"Randy!" His mom calls out.
As they embrace, there are more tears on the part of his parents, but Randy is all cried out. The small family would stay overnight in one of DC's local hotels before starting the long drive back to their home near Wheeling, WV.
They dined at a mid-priced restaurant. During the meal there was little conversation between son, father and mother. The food was good, but Randy didn't seem to enjoy his dinner. He stared at his food more than ate it; his mind was elsewhere.... They knew that there was now a different son sitting before them, not the son they knew just one short year ago. This was the start of the change. They would have to get used to it; there was no turning back the clock.
The night air was chilly, but not so cold as to keep Randy from stepping out on the balcony off his room. He stared at the waxing moon, about a third full now. What was he thinking about? Was he thinking about the friends he would see back home, and how he would put on a façade of happiness to please his folks? Maybe he was thinking of his former girlfriend that he broke up with shortly before he went to Vietnam? Whatever became of her? Who was she with now? All he knew was that she wasn't there to greet him on his return from Nam. This hurt him more than anything...
The long night was unsettling for Randy. The sight of Biffi taking the hit, and Billingsly's distorted death mask flashing through his mind, punctuated his attempt at sleep. He tossed and turned. He prayed. He tried to cry.
The day began to break. The sun's rays penetrated the thin curtains blocking the window of his room from any passing, prying eyes. Waking to the alarm set for 6:00 am, he was not refreshed. Pulling himself out of his bed, he forced himself over to the bathroom and threw cold water in his face. "I deserve that!" he thought to himself. He wiped his face with the towel, but did not replace the towel in the circular holder. He pressed his powerful hands against the temples of his head, increasing the pressure almost to the point of creating excruciating pain. He struggled for breath, and at the same time, tried like hell to cry, but couldn't. He looked up and stared in the mirror for almost thirty seconds. He asked himself: "What am I doing here in this hotel? Where's my 16? [M-16 rifle] Where's Biff?" He thought he heard a voice: "Hey, Randy, are you starting to lose it?" He shook his head indicating, "No! I don't know." Who was he responding to? Was he beginning to lose it?
[That morning at breakfast...]
He stabbed at the eggs and toast, barely eating any of the not-so-tasty food. At the end of breakfast, most of the food still lay on his plate...
[On the drive back to their home...]
She [Randy's mom..] told Randy about a couple of sweet, young things of twenty-one or so, friends of friends that she thought he might like to meet in the near future.
So now it starts. Good-willed for sure, but not now! Too damn soon! This can't be real! Leave me the hell alone! I shouldn't even be here! Randy did not dare to express this out loud, but he screamed these thoughts in his mind.
...He was different. His sense of humor was gone. His faith was nearly shattered. He had a new and darker outlook on life, one that was quickly becoming apparent to his folks. His friends thought that this would pass, but it would not, not for Randy...
E. DeLalla
Very moving story. Makes one think.
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