Ghosts in the Shadows... posted 2/25/2007 5:26:08 AM | 18 kudos what's this?     report abuse

PullMyFinger

They appear every once in awhile, less frequently than they used to. I think maybe time and life’s little distractions keep them at bay most of the time. Anniversaries tend to pull them out, remembrances sparked by others, maybe a word or even a sound. Sometimes people will ask about time served, asking those questions that people often ask veterans. I’m proud of my service, and those that I served with but I don’t watch the news anymore; I can’t and feel like a complete wuss for not being able to do so.

I drove by the Los Angeles National Cemetery today on the way home from Northern California; I’m thinking maybe that was the catalyst of tonight’s “troubles”. I didn’t stop or anything, I just drove by the exit sign on the 405. I guess that was enough. I’ve disposed of most of my stuff, stuff that was brought back, stuff issued and never returned. I don’t hang onto stuff, have nothing against people who do, but it’s just not me.

I remember as a 12 year old in 1971, Steve from down the street had just returned home from his 3rd tour in Vietnam. He loved radio-controlled airplanes and I remember spending hours on the hill with Steve and his little brother. We’d spend all day messing around with gliders, servos and batteries, radio controlled boxes…all of us giggling as we flew the gliders amongst the Red-Tailed Hawks and Turkey Vultures of Southern California.

It wasn’t long after his return that I started to bug Steve, trying to get him to take us up and fly the gliders again; but of course, Steve had changed. Steve was a Special Forces troop; he was a Medic and could speak French. I guess Steve had seen and been involved in a lot. I know my father spoke of medals Steve had accumulated during his tours, Silver Stars, Bronze Stars, Purple Hearts; even the Distinguished Service Cross…Steve was a soldier. Anything else I might have gleamed from the adults back then has been lost with time.

One early Saturday morning whilst on one of my little critter quests on the hill, I smelled smoke. Scanning the countryside like a good boy scout, I spotted Steve down by some oil derricks. He was standing in front of a box, flames reaching skyward. Fire up there wasn’t a good thing so I immediately started down into the depression to find out what was going on. I asked Steve what he was doing and he responded with, “Killing Ghosts”. Inside the burning box sat Steve’s Army Dress Uniform, adorned with medals and patches. We stood there as fabric and steel burned bright in the early morning sun. No more words were spoken that morning; I left Steve there with his box of ghosts.

Steve eventually graduated college and I remember a party held in the neighborhood for the occasion, a lot of back slapping and laughing took place on that day. I hadn’t seen Steve laugh in a long time. Steve became an FBI, BATF or DEA Agent, I can’t remember, he just traded one uniform for that of another. During one of our visits to “Glider Hill”, I asked Steve if he missed the Army. He reached into his shirt, pulling out 4 dog tags from around his neck, handing them to me he said, “Sorta, every now and then.” I didn’t understand the meaning of those 4 little talismans, so I asked him what they were. “Some more ghosts”.

Years have passed now and I’ve earned my own medals, but somehow they mean less and less as the years advance. I finally understand what Steve meant back then on that hill in 1975.

I now have my own ghosts, them, faces of friend and foe alike. I’m sans dog tags; I’ve filed away the pictures, intentionally hiding them, the uniforms farmed out to children of friends….

But I have these ghosts; ghosts that lurk the shadows…they haunt me on nights like this, reaching….then fading back into darkness, leaving only a trace of what was and what might have been….

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Blogs by PullMyFinger: Close Quarter Combat…I Was There* Memorial Day? My God's Better Than Your God.... Blogapalooza & The Flatulent Forums... Pilfering Yellow-Bellied Bushwankers.... Chain Saws, False Messiahs and Snake Oil Salesmen.... Butt Sniffing & Nazi Dudes.... Vicar in a Tutu...A Conversation with God.... My virtual world has crumbled, I'M LEAVING!!! Goodbye! One step away from roadkill, a squirrel's tale.... Forgiveness and Understanding A Case of Rape~~Literally Ghosts in the Shadows... Uncle Finger's Boinking Guide for MEN My Recliner of Rage, Things that suck.... Of Squirrels and Mugshots.... BLOG WARS: My Battle Plans.... The Dragonfire Syndrome... Leprecauns, Unicorns, Tooth Fairys and Internet Dating.....