Julie was a nice girl who worked with Pat across the mall from me and we would say hello most days that either of us were working. I knew both from Pat and from conversation, that she was a pretty strong Christian. The last week in July she asked me to go to church with her and for some reason I agreed. I knew the deal, she saw me as a corrupt individual in need of redemption. I saw her as a nice enough girl and thought I might earn some points if I went. So I agreed to go with her the first Sunday in August.
In the meantime, Pat was throwing a party. He and some friends were renting a room on Saturday, August 2, at a Residence Inn and throwing a multi-keg party. When I was in school, there were different kinds of parties. There were 'no-booze' parties (which I rarely attended); 'bring your own beer' (to which I went with someone who had beer); 'raid the liquor cabinet' (these were usually with friends and got them in trouble, without getting me in trouble); and, finally, the kegger. A keg party had the highest likelihood of bringing people out to your shin-dig. This party was totally unsupervised (at a hotel) and a two-kegger. This was going to be a huge party. When my friends asked me to be the door-man, I jumped at the chance. I like taking the money at the door, making deals to allow entry and alerting all if the cops showed up. I also had the highest likelihood of getting in a fight, and I liked a good fight. Door man suited me just fine.
What I didn't really think about was the transfer from Partying Doorman to Church-Attender. For some unknown reason, I got up at 7, grabbed Pat's car keys and headed out without speaking to anyone. I think I figured they would be sleeping it off most of the day. It was not until I arrived at the church that I realized that I looked like I had been partying all night, had just under $800, a vial of cocaine and 10 hits of acid in my pocket. My hair was a mess, my eyes were bloodshot and I had never changed (or even undressed) from the night before. There is a better than average chance that I had a pretty good stink hanging on me since I had not changed, nor showered. This is how I looked when I arrived at Julie's church and met her parents. It never occurred to me that we would be sitting with her parents.
As the service went on, and it was very liturgical ... it went on ... I was suddenly struck by my own depravity. The style of service and the church itself were okay, not really my thing, but they were okay. I could not even tell you what was preached that day. It wasn't the message, it was just my situation, who I was. It struck me. There I sat, faking it in church; on the run from the US Army; high and hungover; holding drugs and the proceeds of a party; alone, but with other people. I am sure it did not show, but I was devastated. I think I really saw for the first time what I had become, and I really didn't like what I saw. After the service, I said my good byes and drove Pat's car back to the hotel. They were very happy to see me. After all, I had the car, the money and the drugs. All of which I quickly handed over and walked out to grab a bus to work. A few people commented on my mood that day (I seemed sad or depressed they would say). In the middle of the day, I walked back into the stock room and sat in private in a chair. My mind was ablaze with the reality of who I was and I could not hide from it. I just sat there and prayed the first real prayer I have ever prayed. I said, "God, I hate this. I don't want to be this person anymore. Please, take it away. I have known of you and played at the edges for a long time. I want to be better. Make me a better person." At that moment, it did not all change. But, there was a crack in the shell of my life and God began to get in. I felt lighter somehow and was able to lighten up for the rest of my workday. I did not realize it fully until later that night, but I had just become a Christian. It was August 3, 1986.
Tuesday, January 20, 2009
Sunday, January 11, 2009
Part XLVI
Shortly after that I had to move out of Mark's house. I really don't remember what I did, but I did manage to burn the bridge there as I did just about everywhere. A different friend named Mark allowed me to stay at his house for a bit. I don't know if I mentioned the "Poot Mobile" yet, but either before this or when I stayed with them, I bought Mark's brother's 1970 Toyota Corolla. After purchasing it, I bought some letters to personalize the windshield (which was popular in the mid 80's). My intent was to put Porsche across the windshield because I thought that would be ironic, but on the day I was doing it, I found it harder than I had expected and decided to change the word to my nickname from High School, "Poot." This makes me have to explain the nickname, doesn't it? One day in my junior year, my friends Pat and Ed were sitting around at Pat's house watching North Dallas Forty. Throughout the film, Mac Davis keeps calling Nick Nolte's character Poot. My friends did not know that it was a nickname for farting, but they asked themselves, who is a Poot? The obvious answer was me, apparently, and I didn't mind because it was taken from North Dallas Forty.
So, anyway, after burning every bridge in the area, I decided to go stay with my brother in LA. So in late June, I loaded up the Poot Mobile and drove down to Malibu, where my brother was living. Upon arriving, I found out that I would be helping Darin and his girlfriend Andrea move to Playa del Rey, which is a nice little beach community right near LAX. They let me live on their couch indefinitely, or so we thought, while I went out and took open call auditions. I guess it never occurred to me that if I was ever cast, it might be easy for the Government to find me, especially if I got on National TV. The thought didn't really occur to me until I was in a few soap auditions, most notably General Hospital. I realize now that I was never pretty enough to be cast on a soap, but at the time, I really thought I had a chance. So I would pick up the local casting rags and go to auditions, but I didn't have headshots and I didn't have an agent, so the chances were somewhere between slim and none that I would be cast in anything.
One day I came home from "looking for work" (a combination of doing nothing and trying to go on open calls) and walked in right in the middle of Darin and Andrea having a huge fight. My brother just stood there taking a tirade from this girl he was dating and for some stupid reason, I jumped right in, asking her why she had to be such a bitch. It was not a good thing to do. Not ever having lived with a girl, there were certain things that I was not observing. First, Darin was out of work, meaning Andrea was footing the bill for my brother and his little bro (me). Second, I never even knew what the fight was about, I was just trying to stand up for my brother. So Andrea kicked both of us out and we spent the night in Darin's VW Van for two nights. When Darin had enough, he said he was going to try to work it out and there was nowhere for me to stay, so I again loaded up the Poot Mobile (in mid July) and headed the 400 miles back to San Jose. But I did not quite make it.
There is a hideous mountain slope on Highway 5 just north of LA County called the "grapevine." A good car only slows to 50 going up this hill, my car was chugging up the hill at around 25 and overheating like nothing you have ever seen. The Poot Mobile blew the head gasket just on the other side and by some miracle I made it another 100 miles or so. Somewhere in the arid wasteland of Central California's farming region, the Poot Mobile failed on me. I decided to load up what I could in my duffel bag and walk. A car stopped and two young guys got out and got me started with a push, it was great and got about another 75 miles before I saw the same guys stalled out on the side of the Highway, so I pulled over. They were not pleased that I did, because they knew my only chance was to go as far as I could. This time the Poot Mobile was dead for real and no pushing would start it. However, I was able to give them the same push they had previously given me and see them drive off into the early evening twilight. They did not come back for me.
Still having around 250 miles to go, I began to walk up the Highway 5. after walking the 4 or 5 miles to the next on ramp, I decided to hitch a ride. It was just after 10pm and was probably over 90 degrees, so I was tired. Some guys pulled over to ask where I was going and I told them "San Jose" to which they replied that they were going to Morgan Hill (just south of San Jose) and I could ride in the back of the pick up with them. they saved me about 220 miles, but gave me the boot before getting all the way they were going. So I was stranded again, but now it was closing on 2am and I was in an unfamiliar part of the South Bay. On a chance that he might answer, I called Mark (the first one) and he came and picked me up and allowed me to sleep on the floor of his room. In the morning, his Mom had found out I was there and was not pleased. I had so burned this bridge that this good Christian woman would rather see me on the street than in her house.
That day, Mark came up with a plan. I could stay in his Mom's van until I could get back on my feet. However, so his Mom would not know about it, Mark would open the van for me at 10:30pm and wake me up to get out at 6am. At the time I saw this as such an inconvenience. Had I the sense which God gives for the asking, I might have seen that it was a blessing and that the inconvenience was for Mark who watched out for me even though I never really did anything for him. He was a true friend when I was in need and I don't know if I ever really thanked him. I began a job working at the mall at a Foot Locker, across the way from where Pat worked in a Piano store. I would wake at 6am and walk around until Pat's folks went to work and then I could hang out at his house for a few hours until I had to work. Pat also let me shower at his house. My friends took care of me in any way they could. I went on that way, living in the van, showering at Pat's, eating wherever I could for 9 weeks. I was there until the middle of September 1986.
So, anyway, after burning every bridge in the area, I decided to go stay with my brother in LA. So in late June, I loaded up the Poot Mobile and drove down to Malibu, where my brother was living. Upon arriving, I found out that I would be helping Darin and his girlfriend Andrea move to Playa del Rey, which is a nice little beach community right near LAX. They let me live on their couch indefinitely, or so we thought, while I went out and took open call auditions. I guess it never occurred to me that if I was ever cast, it might be easy for the Government to find me, especially if I got on National TV. The thought didn't really occur to me until I was in a few soap auditions, most notably General Hospital. I realize now that I was never pretty enough to be cast on a soap, but at the time, I really thought I had a chance. So I would pick up the local casting rags and go to auditions, but I didn't have headshots and I didn't have an agent, so the chances were somewhere between slim and none that I would be cast in anything.
One day I came home from "looking for work" (a combination of doing nothing and trying to go on open calls) and walked in right in the middle of Darin and Andrea having a huge fight. My brother just stood there taking a tirade from this girl he was dating and for some stupid reason, I jumped right in, asking her why she had to be such a bitch. It was not a good thing to do. Not ever having lived with a girl, there were certain things that I was not observing. First, Darin was out of work, meaning Andrea was footing the bill for my brother and his little bro (me). Second, I never even knew what the fight was about, I was just trying to stand up for my brother. So Andrea kicked both of us out and we spent the night in Darin's VW Van for two nights. When Darin had enough, he said he was going to try to work it out and there was nowhere for me to stay, so I again loaded up the Poot Mobile (in mid July) and headed the 400 miles back to San Jose. But I did not quite make it.
There is a hideous mountain slope on Highway 5 just north of LA County called the "grapevine." A good car only slows to 50 going up this hill, my car was chugging up the hill at around 25 and overheating like nothing you have ever seen. The Poot Mobile blew the head gasket just on the other side and by some miracle I made it another 100 miles or so. Somewhere in the arid wasteland of Central California's farming region, the Poot Mobile failed on me. I decided to load up what I could in my duffel bag and walk. A car stopped and two young guys got out and got me started with a push, it was great and got about another 75 miles before I saw the same guys stalled out on the side of the Highway, so I pulled over. They were not pleased that I did, because they knew my only chance was to go as far as I could. This time the Poot Mobile was dead for real and no pushing would start it. However, I was able to give them the same push they had previously given me and see them drive off into the early evening twilight. They did not come back for me.
Still having around 250 miles to go, I began to walk up the Highway 5. after walking the 4 or 5 miles to the next on ramp, I decided to hitch a ride. It was just after 10pm and was probably over 90 degrees, so I was tired. Some guys pulled over to ask where I was going and I told them "San Jose" to which they replied that they were going to Morgan Hill (just south of San Jose) and I could ride in the back of the pick up with them. they saved me about 220 miles, but gave me the boot before getting all the way they were going. So I was stranded again, but now it was closing on 2am and I was in an unfamiliar part of the South Bay. On a chance that he might answer, I called Mark (the first one) and he came and picked me up and allowed me to sleep on the floor of his room. In the morning, his Mom had found out I was there and was not pleased. I had so burned this bridge that this good Christian woman would rather see me on the street than in her house.
That day, Mark came up with a plan. I could stay in his Mom's van until I could get back on my feet. However, so his Mom would not know about it, Mark would open the van for me at 10:30pm and wake me up to get out at 6am. At the time I saw this as such an inconvenience. Had I the sense which God gives for the asking, I might have seen that it was a blessing and that the inconvenience was for Mark who watched out for me even though I never really did anything for him. He was a true friend when I was in need and I don't know if I ever really thanked him. I began a job working at the mall at a Foot Locker, across the way from where Pat worked in a Piano store. I would wake at 6am and walk around until Pat's folks went to work and then I could hang out at his house for a few hours until I had to work. Pat also let me shower at his house. My friends took care of me in any way they could. I went on that way, living in the van, showering at Pat's, eating wherever I could for 9 weeks. I was there until the middle of September 1986.
Wednesday, January 7, 2009
Part XLV
That weekend, I lent Missy and her friend the extra money they needed to get a limo for her prom and we all went together. It was the last of my winnings, but I spent it without much of a thought. Now that I was around a lot, Missy's Dad began to take an interest in getting rid of me. We would sit and talk sometimes and he would say things like, "you know you are older, don't you think you could do better than a High School girl?" Later on, when I related that story, it really offended Missy, but that is another story for later. I used to pretend to leave when her parents would be going to bed and Missy would sneak me back in and hide me under her bed until she was sure her parents were asleep, just so we could spend more time together. It is one of the reasons that I will be putting locks on all the windows, especially my daughter's.
Only about 3 weeks after her prom, Missy decided that she had enough of me and dumped me. I don't really remember why she dumped me, but she did. The depression got a little heavier, as did the drinking and a few weeks after that in early May I found myself pretty hammered at a friend's house. At some point, I just left the house and walked a pretty decent distance over to Missy's house. When I got there, I proceeded to climb up a tree and onto her roof, walking around the roof to the side where her window jutted out of the roof and tapped on the window. Their German Shepherd was barking at me from the back yard and I was shushing him and stumbling around the roof. I actually thought there was a chance no one could hear me. So I laid down next to the window and tapped and called "Missy!" in the loudest whisper one could imagine. That is where I passed out.
I woke, who knows how long after that, to something pelting me. For some reason I thought they were throwing snails at me, but I really don't know what it was. There was also a beam of light on me and when I looked up, all I could see was the beam of light and a drawn pistol pointed at me. I rolled over, put my hands up and said, in the most pitiful voice, "please don't shoot me." To this, the police officer (that is who was behind the light) said, "I am not going to shoot you, put your hands behind your back." In an odd chain of events, he hand-cuffed me, then told me to walk down the ladder he had just come up, took the cuffs off and Missy and her two sisters realized it was me and said they didn't want to press charges and just didn't know who it was. I told the police it was a mistake and I was drunk and their response was something like, "you think?" They told me they wanted to talk to me out front and that I was not under arrest right now, so I walked out front and they arrested me for drunk in public. Apparently I was not in public, until I walked out front. But, they were not going to waste their time and the tax-payer money without an arrest, so they got me to come out front so they could arrest me.
They asked me who I was and where I lived. Not wanting to get Mark or his Mother involved, I told them I was a transient. Some time later a friend of mine met the arresting cops and they told him they would have dropped me off with a ticket if I had told them where I lived. So, I spent the night in the drunk tank, and in an odd chain of misunderstandings, when Mark picked me up the next day, I thought he had paid for the ticket and he had just picked me up. I had a vicious hangover and never read my release documents, so I did not see that I was released without bail R/O/R and did not even think too much about it for a while. I later found out that a Government class from my old High School had been auditing court the day they issued a bench warrant for me for failure to appear. What can I say? Even when I tried to hide my misdeeds, they were in full view of everyone.
Only about 3 weeks after her prom, Missy decided that she had enough of me and dumped me. I don't really remember why she dumped me, but she did. The depression got a little heavier, as did the drinking and a few weeks after that in early May I found myself pretty hammered at a friend's house. At some point, I just left the house and walked a pretty decent distance over to Missy's house. When I got there, I proceeded to climb up a tree and onto her roof, walking around the roof to the side where her window jutted out of the roof and tapped on the window. Their German Shepherd was barking at me from the back yard and I was shushing him and stumbling around the roof. I actually thought there was a chance no one could hear me. So I laid down next to the window and tapped and called "Missy!" in the loudest whisper one could imagine. That is where I passed out.
I woke, who knows how long after that, to something pelting me. For some reason I thought they were throwing snails at me, but I really don't know what it was. There was also a beam of light on me and when I looked up, all I could see was the beam of light and a drawn pistol pointed at me. I rolled over, put my hands up and said, in the most pitiful voice, "please don't shoot me." To this, the police officer (that is who was behind the light) said, "I am not going to shoot you, put your hands behind your back." In an odd chain of events, he hand-cuffed me, then told me to walk down the ladder he had just come up, took the cuffs off and Missy and her two sisters realized it was me and said they didn't want to press charges and just didn't know who it was. I told the police it was a mistake and I was drunk and their response was something like, "you think?" They told me they wanted to talk to me out front and that I was not under arrest right now, so I walked out front and they arrested me for drunk in public. Apparently I was not in public, until I walked out front. But, they were not going to waste their time and the tax-payer money without an arrest, so they got me to come out front so they could arrest me.
They asked me who I was and where I lived. Not wanting to get Mark or his Mother involved, I told them I was a transient. Some time later a friend of mine met the arresting cops and they told him they would have dropped me off with a ticket if I had told them where I lived. So, I spent the night in the drunk tank, and in an odd chain of misunderstandings, when Mark picked me up the next day, I thought he had paid for the ticket and he had just picked me up. I had a vicious hangover and never read my release documents, so I did not see that I was released without bail R/O/R and did not even think too much about it for a while. I later found out that a Government class from my old High School had been auditing court the day they issued a bench warrant for me for failure to appear. What can I say? Even when I tried to hide my misdeeds, they were in full view of everyone.
Monday, January 5, 2009
XLIV
That weekend was a blur, I remember how it started and I remember how it ended and that is about it. It started with Mark picking me up at the airport and us going to his house and getting hammered with just he and I and our girlfriends. It ended with Missy asking if there was any way that I could stay longer, because she had missed me. It was easy to make one of the worst decisions of my life. I was screwing it up so badly at the base and felt so at ease back home, that I just said, "yes, there is a way I can stay." I knew that the worst I could get for less than 30 days AWOL was an article 15, which basically is a ding in your record and a couple of weeks of restricted duty at its worst. Over 30 days, we had been told, was a 5 year stay at the luxury prison compound at Leavenworth KS. We had been told that Leavenworth was "hard labor", where one would get to spend his days making "big rocks into little rocks and little rocks into dust." This was not appealing to me, but the two weeks extra duty for the opportunity to screw off with my friends for up to 30 days sounded fine. So, I went AWOL, Absent With Out Leave.
That week I skipped around from house to house hanging out with my friends and trying to figure out how I would get the money to get back to TX. A few days later, on March 6th, I got an answer. My friend Pat would let me hang out at his house after his folks went to work and he went to school and I fell asleep on his couch. I was woken by the phone ringing next to me, and without thinking that I was at someone else's house I answered. The person on the other line said, "Hi, this is Rick Shaw, and I am calling to ask what your favorite radio station is?" In reality, I did not have a favorite radio station at that time or any other. I was a fan of softer music than all my friends, but I would never admit that and so I would normally say that I listened to whatever everyone else listened to. However, I remembered this DJ from when I was in Junior High, because I always thought Rick Shaw was a funny name. I didn't know if all these years later, he still worked at the same radio station, but on a chance I said, "KYUU?" The DJ said, "What's your name?" and I said "Chris", so he says "What's your last name?" which made me think it was all a trick of the government to come get me (I gave them all the credit for having the resources and desire to set up a sting operation to capture a guy who had been missing from his unit for oh about 3 days). Anyway, after a pause, I replied "Walters" and his response caught me a little off guard. He said, "Great, because I wanted to know what to put on this check for a thousand dollars, what do you think of that?" And in the least excited voice he had ever heard, I said "cool." Anyway, later in the day, I got Mark and my friend Pete to drive me to San Francisco to pick up my check. I found out later that they didn't actually believe that I had won anything, I was known for making up stories to get them to do things, but since it usually ended in some adventure or a story they could tell, they figured they would go along with it.
I picked up the check and walked to the stations bank to cash the check and took my friends out to a nice lunch on Pier 39. Under the impression that one could flush his system within two weeks, and still having a good 27 days or so before the dreaded 30 day drop-dead point of my AWOL, I bought a load of drugs, some booze and a hotel room for the night and my friends and I got wasted. In the early part of the next week, I told everyone I was turning myself in, but instead took a bus up to see my Mom and Ted in Arnold CA, up in the Sierra Nevada. I sold my Mom some bonds I had bought through the Army to give me some extra cash and about a week later took another bus down to Malibu to see my brother, Darin. Late in that week, Darin and I drove up to the central coast to see my Dad, step-mom and other brother John. That was the day I realized that I had stayed too long. It was March 31st and I was now a deserter (or so I thought). The truth is that my clock did not start running until the day they reported me, which was actually my birthday March 4th. Although I felt like a total screw up, apparently it came as a big surprise to the leadership of my company and they thought that something was wrong, it did not immediately occur to them that I had just gone AWOL. But, I did not know this and just went "on the run." A few days later, I returned to Sunnyvale with a story about getting dishonorably discharged from the Army. I moved into an extra room at Mark's house, got a job using a fellow soldier's SSN and began as the Salad Bar Supervisor at Sizzler. While I would always have that nagging thought that someone was looking for me, I pretended to be okay and slipped into a depression and heavy drinking binge for a few months that alienated friends and acquaintances alike. I was 19 years old and falling into the life of a complete loser.
That week I skipped around from house to house hanging out with my friends and trying to figure out how I would get the money to get back to TX. A few days later, on March 6th, I got an answer. My friend Pat would let me hang out at his house after his folks went to work and he went to school and I fell asleep on his couch. I was woken by the phone ringing next to me, and without thinking that I was at someone else's house I answered. The person on the other line said, "Hi, this is Rick Shaw, and I am calling to ask what your favorite radio station is?" In reality, I did not have a favorite radio station at that time or any other. I was a fan of softer music than all my friends, but I would never admit that and so I would normally say that I listened to whatever everyone else listened to. However, I remembered this DJ from when I was in Junior High, because I always thought Rick Shaw was a funny name. I didn't know if all these years later, he still worked at the same radio station, but on a chance I said, "KYUU?" The DJ said, "What's your name?" and I said "Chris", so he says "What's your last name?" which made me think it was all a trick of the government to come get me (I gave them all the credit for having the resources and desire to set up a sting operation to capture a guy who had been missing from his unit for oh about 3 days). Anyway, after a pause, I replied "Walters" and his response caught me a little off guard. He said, "Great, because I wanted to know what to put on this check for a thousand dollars, what do you think of that?" And in the least excited voice he had ever heard, I said "cool." Anyway, later in the day, I got Mark and my friend Pete to drive me to San Francisco to pick up my check. I found out later that they didn't actually believe that I had won anything, I was known for making up stories to get them to do things, but since it usually ended in some adventure or a story they could tell, they figured they would go along with it.
I picked up the check and walked to the stations bank to cash the check and took my friends out to a nice lunch on Pier 39. Under the impression that one could flush his system within two weeks, and still having a good 27 days or so before the dreaded 30 day drop-dead point of my AWOL, I bought a load of drugs, some booze and a hotel room for the night and my friends and I got wasted. In the early part of the next week, I told everyone I was turning myself in, but instead took a bus up to see my Mom and Ted in Arnold CA, up in the Sierra Nevada. I sold my Mom some bonds I had bought through the Army to give me some extra cash and about a week later took another bus down to Malibu to see my brother, Darin. Late in that week, Darin and I drove up to the central coast to see my Dad, step-mom and other brother John. That was the day I realized that I had stayed too long. It was March 31st and I was now a deserter (or so I thought). The truth is that my clock did not start running until the day they reported me, which was actually my birthday March 4th. Although I felt like a total screw up, apparently it came as a big surprise to the leadership of my company and they thought that something was wrong, it did not immediately occur to them that I had just gone AWOL. But, I did not know this and just went "on the run." A few days later, I returned to Sunnyvale with a story about getting dishonorably discharged from the Army. I moved into an extra room at Mark's house, got a job using a fellow soldier's SSN and began as the Salad Bar Supervisor at Sizzler. While I would always have that nagging thought that someone was looking for me, I pretended to be okay and slipped into a depression and heavy drinking binge for a few months that alienated friends and acquaintances alike. I was 19 years old and falling into the life of a complete loser.
Friday, January 2, 2009
Part XLIII
I expected southern Texas to be hot, not thinking about what time of year it was. And in honesty, it was pleasant most of the time, but it was never hot while I was there. In Basic Training, I had been very Gung Ho, Soldier Boy, All-American, Hard-Working, Straight and Narrow. This was not the case in AIT (Advanced Individual Training). One of the first things I learned was that at the time, Texas' legal age for drinking was 19. I was close enough to 19, in my opinion, so I got to work on a heavy drinking habit. The post exchange sold 32 ounce beers for 93 cents, no joke. I would get pretty drunk every chance I had and it never effected my studies, well except for physical training. One of our PT tests was that we had to run a mile and a half in less than 13 minutes in order to be considered fit for duty. I never understood how people failed this test. To prove my point, I once ran it backwards and still passed. Another time, I was so hungover when I took the test that I stopped half way through and vomited on the side of the track...I still passed.
I would call Missy from the phone center as often as possible and we would talk until I ran out of time, there was a limit, like prison. The constant talking to this girl actually made me more miserable, more lonely and did nothing to keep me out of trouble. The two weeks back home was still just flirtation, I did not know Missy in any real sense, so I made up this girl in my head, a vision of perfection, faithful, loving, wanting the best for me, caring about my needs. But she was just another 17 year old girl, with all the teen angst and uncertainty that any of us had. She was not the girl in my head and I would not meet that girl for a long time.
I had some interesting times in San Antonio. I got to see the Alamo, what a let down, it is a tiny little adobe farm completely surrounded by skyscrapers and hotels. The riverwalk in San Antonio is beautiful and I spent many weekend days there enjoying the beverages. No one ever asked for ID, I guess they figured, if you were military, you were close enough. Some friends and I drank Everclear one day, which is as close to pure grain alcohol as one can get. It says on the bottle "not for human consumption." But, that did not stop us. We each drank about a fifth mixed with a tall orange drink from McDonald's (of course that does not say 'drunk in the street' never). I apparently ended my day laying on the riverwalk, which would be like someone laying in a mall, when the MP's came by. I am not sure how, but I ended up back in my bunk that evening and a cab driver had my ID, which he turned over to the sergeant in charge. I remember good times in the classes, a total disregard for army regulation in my attire and neatness, and a blur of the drunken weekends. It was a fast ten weeks, or was supposed to be, and I remember very little about it.
The first weekend in February, Missy and her friend came to visit. My friend Joel and I hung out in the airport for seven hours trying to figure out which flight they were on. I never found them, because they changed flights. When I got back to the base, there was a message from Missy telling me what hotel they were in and I headed out there to see her. I was let off by a cab (for which I spent the last of my money) at the hotel just in time to see Missy and Anna pull up in a cab with two other soldiers. Missy, Anna and one of the guys got out and they all told me that the other soldier was just sharing a ride. I bought it at the time, but it always stuck with me and I now know that Missy had picked him up on the riverwalk and he was going back to the hotel with her. If I had arrived just a few minutes later, I would have had an even rougher weekend. But, I pretended that it was not what it looked like and I put that perfect girl back in my vision and used her to block out the real Missy. I received another ding in my record the next day, when I got back to base, as I was in partial uniform, which was a big no no.
A couple of weeks after this, the duty rosters were posted to tell us all where we would be stationed. As I was walking up, one of my buddies just looked at me and said, "Man, you are such a lucky A-Hole." This surprised me and I ran up to see what my station might be. Alpha Company, Tripler Army Medical Center, Honolulu Hawaii...no joke. And my heart hit the floor. I had not wanted to go to Hawaii after I graduated High School and now some weird twist of fate was taking me there anyway, where I would be so far from Missy. Another of my buddies got stationed at Letterman Army Medical Center at the Presidio of San Francisco. I begged him to swap with me, but I could get no one to take this cushy post in Hawaii. I decided it was probably the last time I would see Missy, so that weekend, I booked a flight home and Friday, February 28th 1986, I flew home to see my friends and girlfriend for the last time before a three year stint in Hawaii. Flying out, I had no idea that my whole life was about to change on a whim and some really poor decisions.
I would call Missy from the phone center as often as possible and we would talk until I ran out of time, there was a limit, like prison. The constant talking to this girl actually made me more miserable, more lonely and did nothing to keep me out of trouble. The two weeks back home was still just flirtation, I did not know Missy in any real sense, so I made up this girl in my head, a vision of perfection, faithful, loving, wanting the best for me, caring about my needs. But she was just another 17 year old girl, with all the teen angst and uncertainty that any of us had. She was not the girl in my head and I would not meet that girl for a long time.
I had some interesting times in San Antonio. I got to see the Alamo, what a let down, it is a tiny little adobe farm completely surrounded by skyscrapers and hotels. The riverwalk in San Antonio is beautiful and I spent many weekend days there enjoying the beverages. No one ever asked for ID, I guess they figured, if you were military, you were close enough. Some friends and I drank Everclear one day, which is as close to pure grain alcohol as one can get. It says on the bottle "not for human consumption." But, that did not stop us. We each drank about a fifth mixed with a tall orange drink from McDonald's (of course that does not say 'drunk in the street' never). I apparently ended my day laying on the riverwalk, which would be like someone laying in a mall, when the MP's came by. I am not sure how, but I ended up back in my bunk that evening and a cab driver had my ID, which he turned over to the sergeant in charge. I remember good times in the classes, a total disregard for army regulation in my attire and neatness, and a blur of the drunken weekends. It was a fast ten weeks, or was supposed to be, and I remember very little about it.
The first weekend in February, Missy and her friend came to visit. My friend Joel and I hung out in the airport for seven hours trying to figure out which flight they were on. I never found them, because they changed flights. When I got back to the base, there was a message from Missy telling me what hotel they were in and I headed out there to see her. I was let off by a cab (for which I spent the last of my money) at the hotel just in time to see Missy and Anna pull up in a cab with two other soldiers. Missy, Anna and one of the guys got out and they all told me that the other soldier was just sharing a ride. I bought it at the time, but it always stuck with me and I now know that Missy had picked him up on the riverwalk and he was going back to the hotel with her. If I had arrived just a few minutes later, I would have had an even rougher weekend. But, I pretended that it was not what it looked like and I put that perfect girl back in my vision and used her to block out the real Missy. I received another ding in my record the next day, when I got back to base, as I was in partial uniform, which was a big no no.
A couple of weeks after this, the duty rosters were posted to tell us all where we would be stationed. As I was walking up, one of my buddies just looked at me and said, "Man, you are such a lucky A-Hole." This surprised me and I ran up to see what my station might be. Alpha Company, Tripler Army Medical Center, Honolulu Hawaii...no joke. And my heart hit the floor. I had not wanted to go to Hawaii after I graduated High School and now some weird twist of fate was taking me there anyway, where I would be so far from Missy. Another of my buddies got stationed at Letterman Army Medical Center at the Presidio of San Francisco. I begged him to swap with me, but I could get no one to take this cushy post in Hawaii. I decided it was probably the last time I would see Missy, so that weekend, I booked a flight home and Friday, February 28th 1986, I flew home to see my friends and girlfriend for the last time before a three year stint in Hawaii. Flying out, I had no idea that my whole life was about to change on a whim and some really poor decisions.
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