Memories (18 page)

 "Yeah," Michael grunted. "Lucky."

 Silence surrounded the two men again as both resurrected memories in their minds. Once again, Kevin broke the silence. "Do the nightmares come often?"

 "They come off and on. When I'm under a lot of stress, they come more often." Michael ran his hand through his hair and took a drink of coffee. "With all that's going on these days, it's no wonder the nightmares are so steady."

 "Do you belong to a vet group or see anyone about the nightmares? Most vets find it's easier talking about it with someone else who understands."

 Michael stared hard at the man before him wondering why he would even care enough to ask. He seemed the most unlikely candidate for playing guardian angel to wayward vets. But as he studied Kevin's face, he realized he was being sincere. Michael had let his coarse appearance color his view of this large man. But he really did look concerned.

 "I never believed anything would help," he answered honestly.

 "Well, the nightmares will never go away completely, but most guys find they lessen if they get some of the tension out by talking about them." He hesitated a moment, letting his words sink in and then continued. "We have a group of vets who get together here every Tuesday night at six. We meet in one of the conference rooms on this floor, room 225C. There are no doctors or psychologists there, just a bunch of guys talking about what's going on inside their heads. You're invited to come and join us, if you'd like."

 Michael couldn't imagine himself sitting in a room full of men rehashing his past. "I don't know..." he began.

 "Well, just think about it," Kevin interrupted. He stood and tossed his empty cup in the garbage can beside him. "I'd better get back to work. You should go home, it's getting late and you look shot."

 "Yeah, I guess I am." Michael stood, tossing his own cup. "Thanks for the coffee," he offered.

 "No problem," Kevin told him, then turned back down the hall to tend to the patients in his wing.

 Later, lying in bed in his dark room, Michael couldn't get to sleep. His dream of Vanessa in the body bag had disturbed him so much that he just couldn't forget it. Nightmares of Nam had been coming steady over the past two months, chipping away at what little energy and sanity he had left.

 He thought of what Kevin had said, but had trouble picturing himself spilling his guts to a room full of strangers. Aside from always believing he could cope on his own, he also felt that he really didn't fit in with the typical idea of a troubled vet. After all, he'd been lucky enough to come out of the war in relatively one piece. He had never experienced violent rages like so many others he'd known or heard about. And he'd had a business empire just handed to him. Who was he to walk into a room full of people and ask for help?

 Sure, there was that time in his life when he had needed pot and a string of women to keep him going, but he had turned that all around years ago. He was living the perfect life, wasn't he?

 But the truth was he knew he needed help to cope with everything going on in his life right now or else he might go berserk like so many other vets like himself. Men living ordinary lives who just suddenly snap one day.

 "God, I need you right now Dani," he whispered into the silent room. She was the only one who'd ever understood him, and she had been the first one to suggest he get help.

 "If not for you," she'd told him gently, "then for Vanessa."

 Michael pondered this for some time in the black stillness. It was too late to help himself for Vanessa's sake, but there was still Michelle to think about. He couldn't go cracking up on her when the rest of her world was falling apart.

 Finally, he fell asleep with his decision made. He would do what needed to be done, no matter what, for Michelle.

 The next morning he awoke with a quiet resolve. He stayed home to have breakfast with Michelle and met her downstairs in the breakfast dining room. His cook, Marianna, was so pleased to see him there that she whipped up every breakfast dish he loved and he enjoyed every bite with Michelle's giggly presence to lift his spirits.

 Then, before leaving for the hospital, he entered his home office to make a phone call that was long overdue.

 It was ten in the morning New York time, so it would be eight in Minneapolis. As he dialed Dani's number, he silently prayed he'd catch her before she left for work, and before he lost his nerve.

 Dani's voice sounded rushed when she picked up the receiver. "Hello."

 "Hello, Dani."

 There was silence on the other end for one long minute. "Miguel?"

 "Yes. How have you been?" He felt so awkward; he didn't know what to say.

 "Well, I..." again silence swelled.

 "I know this phone call is long overdue," Michael interrupted. "I'm sorry I didn't call you sooner. But so much has happened..." he trailed off at a loss for words.

 Dani finally found her voice. "It's okay Miguel, there's no need to be sorry. I knew what I was getting into that weekend and I did so with my eyes wide open. We made no promises and there were no expectations." She paused a moment and sighed. "Maybe everything worked out for the best after all."

 Dani's words were not angry or hateful. It was the tone of her voice, the sad, quiet resignation that tore at Michael's heart. "I've hurt you again, haven't I Dani?" he asked. "It seems all I do is hurt you."

 "It really doesn't matter now, Miguel," Dani's voice cracked over the line. "We resolved a few things that weekend and I no longer carry the hate I felt for you all those years. Maybe that's where we should leave it."

 "But Dani I..." he wanted to tell her why he'd left, the reason for all the pain and hurt. But she didn't give him a chance.

 "It's late and I really have to get to work," Dani told him.

 "Can I call you again? Another time when we can really talk?" Michael sounded desperate, but Dani didn't hear it in his voice.

 "I don't think that's a good idea, Miguel. I really have to go, I'm sorry. Goodbye."

 The receiver clicked on the other end of the line leaving Michael to stare at the silent phone for several seconds before replacing his own receiver on the cradle.

 He didn't need to see her face to understand how she felt. Her voice told it all. He'd loved her and left her again without an explanation. He'd hurt her once too often, and she couldn't bear to be hurt again.

 Michael rose from his desk and stood in front of the windows. The drapes were drawn open, allowing the fall sunshine to stream into the room. He watched the waves break against the shore as the wind began whipping up outside. He'd stood at these windows many times, yet the only time he remembered best was when Dani had stood there with him. Then everything was fine. Vanessa and Matthew were full of life, he was busy with his business and contact was finally being made with Dani.

 How could it all fall apart so quickly? Now, here he stood, all alone. He was completely drained, physically, mentally and emotionally. It felt as if everyone he'd ever loved or cared about was lost to him. Never in his life, no matter what the pain, had he felt this lonely, this desolate.

 Michael went to the hospital as usual and tried to keep up some form of conversation with Vanessa, but it all seemed so useless. He held her hand, brushed his fingers through her hair and wished so hard to be able to see those emerald green eyes sparkle up at him again. But she just laid there, breathing, but making no effort to rejoin him and ease his pain.

 Late afternoon approached and he kissed her cheek goodbye. "I'll see you tomorrow honey. I love you." He walked out of her room and went into the men's room down the hall. Splashing cold water on his face and wiping it with a rough paper towel, he ran his fingers through his hair and assessed his appearance. Several streaks of gray had taken over where dark hair had once been. Even his beard had strands of gray that hadn't been there only weeks before. His skin had paled from lack of sun and his eyes had lost that sparkly mischief that had once made him so appealing to women. For a man who had once taken such care of his appearance, he looked a wreck.

 "Well, I certainly look the part of a down and out vet," he told his reflection, then left the bathroom and headed down the hall.

 His footsteps were heavy with despair, mimicking the feelings of loneliness and depression that had enveloped him. Never had he felt this low, this isolated, this desperate. Going to this meeting was like grasping for the last straw.

 It was 6:05 P.M. when he entered through the door to room 225C and all the men in the circle before him looked up. The room was similar to the hospital rooms, except larger. There was a row of windows on the far wall that spilled the last rays of the day's sunlight through vertical blinds. The men had formed a circle of chairs in the center of the room, one man sat in a wheelchair. As they all looked up in Michael's direction, he saw Kevin in the center of the group and he rose from his chair and greeted Michael.

 "Mr. DeCara, I'm so glad you came," he said, offering his hand in greeting and patting his back with the other.

 "Please, just call me Michael," he offered nervously.

 "Okay. Come join us, Michael." He led him to a chair between the man in the wheelchair and another man of husky build. Then Kevin sat back down opposite of Michael.

 "Guys, this is Michael," Kevin told the group of men. "He served at the Fire Base in Da Nang in '70."

 All the men nodded and a couple said hello. Michael was surprised Kevin remembered where and when he'd been in Vietnam. There was much more to this male nurse than he had given him credit for in the beginning.

 As he surveyed the group around him, he was surprised by the differences in each person. The man in the wheelchair beside him had lost both legs at the knees. His hair and beard, so much like Michael's, were black and he had a worn, black cap atop his head. His clothing, T-shirt and jeans, was also black. If he had not been in a wheelchair, one would think he'd climb aboard a Harley and speed off.

  The man on his left was quite the opposite. He was husky and blond dressed in clean jeans and a flannel shirt. He had a mid-western look about him that reminded Michael a little of Billy back in Nam.

 Kevin asked each man to introduce himself starting with the man in the wheelchair. To Michael's surprise, they did so by telling where and when they served in Nam.

 "I'm Joe Pilanski, 1st Battalion, 7th Marines, Da Nang, 1968," the man said with a heavy Jersey accent.

 "John Perry, 25th Infantry, Cu Chi, 1967 and '69," offered the man next to Joe. His voice was small like his build and he looked down at the floor as he talked.

 "Kevin Lindstrom, 254th MDHA Unit, '68 and '70," Kevin boomed out in his clear voice.

 "Dr. Allen Cox, 13th Evac Hospital, 1969," said the tall, thin, silver-haired man beside Kevin. Dressed neatly in a green Ralph Lauren polo shirt and tan slacks he looked like a doctor off duty.

 "Wayne Garrison," said the last man in the circle, the one to Michael's left. "Helicopter Pilot, Tan Son Nhut Airport, 1969 and '71." His voice was definitely Midwestern in accent and he offered both a wide smile and handshake to Michael.

 Michael nodded to each man as they introduced themselves then sat uncomfortably when the introductions were done. What was he suppose to do now, he wondered.

 But Kevin took care of the silence. "Joe was talking about his trip back to Vietnam last year," he explained for Michael's benefit. "Go ahead with your story, Joe."

 "I was just saying how calm and quiet it all is there now. Not the mad, chaotic place we remember. Driving up Highway One or floating down the Saigon River is pure joy now. No smoke or noise or smell. Just a peaceful calm."

 Dr. Cox nodded in agreement. "The country there was always beautiful but when we were there, it was a menacing beauty. You never knew when you'd step into a booby trap or on a mine. But now you can enjoy the beauty without the fear and see the people as they really are, not as the enemy. It can do wonders for the mind, going back."

 "You ever been back to Nam?" Joe asked Michael bluntly.

 "No, I haven't. I guess I never thought about it before. When I think of Nam, I think of horror. I can't even imagine wanting to go there again."

 "It changes everything, man," Joe told him. "The way you think, the way you feel. Hell, I even went back to the very spot I lost my legs. It was a positive thing for me."

 Michael had to ask. "How did you lose your legs?"

 Joe gave a short laugh as if it were a joke. "Why, I heard the 'click' man. Stepped on a mine and 'pow', it blew them right off." He spread his arms wide when he said this. Michael paled involuntarily.

 "What do we have here?" Joe said sarcastically. "A queasy vet?"

 "No," Michael said quietly, staring directly at Joe. "I was just thinking how lucky I am. You see, I heard the 'click', too." He bent forward and rolled up the left leg of his trousers, exposing the jagged scar to his knee as all the men watched. "But it only blew my leg apart. I was lucky that the doctors there could save it."

 All the men in the room, including the outspoken Joe, sat silently, nodding their understanding. They had all faced death and lived to tell about it. As Michael studied the faces that surrounded him, he felt for the first time since returning from Vietnam that he had finally come home.