In the twentieth year of my life, the skies were cloudy. My mom called me at work one day, said, "I have a letter from the draft board.” It started to sprinkle. "You are hereby ordered to report for induction into the United States army," it said. It sprinkled a bit harder.

Went to basic, went to helicopter repairman school, then door gunner school. Got orders for Vietnam, kissed the love of my life goodbye, caught a plane. It had started to sprinkle a bit harder. Days were exciting, perhaps a bit long, turned twenty-one. Nights were lonely. Drank, smoked pot, even got hooked on cigarettes. Letters from the love of my life slowed to a trickle.

Drank a bit more, smoked a bit more, including cigarettes. First friend got killed, sprinkle started to turn into a light rain. More long days and even longer nights, missions to pick up occupied body bags, twisted human remains, crashes, saw results of "prisoner interrogation" by ROKs, missing helicopters, more body bags, and the mail from the love of my life, slowed to less than a trickle. It began to rain.

It rained for months and months. Time to go home. Arrived in the middle of the night, went to bed. Mom cooked all out, I puked; the food was too rich. Went looking for love of my life, she was on a date. Got laid, never saw her again. Hitchhiking around home, in uniform, got cans thrown at me; one asshole shot a "blank pistol" at me as they drove by. Friends from before had no clue - they were childish, no new friends to understand. It started to downpour.

Thank you for applying to the job; ah, you’re a NAM vet, we have no opening. Met a Nam vet, he introduced me to "reds". Slip the needle into the arm, ahh, no more, no more, no more. Warm, fuzzy. No more remembering, no dreams. Warm, fuzzy, comfy. I couldn’t hear the rain. I didn’t know I was drowning.

Too late, Hep B and C. The rain ran down the gutters, flushing out humanity. Lay in the gutters, arm outstretched, searching for peace. Busted, jail. Long way from home. Searching for what? Warm fuzzy, no demons. Baby killer! Fuck you; you don’t understand. Drug addict, crazy, killer, liable to explode. Can’t be trusted around decent folks. Damn, it was raining hard.

Lonely nights. Screaming from the dead. Screaming from the living. Where’s my needle? No letters from home; can’t keep up with changes in living places or states. Drift, work, drift, work, can’t go home. There is no home, Dad is dead, Mom has remarried.

Used to rain now, but don’t know it; it’s a way of life. Swim, swim, for all you’re worth. Government turned its back. It’s your lifestyle. No shit, can’t you see why?  Nope! Swim, motherfucker, swim. Whispers from the closet; bullets calling my name. Can’t do that.

Married now to an Aussie, hope the sun shines. I have seen a sunbeam or two. Whispers from the closet, continue, but not so often, nor so loud. The rain has slowed to a whisper, not so many clouds.

© by Fred Alvis June 2007