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From: Gilglim <gilglim@spagmumps.net>
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NNTP-Posting-Date: Wed, 29 May 2002 00:04:29 PDT
Subject: {ASSM} [rom fest] Remembering Saigon in the Summer of '68 (FF, Rom)
Date: Sat, 22 Jun 2002 03:10:03 -0400
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**Summer Solstice Rom Festival Entry**
Story Challenge & Review

Title: Remembering Saigon in the Summer of '68
Story Codes: FF, Rom
Author: Gilglim


Remembering Saigon in the Summer of '68

I remember it as a summer of love. It was unexpected. It was
wonderful, and my memories of it took me completely by surprise.

Cynthia and I had spent the weekend on the beach and were making the
five hour drive to our home in Austin.  We had been acting silly,
listening to the Indigo Girls and singing at the top of our lungs like
kids, instead of the late middle-aged professors that we were.  Cynthia
pulled into one of those big truck stop / gas stations that are found
on every interstate and said, "You pump, I'll pay."  As soon as I
stepped out of the car, I was blown away.  Cynthia didn't even notice.

Inside the car, it was air conditioned, clean smelling and the music
was still playing.  Outside, the sun was beating down, the heat
carried the overwhelmingly pungent smell of diesel fuel into the air
and the growl of big trucks and metal clanking on metal filled the
thick air.  It reminded me of the motor pool that I walked past
everyday on the way back to my BOQ (Officer's Quarters) from the
hospital.  It was hard to believe that nearly thirty-five years had
past.  It suddenly seemed like yesterday.

I remembered the sound of the two and a half ton trucks they called
'duce and a halfs', the heat rising off of the sticky asphalt and,
above all, the smell of the fuel.  The summer of '68 was the first time
I had a real relationship.  It was the first time that I had given-in
to my desires and 'come out' to myself.  Outing myself to the rest
of the world was the last thing on my mind.

'Terry Jane Lawton', I said out loud to myself as I popped the cap off
and stuffed the nozzle in.  I probably hadn't even thought the name
in five years.  We met on a weekend excursion into the city (Saigon)
through mutual friends.  Service women generally went about in groups.
Saigon wasn't all that dangerous, but it was certainly safer in
groups.

TJ had a knowing look in her eyes from the moment that she was
introduced to me.  That always tickled me.  She KNEW I was gay before
I could even admit it to myself.  That evening after the other girls
had broken off to their own quarters or barracks, we ended up back at
my quarters 'to talk'... and we did.  We talked about everything.  At
the end of the evening, we said a rather awkward series of good-byes.
'G'night', smile... 'OK, I'll see later', smirk... When TJ had
leaned-in a little too close for my comfort, I cut the moment off.

"Good night, Sergeant." I had said with finality.

She had frowned slightly and replied, "Night, Ma'am," before quickly
leaving the room.  Alone again in my stark cinder-block room, I
couldn't sleep and I couldn't help but wonder how the room had seemed
so much brighter with TJ chatting and laughing in it.

A week later, we were alone there again.  This time, TJ started
invading my personal space as soon as the door was closed and I didn't
try to stop her.  In less than five minutes she had her hand down the
front of my fatigues and whispered in my ear, "I've never fingered an
officer before."  I chuckled at the memory and returned the nozzle to
the pump after the tank was full.

It must be hard for people who weren't there to understand.
EVERYTHING was different back then.  Back home women were burning
their bras, but almost nobody was 'out', and it certainly wasn't OK to
be gay in the military.  I had joined the Army Nurse Corps because of
my education and because it had the most advancement opportunities for
women.  The Chief of the Corp at the time was COL Anna Mae Hays and
there was even talk of making her a General.  (She actually got her
star a few years later.)  I got my commission and went to Vietnam in
December of 1967, just a few months before the Tet Offensive.

As non-combatants we had had the false sense that we wouldn't have to
be involved in the dangers of war, but the war had been delivered
right to our doorstep.  After Tet two things happened for the American
soldiers, first we all started taking our jobs a hell of a lot more
seriously.  Second, we all longed for companionship.  It is one thing
to be lonely and thinking of home, but it is a very different sort of
desperation one gets when one is lonely and knows that they might die
before they ever make it back home.  People started clinging to
whomever they could find.  For me, that person was Sergeant Terry Jane
Lawton.

Another thing that got in the way was rank.  Officers aren't supposed
to spend their off hours with the enlisted.  In practice, this is
wasn't as important if you were not in the same chain of command.
(Terry was a clerk for the JAG Corps.)

To avoid detection, we would meet after work at the fuel point and go
back to my quarters for some of the wettest sex that I have ever had.
There is something very beautiful about a woman in uniform who knows
what she wants and isn't afraid to go after it.

I leaned against the car with my eyes closed and my mind awash with
memories when Cynthia returned.

We drove the rest of the way home in silence.  I couldn't talk about
my memories with her.  Cynthia really didn't understand my stint in
the Army.  She had been one of the students back home protesting
against the war.  She knew I had been there but didn't really
understand why or what it was like.

As we neared home, I was still reminiscing.  I couldn't help but dwell
on the last few days that TJ and I spent together.  After a little
more than a year together, she was finishing her tour and heading to
Germany.  I would be stuck in Vietnam for another six months before 
returning to the states.  I cried myself to sleep every night for a
week after she was gone.  We had promised to stay in touch, but only a
few letters were exchanged before we both quit writing.  I have no
idea what happened to her.

I pinched my eyes closed to stifle a tear as we pulled into our
driveway.  "You OK?" Cynthia asked, concerned.

"I'm fine," I said, reaching over to squeeze her hand.

-- 
Pursuant to the Berne Convention, this work is copyright with all rights
reserved by its author unless explicitly indicated.
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