I’m in Vietnam. My Army uniform looks cumbersome and might make a little bit of noise, but I don’t feel anything. My Army or platoon or whatever is on the bottom of a hill shooting up at the enemy. As soon as I realize that I’m in an army shooting at someone, I collapse and burst into tears. The storm has turned the hill into a mudslide.
I cry and think about how I could die or how I could never see Tracey again or anyone again. I think our troop got mail and I cried some more because I didn’t get any.
The troop commandeered a house and I think we had some sort of briefing downstairs. The tear-stained pillow below me clings to my red face and I trundle down the steps. The room I was sleeping in was a young girl’s room with dolls and a frilly bedspread.
Ms. Netto (my high school gym teacher) is our reluctant general, trying her best to get us out. I make a special request to leave, see the hope and later in the day, on the battlefield, it is smashed again. I scream.
On our night off we go into town. Everyone is at a coffee shop, but I just watch, sort of detached, from the side.
Eventually I make it home and everyone throws a party for me. I keep thinking of Tracey, but people keep interrupting me. My family is there and Stephanie is yelling something at me and then yells, "...FUCKING...ooh, sorry, I didn’t mean to swear so loud." Then, Tracey and I leave and I want to lay down and look at her, but my Grandpa won’t get out of the car we’re all in. Stuck again.