying to the guy who shoved him. “Take it easy, man. I was only talking to her. No harm, no foul.”
Now, I have to tell you that Frank’s what I would classify as a very passive guy. He outweighs me by about fifteen pounds but I don’t think he’s ever been in a fight in his life. Me, on the other hand, well, I have a little bit of a temper that, for the most part, I control. But sometimes, well, it just goes off. I’ve had my share of fights growing up, mostly because I was the youngest and I had to assert myself. I’ve also spent some time training with the boxing team at school. I’m pretty good, or at least good enough that the coach, Dick Flaherty, who was a Golden Gloves Champion and a former professional boxer, and now is a professional referee, has been constantly after me to join the team. I’m not interested in actually being on the boxing team but I find the training an excellent way to relieve some frustrations as well as stay in great shape. Having said that, I’m now watching two guys push my big brother around in a bar. A bar, I should add, where I am drinking under-aged. So I’m thinking that it’s not going to be a wise thing to start a barroom brawl, is it? Screw it! It’s family!
“What’s going on, Frank?” I asked, not taking my eyes off of the two goons. The one who shoved Frank looked to be about forty, but was probably twenty-five, apparently the years of drinking and eating burgers not being too kind to him. Think Oliver Hardy without the mustache. However, he was big and mean looking. I noticed he had a canine tooth missing and a pudgy, pockmarked face. Big and ugly.
“Nothing, Mark. I was talking to this girl and, apparently, it’s this guy’s girlfriend and he didn’t like it. I apologized but that doesn’t seem to be working here.” I could see that Frank was actually angry but I also think he was becoming embarrassed at causing a scene as other people were now watching. The band had stopped for a break so this was the entertainment. I looked at the girlfriend he was referring to and was trying to figure out what her eyesight problem was because she was too cute to be ‘Big and Ugly’s’ girlfriend. She was shaking her head as if to say, ‘no fucking way am I that Pluto’s girlfriend.’
“Guys, if he’s apologized and all he was doing was talking to her, then let’s just let it go at that, okay?” I could sense that it wasn’t going to be okay. Apparently, the blob wanted to vilify the situation, play the tough guy, and impress his girl, if it was his girl?
“Look, Joe College, this is between this asshole and me so why don’t you do yourself a favor and stay out of this before you get hurt?” Oh, how I love them fighting words!
“This guy you are mistakenly calling an asshole happens to be my brother. What’s between you and him is also between me. As far as I can see, from what’s going on, you seem to be the only asshole here. Where’d you go to college, by the way, the University of Sluggos?” I could see he was not very pleased with either of my comments. Good.
“Let it go, Mark…come on, let’s go have a beer,” said Frank as he pulled on my arm. Pluto, incensed by my remarks, made the mistake that all bullies make. He underestimated a man by his size and he let his guard down. As he went to grab my shirt with his left hand to evidently pull me towards him so he could punch me, I hit him with a straight right, all of my one hundred and seventy-two pounds behind it, squarely on the nose. The bar fell into a hush as he fell backwards into the other goon, blood spewing from his nose, the shock and pain very apparent in his watering eyes. Actually, I was a little shocked that the hulk went down so easily, too. I thought of Coach Flaherty telling me once that a well-placed punch straight to the nose will always slow someone down, regardless of his size.
“Jesus Christ. You broke my fucking nose…holy shit, you little bastard!” he cried out as his friend helped him up. He was correct about the ‘little’ part as he was certainly bigger than I was but I take extreme offense to his other comment. My parents were married when I was born.
Now the other goon started towards me, after he got Pluto to his feet, and he was even bigger, but more cautious after having seen what I just did to his buddy. But before he got two steps closer towards me, somebody came up from behind him, put an arm-lock around his neck with this massive forearm, showing a tattoo that read ‘Mother’ inside a large red heart. He whispered something in the goon’s ear. The next thing I knew, the big guy had nodded his head, grabbed Pluto, and was walking out of the bar.
“Donna, I’d like you to meet my brother, Frank, and this is Sonny Lackey, my body guard!”
“By the way you handled that jerk, you didn’t look like you needed a body guard,” she said and she shook Frank and Sonny’s hand with that same firm grip she had done with me.
“What the hell did you say to him that made him just go away, Sonny?” Frank asked, incredulously.
“I told him that this was my town and anybody that picks a fight with a local, has to go through me first. So either leave or step out in the parking lot. But stop to get the medical kit at the bar first.”
Sonny was right about it being his town. He had five older brothers who were all notoriously tough. Sonny had played defensive lineman on the football team and I had played one year with him before he graduated. I doubt he ever lost a fight, but if he did, the guy who beat him had to take on his brothers. Not what I would classify as a win-win situation!
After we got through laughing about what Sonny had said and thanking him for his help by buying him and his two other friends a drink, things settled down, the band came back to play and Donna and I went on the dance floor for most of the night. She was a good dancer, coupled with the facts that she was beautiful, had a great body and was very sensuous and I felt like I was in heaven. I was anxious for a slow song so I could dance close to her. I got my wish shortly after when the band played, ‘We’ve Only Just Begun’ by the Carpenters. I thought that was quite fitting for our first slow dance.
“That was fun tonight, Mark. I haven’t dance like that since the high school hops. You’re fun and a real good dancer,” she said and took another sip of her coffee. We were at an all night diner in Cohasset, the next town over, and we were just talking and enjoying each other’s company, having left the bar about an hour ago. Donna was telling me that she summered in Scituate and lived in Newton, a trendy, upscale suburb of Boston where I actually attend school at Boston College. She had just graduated from Notre Dame in May and was going to attend law school at Harvard in the fall. Her dad was a partner in a prestigious Boston law firm and her plans were to go to work in the litigation department once she finished grad school. She was going to be interning at the firm two days a week this summer, as she had done the past three summers. She said it gave her great experience in preparation for her future career. Smart lady. I like smart, or bright, people.
“You’re a good dancer too, Donna. I enjoyed that. So tell me, are you really psychic or was that your life you were dreaming about?” I was sure this woman would fit right into that picket fence scene.
“Both, I guess. I do see you in that role some day, Mark. You’d be great in it, too. As for me, yes, I would like to have a family some time… picket fence. Not so sure about the big bucks. Litigation can be rewarding if you win some big cases but it’s not my goal. I see my dad work hard, earn a ton of money and not be that happy. He and Mom are okay as a couple. I’m sure they still love each other, and all, but there’s just no substance there. His work is his life and that’s not for me. It doesn’t seem to bother Mom as she has her own life, too but I’m sure she’d trade all of that for a happier life with Dad but she’s just seems content to let things be as they are. They very rarely do things as a couple other than go to some of Dad’s work-related functions and a few family vacations every two or three years when Dad takes the rare time off. That’s just not my idea of a solid marriage. What is it they say? We learn from our parents what not to do?”
“I guess so but I can certainly understand where you are coming from and I’m sorry to hear that. I guess you’re right though. There are many people that are very successful in work but miserable failures in life…oh, shit, I didn’t mean that your dad’s a failure. I meant…”
“It’s okay, Mark. In a way he is. At least as a father, anyway. I played three sports in high school and two in college and he never, once, came to any of my games…sad.” And I could see it in her eyes.
“Boy, that’s so similar to my dad, amazingly. I played three sports in high school, also, but only one in college, although I do an intramural sport for fun and exercise. I think he came to just one of my basketball games all those years. I was so shocked I sucked. Maybe that’s why he never came back?” Now we both were laughing. I loved her laugh, her smile. Damn, I was falling in love on the first date and it wasn’t even a date.
Chapter Four
I continued to date Donna throughout the summer and we developed a close relationship. I had never dated anyone that steadily in high school because all the girls I liked weren’t that interested in me as a steady boyfriend and the girls that I weren’t interested in wanted to go steady. At least that was always the case with me. Anyway, Donna and I were now exclusively dating for close to two and a half months but we still hadn’t consummated the relationship. Correct. I wasn’t getting laid. Yet, I hoped.
Then the unexpected happened. Dad had a massive coronary and passed away in late August. It was unexpected because he was only sixty-six. Also, there was no family history. He did smoke two packs a day and he did little in the way of exercise or eating well to offset that. His death created a harried time for all of us as he had very little life insurance and Mom was not skilled in any occupation. There was no way she could pay for both Frank and my tuitions without selling the house and none of us would allow that as the mortgage was paid off and it was all she had. Although both Ann and Allen had offered to help pay for my tuition, I gratefully declined as they had their own lives to take care of, especially Allen with three kids. So I made the decision that I’d work full time and take night courses until Frank, who was in his last year at Georgetown, graduated and then I’d see what developed from there and probably go back full time to graduate and get my degree.
Well, what developed was that I was drafted into the Army. A war was raging in Southeast Asia in a country called Vietnam. The Army started up a draft because they did not have enough Regular Army volunteers to fulfill the nation’s worldwide commitments.
Unless you were enrolled as a full time student, or were the sole provider of a family, draft exemptions did not apply. If you were physically able and over the age of eighteen, then you were classified 1A and drafted into the Army. Oh sure, many draftees tried numerous medical reasons to get out of it, like dummying up the urine tests with substances taken the night before but the doctors figured it all out. So, if you were 1A, unless you showed up in a wheel chair, missing a limb, was blind, diabetic and answered to the name of ‘Lucky’, Uncle Sam owned your ass for the next two years. There were few choices for anyone in this 1A category: run; enlist in another branch, or take your chances with the Army.
The draft was based solely on a lottery system that revolved around one’s birth date. Three hundred and sixty five balls with birth dates were put into a machine and spit out, one by one, until they determined they had reached their numbered allotment for that period. I always wondered about those kids who were born on leap year? As luck would have it, my birth date came up on the thirteenth number. Lucky number thirteen. Shit!
“I can’t believe this is happening, Mark. I’m so sad and angry over all of this. I finally meet the man of my dreams and now he could be killed in this damn war that’s going on.” Donna and I were sitting on the seawall of Minot beach. It was a beautiful, warm August night; the moon was shimmering off the water as the outgoing tide lapped the rocks on the shore. I was hoping to take a few laps with her, if you get my drift. I was reminiscing about the many times I had come here over my high school years to swim out to Smith rock with my friends or just to sit on the beach and watch the babes in two-piece bathing suits. It was always interesting to watch the girls I grew up with develop each ensuing summer, going from flat as a board to bumps on their breasts, to even well endowed. There was one girl in our class who had one major rack of lamb. Lindsay Ducette. We used to call her Lindsay ‘Two Set’. She’d come to the beach every day and it was the highlight of my horny friends day, yeah, me too, I guess, to watch her take off her jersey and let those babies out for air. Aah, the sexual adventures of a budding teenager.
I used to walk to the beach from my house, about a half mile away, and meet my friends and we’d hang out all day, doing what most kids do at the age…
nothing. The good old summer-time. We didn’t have a care in the world and it was a social affair every day. Sometimes the girls would bring picnic baskets with fried chicken, peanut butter and jelly sandwiches, chips and soda. We’d waste the day away swimming and eating. If I wasn’t working nights at a restaurant where I was a dishwasher, then we would all meet again at night and someone would bring their radio and we’d have a beach party, dig a pit and light a bonfire, burning the driftwood, and we’d dance in the sand to The Beach Boys or the Beatles. It was a fun time.
The population in Scituate increased in the summer by a few thousand. There were a lot of summer homes all along the five-mile coast so the wealthy outsiders would come and reside in the town for the season at these homes and enjoy the beaches, the sailing and boating. Most of these summer homes put our year-round home to shame. Donna’s family was one of those wealthy outsiders with a large, five-bedroom summer home right on the water.
“Hey Donna, calm down. We don’t even know if I’ll go over there yet. I mean, I don’t know what this is all about but that’s the last place I want to go. Jeez, three of my friends were killed over there.”
My best friend, Newk Budcomb’s older brother Wayne, was killed last summer. Wayne was two years ahead of me in high school but I always saw him when I went over to Newk’s house. Two other friends that were a year behind me, Joe Hunter and John Lazinski went right from high school to the Marines on the buddy system and they also were both killed over there. They were all such great kids and it’s still hard to imagine they went at such a young age.
It was quite disconcerting, that a small town with the population between twelve and thirteen thousand people would lose three of its finest kids in a year’s time. Gives one the chills and certainly brought that far away war very close to home.
“Believe me, Donna, I would do whatever I could to avoid going over to some scary country that seems like it’s on another planet, it’s so far away, but there is actually nothing I can do. I would have to go if it comes down to that. I don’t want to but I would have to. That’s just the way the damn lottery ball bounces.” I was scared, and like Donna I was also angry.
“Why can’t you go to Canada? A lot of kids that are getting drafted are dodging it by going to Canada. We’re only six hours from the border. I could come see you regularly and we could…”
I interrupted her. “No. I’m not going to do that. All they have in Canada is whores and hockey players. Seriously, I’m not a coward and I’m not turning my back on my country. That’s exactly what those people are doing. It is what it is. Besides, my brother Chip would kill me before the Viet Cong if I did that. I told you he’s in the Marines. He did a tour of duty over there two years ago. Granted, he said it was hell but he was what they call a grunt. Out in the boonies most of the time, shooting it up with Charlie or whatever they call those assholes. It’s what he wanted to do. Hell, he even volunteered, the dumb ass. Always living on the edge. That’s Chip. That’s not for me. If I
have to go over there, then I would hope I’m smart enough to get a decent type of military occupation that keeps me in some camp or base. . But no way am I going to Canada or any where else that these chicken shits are running off too.”
The Vietnam War was in the news every day. It was also in the news regularly about draftees heading to Canada, Europe or wherever they could go to avoid the draft. CO’s is what they called themselves. Conscientious Objectors. Bite me! They were flat out scared shitless. COwards. Hell, so was I. Scared, that is, but there are times you just have to suck it up. I didn’t want to go to Vietnam any more than the next guy, but I’d be damned if I was going to do any thing else but report to the draft board in South Boston on December sixth and be enrolled into the U.S. Army.
Donna sat there, silently. We both listened to the sound of the tide, ebbing and flowing, as we remained silent, deep in thought. I love the sound of the tide dragging the sand, pebbles and rocks out to sea, sounding like slow, clattering castanets. It’s such a soothing and relaxing sound. Listening to the tide, I was sitting there thinking how beautiful Donna was and where the night would lead us. My arm was around her waist and even though it was a warm, still night, I could feel shivers from her body. I know she was thinking of all the sad things and not enjoying the moment. Here we were, sitting on a seawall, in love , on a wonderful, tranquil evening where the only sounds were our breathing and the quiet, calming sounds of the ocean as the tide continued to leave the shore, dragging the sand and pebbles with it; yet we seemed like we were miles apart in thought. I was hoping we were not miles apart in intent?
“What’s up, babe? Why so glum?”
“How can you ask me that, Mark? We’re just getting to know each other, falling in love, and we find out that you have to go away in a few months, maybe off to a distant war, in a distant country and we may never see each other again.”
“Well, then we could Trans-meditate sexually like that Maharishi dude in India does.”
“It’s not funny Mark. How can you inject humor into such a serious conversation?”
Because I’m serious, I wanted to say. “Look Donna, We don’t know for sure if I’ll be going over there. And besides, I don’t leave until December. We still have almost three and a half months together. Lots of time to enjoy each other and be with each other. I’ll also have some time where I can come home before I get my orders. I could get lucky and never have to go over there. They don’t send everybody to Vietnam. We just have to wait and see what happens. Maybe I will be stationed at Blinky’s Burger shop in Hingham? There’s a recruiting station next store.” A punch in the arm got me more serious. “The way Chip explained it to me is that I go through ten weeks of basic training and then I’ll be assigned a military occupation during that time and go on to my next training. Sometimes you get leave between then or you go straight to your next training. Some sort of advanced training class that prepares you for whatever duty you will be doing. That’s usually eight to ten weeks. So, if I don’t get home after three months, I’ll get home after five, or so. Anyway, I’m home now, with you for the next few months, so let’s make the best of it and not let this come between us, okay?”
Silence. I took my arm off her shoulder and took her chin in my hand, turned her face towards me and gently kissed her on the lips.
“I love you, Mark. I can’t imagine us apart for that long and I can’t fathom the thought of being without you for a whole year. It scares the hell out of me every time I think about it,” she said with a sigh. “I feel like I’ve known you forever..”
“I love you, too, Donna, and I feel the same away about you…that I’ve known you longer than three months. What started out as the best summer of my life when I met you has become one of the saddest, with Dad passing away and then getting the draft notice. But I can’t handle dealing with all of this without you so I need you, really need you, to help me through this…help each other through this, by being strong and making the best of the time we have left, okay?”
She looked at me for a long time, gave me a heartbreaking smile and said, “Okay.”
Donna and I made love that night for the first time. It was good for both of us, and surprisingly, was my first time. I was a virgin. Donna wasn’t. She had dated a guy for her first two years of college and they lived together off campus for a year. She decided it wasn’t what she wanted and moved back to the Sorority house at Notre Dame. I’m not sure what the decision was on her part to break things off, whether she just didn’t care for the guy anymore or whether she just felt it wasn’t the way she wanted to go. I didn’t ask. All I know is that she was very sensuous in bed, very warm and loving and it was just what the doctor ordered. We made love virtually every night right up until I left on December sixth. It made it that much harder than it already was to have to leave civilian life, especially at such a young age. I had just turned twenty-one. Legal, and now I got to drink 3.2 beer!