Remembering Mogadishu: Conclusion
Mikey causes Mischief
Mikey Coffee* had been in and out of our lives all of our lives. He and Dalton had always had a sort of grudging rivalry/friendship. Of course, when I noticed at the age of 12 or so that Dalton seemed to see Mikey as some sort of rival. I blatenly exploited his only weakness with a vengeance. At 17 Dalton had grown into a semblance of the man he would become,with his trade mark buzz cut topping his six foot four inch frame. Unfortunately for Dalton, so had Mikey. At six foot two he was as dark and Dalton was light. Dark brown wavy hair touched the collar of his shirt and coal brown eyes gleamed with hidden secrets just waiting to be explored. He was as carefree as Dalton was serious and often led both of us on ill fated adventures. I would tag along in my ever seeking quest for new horizons and Dalton would follow in an attempt to keep me out of trouble.
We had all landed at Fort McPhearson, Georgia for what was Senior year for my boys and Junior year for myself. As the year progressed posters covered the walls of the high school announcing the upcoming prom and I remarked one day that it would be nice to maybe attend some sort of school social function before moving on life and all its seriousness. See that's the thing about army "brats"as we were called. Though it was never discussed, we learned at a very early age that for some tomorrow will never come. We lived life in much the same fashion. Our families were warriors and warriors fall in battle. So live, love them while you can and pray for thier safe return. Pray harder for Peace.
The summer before senior year both Dalton and Mikey had completed the early enlistment basic training program at Fort Benning, Georgia and as if there had ever been any doubt, insert eye roll here, both had been chosen for for "selection" or "Ranger Kiddie School" as I infuriatingly teased them both. I had managed to go in the complete opposite direction and proudly proclaimed myself the last of the flower children. Make love not war. I wanted to save the world in my own way and was seriously considering a career in Journalism or maybe Psychology, well there was always nursing school as well. But hey, those decisions could wait. I had a prom to attend.
Late one evening as I was shooting pool in the bowling alley on post with a few friends and sipping Wild Turkey 151 stolen from dad's stash and painstakingly poured into an old metal flask that fit perfectly into the back pocket of my Calvin Klein's. Mikey casually walks in looks around spots my gaggle of giggling girlfriends and I and makes a beeline in our direction. "So your serious about this prom thing huh?" He says to me as I line up a combination shot that will win the game. " Yep. I figure I should have at least one memory of high school that I can tell my friends in my old age." I reply. " Ok, what color is your dress so I will match when I pick you up?" And just like that I had a date for the Junior Prom. Oh what a tangled web we weave...when we attempt to detail the "Plan" Dalton Johnson has spent his entire life carefully plotting.
That same night some where around the witching hour my fuzzy booze logged brain registered an insistent tapping noise that brought me into full consciousness instantly when I realized there was someone at my bedroom window. Now, as "hippy" as I was I wasn't quite as stupid as I looked and one advantage of being the only girl in a generation is the self defense one learns out of necessity. Atlanta could be a dangerous place and my brothers and I were often home alone at night so my parents had signed me up for a gun class and I kept a load .32 Colt revolver in my nightstand drawer. I also, as my grandaddy (an old breed Marine with the 1/1 FEM who had survived the horrors of the Pacific Theatre) would say, I never had sense enough to be scared. So in my typical reckless fashion I grabbed my pistol threw the window open and met Mikey's cocky grin with a revolver pointed squarely in his face. He jerked back wincing in pain and I lowered the gun in shock. Mikey was a bloody mess. Two black eyes met my own one of which was swelling shut before my very own shocked blue ones and his cocky grin had a huge bleeding gash. I quickly stepped back allowing him to crawl into my bedroom while I ran down the hall for the ice packs mom kept in the freezer. "Oh. My. God. What happened to you?! Who did this?! I'll kill them! Where are they?! We have to call the MP's!". Mikey holds up a hand to stop my tirade as I'm reaching for the phone to call the military police who were in charge of all criminal matters on the base. "Dalton" he replied stopping me in my tracks. At first I was sure I had misheard him. "Dalton?" I said. As a slow comprehension fell upon me and my horror started to build into furious righteousness building it seemed, from my toes upward until my whole body seemed to burn in anger. "Why. In. The. Hell. Were. You. Fighting. With. Dalton." I almost whisper. My voice dropping lower with each word as the heat rises in my veins. "I guess I asked the wrong girl to prom." He replied sheepishly taking an instinctive step back in the face of my growing fury and repositioned the ice pack on his eye. I stepped forward and poked a finger into his chest with each word as I told him "You just wait right here Mikey Coffee. I'll be right back!" I turned and climbed out the window he had just entered a few moments before and barefoot, with only a long LSU Football jersey covering my torso, ran the half a block to Dalton's home and started banging on his window. He was there instantly opening the window wide sporting his own black eye and split lip though it was clear he had come out better in the fight. "Shhh!" he said exclaimed. "You'll wake my dad!". Just as I shoved both hands into his chest knocking him back onto his bed and stood over him with righteous indignation. "How dare you!" I yelled/whispered into his face. " How fucking dare you!" I said again as he stood to full height towering above my five foot seven frame. In response Dalton suddenly wrapped both arms around my waist and pulled my struggling half naked body up while lowering his battered face to mine and kissed me. This was not a chaste I'm your best friend kiss. It was a full blown, I'm about to lose the only girl I've ever loved kiss and despite my anger I felt my body respond much as it had when my anger had been fueled moments before. A slow burn started in my toes and I think they even, as the cliche goes, curled up a little. My feet were inches off the ground as Dalton effortlessly held me in his arms and poured 17 years of emotion into a single kiss. Fire burned though me wrapping both of us in heat that was almost painful and for the first time in my life I was powerless against the force that was Dalton Johnson. Eventually, a lifetime later and all too soon, he lowered me so that I was standing shakily on his bedroom carpet once again and in a record setting firsts for the night, I was speechless. My breath was erratic and the room seemed to spin as he whispered into my ringing ears. "He tried to take what's mine. I couldn't let that happen. You. Are. Mine!". Emotion warred with logic in my mind as thought my whirled against each other. " Wow! What was that. Who is this man? He's going to be a Ranger, he's going to war...run. Is this what love feels like? He will leave you for his country he will never be truly yours you will always share him with a mistress called the Army." All of these thoughts and emotions churned within me as I backed away staring up at him while tears ran down my face. I was poised to turn and run but he, in his stalwart wisdom, sensed the battle raging within me. Before I could slam the door shut on these new emotions Dalton effortlessly pulled me back into his embrace and in what would become his trademark, shut my mind down and effectively shut me up with another searing kiss that sealed our fate. I was lost in him. He had somehow left behind the boyhood of our youth and become a man. I realized over the next few years he had always been in control allowing me to believe I was leading our little trio (He and Mikey acted as if nothing had ever happened and remained friends though I berrated them both for weeks) while he quietly manipulated events in the background. His need was to protect his country, those he loved, and anyone else who could not protect themselves.
Both Dalton and Mikey joined the 82nd Ranger division at Ft Bragg North Carolina. Both men soon deployed to Migudishu, Somalia with a detachment of Delta Division on a UN Peacekeeping mission. Dalton was killed in action October 3rd 1993 and Mikey succumb to his demons and committed suicide on May 16, 2018. He used the very same .32 Colt revolver I had shoved in his face 29 years before. My Supermen have fallen.
Black Hawk Down
October 3/4 1993
The End
Tho this story is true. Names and places have been changed for posterity.
Remembering Mogadishu
Born to Serve
There are those of us who are never lost. A few lucky ones see their path in life clearly from a very young age and are never deterred. This was so with my first love Dalton Johnson*. Dalton was what my grandfather would call "single minded". He would decide to do something and never look away from his goal until it was accomplished. When at 10 he decided on a career in the military there was never any question in anyone's mind that Dalton would become a U.S. Army Ranger with the prestigious 82nd Airborne Division and God help the man, woman or castastrophe that got in his way.
I'm pretty sure he waited until he was 11 to inform me that we would be married one day but he may have been 12. I do remember the horror I felt at his announcement while we built a snow igloo in the Commons area of the townhomes both our parents had leased soon after our move back stateside from Germany. We were both Army dependants, a world where the only constant is change and kids lucky enough to move around together develop lifelong bond. This was the case with Dalton and I. I don't ever remember him not being part of my life but now he'd gone and ruined 10 good years of friendship and I had to plot his demise. I blew out a frigid breath of air blowing my dark brown bangs up in exasperation. "How dare he go and ruin everything!" my mind screamed at me. I, unlike Dalton, had no idea what direction my life would take and I was perfectly happy with that. I did know I would never be an Army wife. "How gross!" Unfortunately, I also knew Dalton, once he stated the fact nothing would stop him. I looked at him squarely and thought oddly, "He should be a Viking." Even at 11 he was taller and bigger than most boys his age with buzz cut strawberry blonde hair, a complexion that screamed at even an hour on the beach and turned a fiery shade of red in rebellion. Crystal blue eyes and a lopsided grin that made him look like he was up to some mischief or another looked straight back at me resolved. So I did what any sane 10 year old would do at the sight of the determination in his serious eyes. I squatted down into the long jump position Coach had taught me the day before at P.E. and took a flying leap straight at him! Catching him off guard and knocking both of us hapazardly into the igloo we had just spent the morning painstakingly building. Then I jumped up and ran toward home yelling over my shoulder. "Mom's calling! Gotta run!".
Dalton never wavered, however, and as grade school became middle school, middle school became high school and orders came through for another move or five. I grew restless while he became steadfastly grounded. I would remark while riding shotgun in his old '65 Chevy Pickup Truck on the way to school that I was thinking of taking a year before college to explore the Amazon Rainforest and maybe tie myself to a tree or three and he would answer with "Yep, you need to get all of that out of your system before the kids are born. I'll have enough trouble saving you from headhunting native cannibals after you tie yourself to a tree defenseless and offer up a ready made meal for every cannibal that moseys on by. If you had little Tommie or Emily along it would play hell with my concentration.". Yes! Dalton Johnson 15 and currently a Sophomore at Choctaw One High School, Ft Hood, Texas had already chosen the gender of his...our children and even brazenly decided upon names! This argument was so old I simply sighed and repeated to him what had become my mantra. "I. Am. Never. Getting. Married! Besides, if I ever change my mind, I sure as hell ain't gonna marry you Dalton Johnson! " Then I leaned over punched him in the arm while yelling "Punch buggy! No punch back! Even though there wasn't a Volkswagon Beetle anywhere in sight and sprang from the truck, running across the parking lot, up the stairs and into the school. I spent the rest of that day rubbing the knuckles on my hand in an attempt to rub away the memory of the heat that had flashed through my fist at coming in contact with his bare arm. "What in the damnation is that all about?" I wondered.
Life is funny like that though and during that fateful high school year, him a Sophomore and myself a lowly Freshman at a new school, in a new town again... He became my constant. He was the rock that held the string of my balloon tethered tightly to the ground. While I tied myself to a cactus in the middle of the Texas dessert in the name of the spotted flying muskrat lizard or some such business all the while professing my feminism loudly, Dalton continued his ROTC drills and made plans for Ranger school or "Selection" as he repeatedly and patiently corrected me. "Whatever" I'd exclaim rolling my eyes for his benefit while turning the volume all the way up on the stereo in his room. I'd jump around head banging playing air guitar to Def Lepards "Pyromania" while he sat at his desk grinning that lopsided grin, making plans in his head about our future and shined the brass on his uniform for drill the next day.
Then came the day Mikey Coffee asked me to the Junior Prom and I with 16 years of "No man will ever own me and I'll do what I want" feminine wisdom accepted.
To be continued...
While this is a true story, Names, Dates and Places have been changed.
Chocolate Delight
This rich layered delight has caused much mischief between my children vying for the last piece. The easy recipe is a hit at any event or Holiday.
3 cups crushed pecan sandie cookies
1/3 cup butter melted
1/4 cup powdered sugar
Combine and press into sprayed (I use Pam) 9x13 pan
Bake on 350 F for 10 minutes. Remove from oven and let cool
2 Crushed Butterfinger Candy bars
Sprinkle half onto cooled crust
1 8 oz PKG cream cheese softened
1 8 oz Tub of whipped topping
1/3 cup powdered sugar
Combine well with mixer and place over crushed Butterfinger in pan
2 small pkgs Chocolate Pudding Prepared according to directions on box.
Pour pudding over cream cheese in pan
1 8 oz Tub whipped topping
Spread over pudding
Sprinkle with remaining crushed butter finger
Cover and refrigerate 2 hours or overnight.
The River
The river that flows downhill,
Is never able to be a moment still,
The rocks and pebbles at it's edge,
Lie as steady as the dead,
Hiding the wrath beneath the waves
The river kills and the river saves
My Warrior
My pillow was wet with tears this morning
my dreams were full of the past.
Of memories long gone.
Days we will never get back.
Time Marches with the beat of a million soldier's feet
And as always
I think of you
Of better days that passed too fast as if in a haze like smoke
Up and gone forever beyond reach...
In Memory
©Gypsiblu
#Poem #Warrior #Military #War
The Ballad of Lester and Gin. Chapter 1
*Tshis is a work in progress. Edits and suggestions are more than welcome*
Lester was a simple man from the backwoods of South Mississippi and when at the ripe old age of 18 just after being handed his high school diploma, his father decided that Lester, despite near perfect grades, and a full scholarship waiting in the wings had gone to school long enough and was needed to help out around the family farm, Lester never even thought to dispute these turn of events as he really never had much ambition beyond the farm itself. This was just the way of things and now at the ripe old age of 36 long after both his parents passed peacefully into the beyond as Lester called it, the sprawling farm was simply a part of Lester himself.
The only detour Lester made before settling into farm life was to fulfill his patriotic duty as an American and enlisting in the United States Marine Corps just like his grandaddy and maybe even to get a dig in at his own father who served his time proudly in the US Army and wasted no time good naturedly ribbing his son by leaving a box of crayons beside his plate at the supper table. With those duties fulfilled, Sgt. Lester Boudroix returned home, dumped the sands of the middle east from his combat boots, threw his collection of medals in an old cigar box and placed both in the very back dark corner of his bedroom closet. As far as he was concerned he had fulfilled his patriotic duties and that chapter of his life was over.
Lester was more than just a little happy about returning home, where he instinctively knew should be, to wait patiently for whatever was to come. It was the same instinct told him something was coming soon, he'd known it since he was knee high to a grasshopper riding his horse, Elvis, thru the trail that snaked windingly thru the dense forest of towering pine trees rich with a abundance of animals, both predator and prey. It would be in those quiet moments while LJ was enthralled with the fantasies of most normal 8 year old boys, allowing his mind to wonder over the outcome of a battle between the Incredible Hulk and The Amazing Spiderman that a voice would intrude quickly and quietly into his thoughts, telling him he needed to prepare and whispering instructions that were both facinating and confusing. During these "extra" events he would notice that even the birds and crickets would go silent, lending an ominous air to the normally peaceful woods around him. Elvis' ears would flick back toward his head and he'd sidestep nervously nostrils flaring as if sensing a predator. Only his love for his boy and a gentle nature kept the horse from bolting back toward the safety of his stable where he knew there would be a nice trough of sweet feed and the relative safety of a sturdy wall between his tender horseflesh and the danger filling his senses. Even LJ could feel a chill come upon the air and a sense of evil, as if the devil himself roamed his perimeter waiting for an opening, watching for any weakness within LJ's moral compass that could lead the boy astray.
He'd never questioned the voice in the back of his mind that whispered to him that he would one fight to protect his farm, his farm his life and the very souls of almost everyone in his community. It really didn't matter to him where this knowledge came from all that mattered was that he didn't fail in his duties. In Lester's eyes, paradise was the sprawling 360 acres of land that had been passed down from generation thru his family since the Louisiana Purchase and those families in his community who could also boast of a local lineage as long as their very forearm were a part of that paradise.
In his opinion what was not to love, rolling pasture land with the grass swaying in the wind gave way to towering pine trees bordering the Beinville National Forest as if hiding her secrets from the world beyond. The sprawling spring fed 100 acre lake just over the first ridge behind his simple ranch style home, provided both water for the many species of animals who wandered over much of the fenced in pasture land as well as recreation for local fishermen, boaters and swimmers alike. Yep, ol' Lester could have maybe had a mansion on a hill on the outskirts of a big city somewhere but he knew instinctively that nowhere but the family farm would bring him the peace he felt in his soul as he looked out past his back porch while munching on a powdered sugar covered begniet and sipping his morning coffee, Chicory of course, and gazing the first pink and purple rays of sunrise cresting the horizen of his bayou. All the while his mind sorted absently thru the many chores he needed to begin or finish to keep the farm productive.
Unfortunately for Lester, his Acadian and Celtic ancestry had to him passed gifts that he didn't necessarily understand or want. Lester could see the thoughts and intention of others. He could also see spirits and hear the voices of those he loved calling to him for help, both those 2 miles away, from thousands of miles away and even from the beyond. Most of the times Lester considered his gifts part of daily life. He'd learned long ago not to mention his "extras" as he called them and most people in Jasper County just took it for granted that he was a little touched. If LJ called and told someone that a recently passed relative or friend wanted him to pass a message they simple asked to hear the message. If he walked up to a farmer at the feed store and told you not to ride the new tractor that day to plow the back forty, the farmer usually decided to tackle a different project that day. Lester's talents, whether he was taking a blue ribbon at the county fair for his watermelon moonshine or warning of a crop destroying hail storm, were simply a fact of life in the rural farm community. Life wasn't perfect, it never is but it was good for most.
Well, life was pretty good until the day the Bruja showed up, moving right on into her great aunt's old abandoned victorian home like she owned the place, which technically she did but that fact didnt make her any less of an outsider and the Pineville community had no use for outsiders even if she did look as if she stepped straight from the pages of the Sports Illustrated Swimsuit Edition. Virginia Love had no business in Jasper county and the locals were already taking bets around crowded domino tables as to how long it would be before the slip of a city girl turned tail and ran back to the convience of Chinese take out and all night corner stores.
The End of Chapter 1
to be continued...
*Previously published at writecoapp
©Gypsiblu
Noob to read.cash. You do me and I'll do you 💋💖
@Gypsiblu
