Roads

     I once met a tough older gent.  It was amusing because I was eight months pregnant with Joey, my oldest, and in a water aerobics class for the pregnant and elderly.  I was loving seeing the women and listening to them talk of their lives and give me outrageously good and eye poppingly bad parenting advice.  In the middle of them all was a man in his sixties wearing his leather vest in the pool and hitting on the younger ones.  I liked his style.

     I watched as he swam up to a particularly lovely lady and started to talk to her.  I understand why she was rude, but she was rude in a very hurtful way.  She said, "Where did you get those profoundly ugly and obviously Oriental tattoos.  They're hideous and I'd never give you the time of day."

     I shriveled inside because I knew where he had gotten those tattoos.  He was a Vietnam War vet.  It was plain he had gotten them in Cambodia on leave.  I was stunned at what was either her cruelty or ignorance.  I immediately swam over to him.  "I heard what she said, I'm sorry.  Thank you for serving our country."

     He was moved.  He opened up to me and said, "You're very perceptive for one who is so young.  I will tell you Nam was the hardest, nastiest, thing I've ever done and been a part of.  When I returned from the war and came home here to Indianapolis I knew I was absolutely changed.  I felt the need to run.  I bought a motorbike and disappeared to my family for years.  I rode to the west coast, the east coast and followed the summer.  I stayed in the warm trying to find, escape from, fix the mess in my heart.  When I had covered the country that last time, I finally understood **** (he leaned in close to my face and in a quiet voice said,)****there aren't enough roads."

     As the words hit me I started to cry.  He said, "No it's a good thing.  See the hurt was so bad, I could never run away from it.  Nothing I could find was going to fix it.  I needed to settle down in Indianapolis, my home, and face it with the friends and family that loved me and were worried sick about me.  I raise flowers and berries.  I try to find beauty to make sense of the ugliness of this life and the painful memories."

    This summer, I suffered a hurt.  His words kept me from trying to fix it with passing fancies that would never satisfy.  In a woman's world it would be said, "There isn't enough money, collectibles, clothes, food, candy or alcohol to fix this hurt."  So, I'm sitting here at home with the ones who love me and facing it together.