No Beaks: The End?

To Vegas

 I made it to Vegas in February of 1971...  just about the same time the 101st was rearing up to attack Cambodia and Laos and the Vietnamization bullshit was at its full swing.  Nixon!  What a fucker...  Anyway, I was supposed to be a part of it...  but when my furlough came, I jumped on a chopper to Saigon and greased some palms to get to Hawaii.  I stashed my uniform, used whatever cash I had to get on a flight to LA and here I am, heading to the city of lights.  Now...  I guess I'm a criminal for running away from being a killer.  The irony!

So I said that while I was writing this I had no legs...  didn't lose those in 'Nam, just 'almost' lost my balls.  I never took a hit or nothin' in 'Nam.  The guys used to say that Charlie couldn't see me through their slanty eyes cause I was too skinny.  I don't think Jesus had anything to do with it...  so maybe they were right.  Whatever the case, I was home without a scratch.  It was at home that I'd earn the most physical pain.

On the Greyhound to Vegas I sat next to this older lady who smelled like cats and gin.  She was nice and shared some gin with me.  She asked why I wasn't in 'Nam, cause it seemed like most nice young guys like me were in 'Nam these days.  I told her I had skinny feet and the government kept me home cause they were afraid I'd fall into a jungle crevice and be unable to come out and fight.  She laughed and we took another couple of sips of gin.  I didn't ask her many questions...  but the more gin I had, the younger she looked.  About an hour outside of Vegas, I had my only relations with a woman in nearly 6 years.

In Vegas, I left the drunk cat lady with a hand shake and headed to the strip.  Back then...  it wasn't as lit up as it is today.  There were just a spattering of hotels, casinos and restaurants.  The mob had its teeth in Vegas pretty hard core at this point...  I was just a visitor looking for a mother, her sleazy repair man boyfriend and a place to stay.  I found all three at the Oasis in North Vegas. 

It was a trailer park...  they were passed out drunk when I showed up.

Home

I walked into my mothers house to find myself completely alone.  Everything was full of dust.  No lights were on, but it was morning and the sunlight lit up the living room. 

As usual the house had the same furniture and make up as when I left for war...  nearly half a decade ago.  It opened in the front to a living room on the left, with couch, dad's old chair (the one he sat in before he left for San Diego with the girl from the Soda Shop), and a fireplace.  On the right was the kitchen, which looked the same, except mom wasn't in it making some good treat or another.  Right in front was the stairway up the bedrooms.  I went up to look for some life...

To the left was my younger brother's room...  he'd been killed in Nam' in 1969, just a year after coming over.  He was a dumbshit...  always was.  I didn't really expect him to make it long in the Jungle.  And he didn't.

Next, to the right was my parents room, or my mothers room, after dad left.  To make money after he took off she used to turn tricks in that room.  Sometimes, I'd come home from school and a guy, some stranger, would be walking out and adjusting his belt buckle.  I'd ask my mom about it.  She'd just say he was the washing machine repair man.  Today it was empty. 

Finally, I walked down the hall passed my mother's room, to my very own room.  It was completely bare except for a small bed and a desk in the corner.  It was a lot different from when I left.  On the bed there was a note which said:

    Dear C------:

    I've left and gone to Las Vegas with a nice washing machine repair man.  I'm not sure if you'll         get this or die in Vietnam.  I have gotten tired of waiting for you to come home.  But if you do,             and while you think I don't, I do still pray for you to come home, you can come to Vegas and find     me and I'll give you a place to stay.  The washing machine repair man I'm with is very kind and         has agreed to this.  He was in Vietnam too...  Till then.

    Yours truly,

    Mom

And that is why I made it to Vegas...

Coming Home

So why'd I tell you a whole story about my balls?  Well, the way I see it, if you're going to sit here and listen to some old coot tell you stories about his life...  might as well listen to one of the most significant one he's got first.  I mean what's more significant that gettin' your balls blown off!  Right!?!?

Anyway...  my story begins way back in 1971.  I was on a plane back from Vietnam.  I'd been there 7 years!  After that first tour when Charlie almost got the family jewels, I felt I had something to prove.  In the end, must've killed at least 100 gooks all by myself.  I was good...  hmmm!  The good ol' days.

As I was saying...  I came home, and while my fellow soldiers thought I was one hell of a killer, my fellow American citizens weren't so impressed.  I was sworn at in LAX by just about everyone that walked by me.  One young guy even walked by and screamed, "Baby Killer!" at me, which I interpreted as a positive comment.  He wasn't impressed when I replied, "Hell Yeah, high five man!"  I think the little faggot threw up right there...

Things starting getting a bit hot in the airport, especially when I asked this little blondy if she'd, "sucky sucky for 20 dolla!" 

It was starting to seem like I'd spent a little too much time in 'Nam.  I felt like I had been traveling in outer space and just come back 100 years in the future!  I had to get out of the city so I headed over to the bus stop to get on a Greyhound headed to Northern California and my hometown.  If anything was still the same, it would be my true blue American family!

I was so wrong...

Some Lite Reading

I used to write some...  that is until '67 when some gook mine almost took off half my balls.  Before that I'd usually sit around in some jungle enclave and write little stories about Jean, who was my girl, or some other really stupid thing...  Then, I'd send them along to her or my mother or even my best friend Julie.  By the time of that incident in the rice paddie when I almost lost my manhood, there'd be this one dream I kept having...  I'd keep writing different versions of it when I woke up.  I'd sit up straight and write away, even if it was day or night.  Even if I was in the barracks or in pursuit of Charlie...  I'd just get up and write and write and write. 

But then I almost got my nuts blown off by Charlie and that all ended.  I haven't written since then.  Now it's 1972.  I sit around all day collecting disability checks, got one leg and any time a horn blows I start screaming.  This is some life to live...  but like I said, Charlie only "almost" blew off my balls.  I still got those!