General Fiction posted November 28, 2015 Chapters: 1 -2- 3... 


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A new veteran meets an old one

A chapter in the book The Parking Lot

The Parking Lot Part II

by Delahay


I posted this previously but it was so long I have broken it into chapters. This continues the story started in part I.

An Airman home from Viet Nam meets a homeless veteran while waiting for a bus and learns something about life.


At about this time a stray hooker walked by and waved at a couple of passing cars. Then she turned around and looked at us with a scowl on her ravaged face, obviously disgusted by the poor prospects available. She looked aged beyond her years. Her thin body and haggard looks bespoke a long and close association with the drugs that had brought her to this corner and way of life. Seeing no prospects in the area she turned around and tottered away on her three-inch tall platform shoes. The shoes lent a dash of daring to her thigh high leather mini skirt and see-through blouse that was in itself a testament to bad advertising. I realized that I was indeed out of my element and thought about what a strange planet this was. I started to wonder just whom it was that really didn't belong here.

As the old man before me rambled on I heard how he thought he'd hit bottom, then he finally slipped over the edge. He never really worried until one day he stopped to count up his friends and realized they had all melted away like a ice in the hot sun. The only things he could count on now were the moon and the scarce moments of sobriety. Those fleeting moments when reality tried to catch up with him and remind him of all he had lost.

"Don't even think about Debbie" I heard him mutter. "I don't even go there no more. She was just another piece of the war. After I joined up they had me drivin' a supply truck on the red ball, a big deuce 'n' a half. Was driving it one day when I runned over a land mine, the back end of that truck was blowed off. That's when ole 'Bama died.

"So many of the fightin' mens got killed the first two weeks after D-Day the Cap'n tells me to get outta the truck and tote a machine gun. It only bothered a couple o' the mens in the squad, them bein' white an all. 'Sides, after a few weeks o' traipsin' through all the dirt an' mud we all started lookin' alikes anyhow.

"Man, that D-Day was some bad shit. Won't never forget seein' boys vaporized when they was hit by one of those big numbers that fell on us like rain. Some peoples is afraid of going to Hell. I believe I done already bin there, ain't so sure I ever left.

"They was sure glad to see us show up that day in that Ardennes that winter. Who was that boy in that foxhole? Duncan? That's right. Duncan."

I jumped when he suddenly said my last name. I don't know if he was remembering someone else or if he saw my name tag and got confused. His running monologue continued.

"He steps up to me and says "Hey I'm Duncan, this here's Wallace. 'Bout time they sent us some help"' I tol' him my name's Henderson from the red ball, people jus' call me Cyclops though 'cause I gots this bad eye.

"Yeah Duncan and his buddies was glad to see us show up that day. They'd been getting' pounded for days. Them Germans was s'pose to be a runnin' but they had them 88s set up for aerial bursts, blowing the tops o' the trees down on top of us. I heard guys screamin' as branches fell down like spears tearin' them in two.

"Damn I was a lucky SOB! That boy Duncan saw a tree top with my name on it. He knocked me out of the way jus' in time. That boy saved my life. Sometimes at night I can still hear them guys screamin'. Made me wonder jus' whose side God was on.

"Yeah Duncan sure saved my life that day. I wonder what ever happened to dat boy. I never seen him again after that. He knocked me outta the way o' dat tree and the next thing I knowed I was in a hospital back in England and I was a Cyclops fo' real. Yeah that's when I lost this here eye. I still don't know why they kept dunkin' me in that ice water or why they tied me down. For a long time I thought I'd been caught by them black shirt SS dudes."

When he said this I remembered hearing of such "treatments" as a cure for psychological problems like shell shock. I guess medical science has come a long way from the snake pits and chains of the old insane asylums.

The old man continued. "De man from da V.A. say I shoulda got me a purple heart. I tol' him ain't nuthin' wrong with my black heart and I'll just keeps it if'n it's all the same to him."

He suddenly looked right at me and said loudly, "You ever pick cotton boy?" I jumped again at the sudden question. I didn't know if he was really asking me a question or if this was just more of his rambling.

"Yessir", he continued without a pause, "I gets 90 lbs in my sack right now! I picked cotton 'till my hands was bleedin'. I thinks I was 'bout ten year old when Momma died in dat cotton field where I was borned."

Sometimes during his rambling monologue the veil that clouded his mind seemed to lift and memories of his family tumbled out like the prize from one of those now-empty Crackerjacks boxes I saw littering the parking lot.

"Crackerjacks" he said loudly, almost in a shout as he also spied one of those boxes.

"Crackerjacks! Billy loves those Crackerjacks. Billy's my boy. No, wait. Don't I gots two boys somewhere? Jimmy, that's it, Jimmy. No, no, Jimmy got killed over there in Viet Nam. We lost Billy on Pork chop Hill. But that's the cost of freedom the man said."

He made a strange sound then that might have been a laugh or some kind of cry of pain. Then his mind seemed to start wandering off to other things as I heard him grumbling about trying to get a couple of drinks. I guess he wanted something to put the scattered pieces of his memory back where they belong. Oblivion. That great black hole of oblivion where his dark memories couldn't torment him anymore. Somewhere in the emptiness of the parking lot.




The Red Ball was a convoy of trucks delivering supplies to the allied armies. Few African American soldiers were allowed to fight, except for a few all "black" or "negro" units. Mostly they served as cooks, drivers, or in other non combatant positions.
In the winter of 1944 in the Ardennes forest outside of the Belgian city of Bastogne, a small, outnumbered group of American soldiers held their ground to stop a German counter attack after the D-Day invasion at Normandy. This counter attack became known as "The Battle of the Bulge". Bastogne was very important because of the seven major roads that converged in the city so the soldiers sent to defend it were told to hold it "at all costs". The Americans had no winter gear, in the coldest winter in a century, and little ammunition or supplies. They put up such a strong defense the German army chose to go around them and the Americans were encircled. The Germans fired their 88 millimeter artillery shells into the tree tops, shattering the trees and sending deadly shards of wood onto the American soldiers. The siege lasted between December 20th to the 27th when elements of General Patton's third army arrived.
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