Red Snow - Sean Ryan Stuart

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Jeremy sensed her unhappiness and decided that silence was the appropriate at this time. Exactly twelve minutes later, Loretta proclaimed her readiness.

      Jeremy opened the door to the room and Loretta rushed past him to the waiting car. They drove in silence back to the base, arriving exactly at 19:00 hours back at Base Operations Terminal building, one hour earlier than expected. They both sat in silence, until Loretta blurted, “Please, mon cheri, leave, leave now! I can’t stand this waiting. I feel like I am waiting for an execution,” her eyes still glazed and somewhat hysterical.

      “Are you sure this is what you want?” Jeremy demanded, somewhat aghast and taken back by this radical turn of events.

      “I really would like to stay with you, and see you off,” Jeremy begged, his eyes filling up tears.

      Unable to control his emotions, he simply turned around and walked out of the building, his feelings in total disarray. He knew then that he had a lot to learn about women. His feelings were torn between storming back in there and confronting her, or meekly agreeing to her demands and leaving the area. His ego stood to take a beating, but he decided to go back to the motel room and get plastered.

      He got back into his car and drove out the main gate toward the motel.

      Back in Afghanistan, on a high desert plateau, Khalil listened intently for several hours without saying a word. He finally grabbed Jeremy’s hand and shook it.

      “You have had an interesting life, Jeremy. It’s too bad you are not a Muslim, I would let you marry my sister,” stated Khalil with emphasis.

      “Please tell me more. You are a very good storyteller, please continue,” asked Khalil.

      Jeremy looked at his friend, and nodded.

      “However, you must tell me about your experiences in America someday, too. I am sure you also had many interesting adventures in Sacramento,” said Jeremy.

      “You are right, my friend, but we must save those stories for another day. Right now we are all interested in what happened to your love, Loretta,” replied Khalil, in a somewhat rude manner.

      Jeremy continued telling his story to Khalil, however Jeremy noticed that now there were several other men in his tent listening to his tale. Unknowingly the crowd had grown to more than a dozen listeners. Khalil was trying his best to translate as fast as Jeremy was speaking. Jeremy went on with renewed gusto.

      “Well Khalil, I spotted a liquor store, directly across the street from the west gate. I got out of my car and walked into the store. A young, friendly clerk greeted me,” continued Jeremy, now feeling somewhat self-conscious of his large crowd.

      “What can I do for you, sir?” asked the young man.

      “Where is your booze?” Jeremy growled back at the youth.

      “Well, that depends on what you want. Hard stuff is on the left aisle, wine in the middle aisle and beer on the right,” answered the young clerk, his voice less friendly now.

      “You got any Chivas?” Jeremy asked, slowly regaining his composure.

      “Sure do, and as a matter of fact it’s on sale today, $5.95 plus tax. I am also running a special on Miller beer, $2.79 a twelve-pack, plus tax,” answered the clerk, his voice once again friendly and cooperative.

      “You got yourself a sale, young man, a bottle of Chivas and a twelve-pack of beer. That should do the trick,” Jeremy answered, murmuring to himself.

      Jeremy grabbed the bag, left a twenty dollar-bill and hurriedly left the store. The young clerk yelled at him, “Hey, buddy, you forgot your change, hey, hey.”

      Jeremy was so preoccupied with himself, he didn’t even notice the clerk chasing after him. The short drive to the motel was a kaleidoscope of color and sensations. He felt that the whole world was in slow motion and he was the comic book hero, the “Flash,” whizzing by at the speed of light. His only thought was of getting back to the comfort of his room and drinking from that bottle. He pulled up to the spot in front of his room and got out of the car. He hurriedly ran up the stairs and went inside his room. He then realized that he had forgotten the most important ingredient, ice. Shit, he thought. I’ll go downstairs and ask the manager for some ice.

      As he approached the sliding glass door to the motel office, he noticed the manager sitting in his living room watching television.

      “Excuse me, sir, I hate to disturb you, but would you have some ice for me?” Jeremy asked, his voice betraying his agitated state of mind.

      “Sure, sonny, but you are the last person I expected to see tonight. I thought you were going to Vietnam tonight. Miss your plane? Not A.W.O.L. (Absent Without Official Leave), I hope. I sure would hate to see a nice young fellow like you get in trouble,” said the old man with a questioning look in his eye.

      “You got it all wrong, sir. My wife, uh, uh, girlfriend is just about ready to take off for Vietnam and I am confused as hell. She doesn’t want me to be there when she leaves, and I don’t know if she’ll be coming back. Believe me when I say, I know what it’s like. I spent nearly two years there; three months as a P.O.W. I could not possibly think of a worse place to send your girlfriend,” Jeremy answered, his voice still shaking with emotion.

      “Well, son, it sure sounds like you have a problem. Maybe an old man like me can point you in the right direction. Why don’t you come in and sit down; we’ll talk about it.”

      “What do you have in that bag?” asked the old man.

      “A bottle of Chivas, and some Miller beer. I fully intend to get drunk tonight and dream away my sorrows,” Jeremy answered.

      “I’ll tell you what, I’ll put the “NO VACANCY” sign up and I’ll join you in a drink or two,” the manager answered.

      “That is, if you don’t mind? I know I am being a little presumptuous, but I know from personal experience that company can sometimes help fight the blues. I am also going through a personal tragedy at this time, and I sure could use the companionship. You see, my wife of thirty years, Regina, just passed away last week, and I miss her so much.” The old man looked up at Jeremy, tears running down his face.

      “Well, it will be a pleasure. I couldn’t think of a nicer person to spend the night with, sharing my bottle and my sorrows. I am truly sorry about your wife; I am sure she was a wonderful lady. I must excuse myself, I am Jeremy, Jeremy Grant, Captain, United States Army, on extended convalescence leave prior to discharge.”

      “Well, it’s a pleasure, Jeremy. Braxton, Gilbert, Colonel, retired USAF at your service. I flew twenty-eight missions in WWII and seventy-eight more in Korea, having the honor to be the first aviator in Korea to fly fifty missions!” he said with emphasis.

      “B-26s and A-20s, A-26s, B-47s, and even some B-52s. You know the drill,” Gilbert answered proudly, as he pointed to the wall full of aviator photos, old planes and lost memories.

      “Well, hot damn, Colonel, I kind of knew you had to be a military man; you have that bearing and look of a soldier,” Jeremy shot back as he walked into the tidy living room. You have any glasses and ice?” Jeremy asked.

      “Sure do, I’ll be right back. Sit down and make yourself comfortable,” Gilbert yelled as he walked into the kitchen.

      Jeremy picked a large and well-used stuffed chair to sit down in. His whole body sank into the comfortable chair.

      “Hey, I bet this thing has seen a lot of use,” Jeremy quipped, as Gilbert walked back in the living room carrying a large bucket of ice, two whiskey glasses and a can opener for the beer.

      “Sure has, it was my Regina’s favorite easy chair. She used to sit there, hour after hour, watching her soap operas,” Gilbert answered, his voice

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