I fly to San Francisco. The boy who left me wants to rendezvous before he ships out to Vietnam.
We play tourists: Highway 1, Carmel, Big Sur. He’s nervous, wary, but the heat’s still there. We stop for a quickie.
He wants more, so we head back north, buy some cheap Gallo, rent a room, drink too much. Soon he’s slurring words: jungles, gooks, bullets, body bags. “Hush, now, I say,” and cuddle in his trained killer arms.
Still, his good-bye is cool. He turns away fast. I watch him disappear into the crowd … like army issue camouflage.
Dianne Moritz enjoys capturing brief moments in time, celebrating trials, tribulations, and beauty of life. She dreams of publishing a book of all her drabble.
Advertisements
A big thank you, once again, for posting this with a great photograph.
LikeLike
Loved the picture. Great shot. Loved the text as well.
LikeLiked by 1 person
TY, Arjun!
LikeLike