COMING HOME
By: Michael Stephen Myers
How I do remember coming home from Vietnam
I remember that day very clearly.
Yes, how I remember that day.
I wondered how I was ever going to stand next to my family again.
To be the young man that I was when I left...
Could I ever be ... That young man again?
How I would answer those questions that I knew would be coming.
Could I?
I really didn’t know.
But I knew they would be coming.
Whenever one of the men would finish his tour of duty and be leaving the field
I would hear others warning him not to wear his uniform and to keep a low profile – to hide.
I thought to myself - why?
Wasn’t this America?
I remember that day..
That day I came home
It was during a layover in San Francisco that I took a taxi across the Golden Gate to Sausalito. I remember everything was moving so fast - so very fast. Everyone seemed to be in some sort of a tremendous hurry...but to where?
They were just living their lives.
I wanted to find a lounge near the calm waters of the bay.
I wanted to unwind – to allow my mind to realize that it was all over...
That I was safe - that I was home.
I had worn my uniform because I was proud of it and of the work my men and I had done for our country. I was alone now. I had left them out there on those hot and bloody fields of battle ...
Just the day before.
I stood tall with all of the honorable stature that I could possibly muster. I was a proud Virginian.
I was a Patriot you see.
I had done my duty as all of the people before me had done theirs.
I tried my very best to serve as bravely as that plumed-hatted great-grandfather, who along with twelve thousand other brave Virginians charged up that hill in Gettysburg, or that suave Iwo Jima, Leyte Gulf and Okinawa naval officer father of mine, or that dashing pilot of an uncle who flew B-17 missions in those deadly skies of Germany, or that handsome uncle who was at Normandy.
How gallant they all were.
I walked into that lounge with that decorated officer’s uniform looking as sharp as any American soldier, sailor, airman or marine ever could have coming home...
From a war...
I wanted to be recognized for what I had done - for what I had been through.
I wanted to be thanked...
God, I wanted to be alive again!
People were there in that lounge – happy people.
They were drinking and talking
and laughing.
They were laughing.
They were just living their lives.
I was just another young man,
Like the many they had seen before,
Just another soldier returning home from the unpopular war.
Well,
They were busy,
You see.
They were just too busy.
I sat alone,
My legs stretched out so my feet were resting on the coffee table in front of me.
I sat there quietly for awhile,
Sipping a red wine,
Watching the sailboats as they ever so gently floated by.
I wanted to let go of the terrible visions in my head,
I wanted to let go of the screams,
I wanted to let go of the death - of the dying.
I wanted to let go of the guilt - of living.
I wanted to let go of my troubled mind.
I wanted to let go of
Me
I remember that day.
That day I came home.
As I proudly sat there in my glorious uniform
Waiting for someone.
Anyone
As I sat there watching those peaceful little boats
And listening.
Listening to the laughter of those
Fine - American people
I slowly began to realize something
Something that I would never forget
I realized that not one of them – not a single one of them - even cared.
They didn’t even care.
They just did not care.
