Dancing with Baptists

Chapter 5

Somewhere in New Mexico

April 3, 1968

Greg stood in the updraft of a woman smoking a Virginia Slim. He had been on his feet in his dress shoes from Phoenix to Lordsburg, New Mexico. They had told him not to wear his Air Force uniform once he was back in the States, but Greg did not believe them. The Continental bus was crowded with Mexicans and children, old ladies, and a few servicemen who stayed uniformed as well. He stood there with his left arm in the strap like a kid with a circus balloon. In his right hand was a gym bag that contained a couple of things including Chap's manuscript. Having to deal with the bag made Greg wish he had checked it along with his duffel. New travelers stared at the standing sergeant. However, the stares would have been angry glares had Greg taken a seat and left a civilian standing.

Greg tried to pass the time and get his mind off his aching feet by repeating Roy Orbison lyrics in his head. She and Greg loved Roy Orbison. They had watched him on Ed Sullivan the night she put Greg's high school ring on a chain long enough to fall into her top to keep her father from asking questions. It did not keep Greg from wanting to reach in to get it whenever they were alone.

"In Dreams" danced through in his mind amidst the haze generated by the fog machine of his fellow riders cigarette puffing. The lyrics brought images. His first date with Melinda, their first kiss, sudden flashes of blood and open wounds, smells of wet plaster casts and Melinda's neck while they danced close, hiding and trying to stifle give-away laughter after almost being caught by her father when they weren't supposed to be seeing each other, Melinda's lips and then back to the lyrics,

Only in dreams
In beautiful dreams.

Dreams in the Delta were mostly nightmares. New in-country medics would eventually approach Greg about getting them something for the night terrors that were so prevalent. Along with Greg's surgical duties he also had access to surgical supplies, which included anesthetics and hard drugs like morphine. Darvon 64 was big. Soldiers would get a handful and take out the little BB inside and down the pills with a little Jack and be "in dreams" in no time. Downing "stuff" kept Greg's Dong Tam O.R. busy with shot-off toes and other "accidental" injuries.

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By the time the dusty Continental road train rolled into Lordsburg, Greg's thighs were aching from skiing forward when the bus slowed and surging backward when it sped up. Greg was glad to stretch his already stretched legs and sit at the counter of the greasy pie palace that was this stop's singular choice for food. The plastic covered menu was an artist's palette of after dinner condiments, greasy fingerprints and what could have been icing from an Italian Cream cake. Inside the plastic was a hand-typed "Specia s of the Day." The old typewriter that typed the menus appeared to have a missing "L." This was confirmed in Greg's mind when he read down and saw that the rib sandwich came with "co es aw".

Greg only had a few dollars left for the trip. He decided to just have coffee and a glazed donut. A large Marine sat on the next stool. They each made a half-inch nod in the other's direction, but said nothing. Greg knew that if he asked the Marine how it was going, he would say "fine," which would be the first lie. This would lead to another or, worse, the truth. If Greg was going to stand the next leg of the ride from Lordsburg to Las Cruces, he did not want to do it buddy-carrying any of the emotional items from the backpack of a Marine heading home.