Homecoming
Charles Jacobson
What happened to the girl I used to know?
You let your mind out somewhere down the road,
Don’t bring me down, down, down, down, down
No, no, no, no, no, no, no, no, no
—from Jeff Lynne, “Don’t Bring Me Down”
The army? It’s bullshit, really. I took off my uniform and notified Peavey Company. Tosta Pizza had flopped, but other projects had taken center stage, and I soon began to handle all things computer at the new Tech Center. I was back working days and schooling nights, busy with responsibilities.
I was hyper-aware, on the lookout for enemies, strange sights, sounds and smells. Diesel churned my stomach. I looked up every time I heard a helicopter. The 4th of July was tense. Fireworks and the lingering smell of sulfur—incoming or outgoing artillery? I would wake in a cold sweat and change my sweat-soaked t-shirt. The doctors suggested hypnosis. I demurred—who knows what that might do.
*
“I don’t know you anymore. You’re not the same person you used to be,” my wife said. A space had developed between us. It wasn’t just me; everything had changed. The world I fought for wasn’t there. The teasing and pleasing of a new marriage was over; I saw this so much as a period of adjustment that would take its own good time. Isn’t marriage a lifetime guarantee? My parents just had their silver wedding anniversary.
My in-laws held a large family picnic over a weekend at Taylor’s Falls, a picturesque favorite in Minnesota. I was camping again, but in a camper, so I didn’t object. I was naive. I didn’t realize that our relationship was a hot topic. A few days later, I got a call from my sister-in-law Barb and her husband Steve, who lived in the same apartment complex as we did. They had kept their mouths shut and their feelings in check during the camping weekend, but now they spilled the beans.
Everything made sense now. She had palmed Tami off on her folks while I was gone. She didn’t answer my letters and struck out the bank account. Drinking, drugs and who knows what? Her lips were warm and swollen pink when she was surprised by my arrival. She had a boyfriend! So obvious in retrospect.
“I think I know where he lives. Interested?”
I was ready. “Let’s go.”
We hopped into Steve’s car.
My wife and her boyfriend were outside on the front stoop. They were in my sights as I approached the house, unseen and unannounced. Steve followed behind. Thoughts went through my head. I was a trained killer. Instead, I walked up to the surprised couple and addressed my wife, “You just lost your kid.”
A minute of stunned silence, and Steve and I walked away.
I would have found out about her boyfriend sooner or later, but I was grateful to Barb and Steve for sparing me prolonged agony. (We’re still good friends. Steve considers me a brother—you don’t hear that every day.) On the way home, I learned that her boyfriend had been on the premises and slipped out the back when I surprised her on my return from Vietnam. For all I know, he was in the bedroom zipping up his fly.
When she dragged herself back to our apartment, she turned her face up to me and said she had screwed up. We both knew it was over, but I wasn’t ready. I loved Tami. I loved my wife. We spoke at length and resolved nothing. Both her parents were angry. My mother was angry. My dad had Parkinson’s and didn’t say much. Some families butt in. Mine butted out.
*
A friend of my dad’s had been a court reporter and seen Kermit Gill in action. Gill was a no-nonsense criminal attorney. Nothing fazed him except his girl Friday. He immediately opened up the possibilities. “We could do this, that and more. See what’s workable. Let me know.”
At home, I suggested counseling, but my wife wasn’t interested. Things were said that couldn’t be unsaid. She didn’t want me anymore, which wounded me more than enemy fire. She wanted out at any cost. I called Gill. “Start it.”
After she saw the divorce papers, she had second thoughts. Too late! I had reached my saturation point. It was time to move on. I called Gill. “I want Tami.”
“You could get child support for the little girl. The door is wide open.”
“No. Just end it now.”
My mother and brother were with me at the custody hearing. Mom had a sheaf of papers with what she didn’t like about my wife and a slew of reasons why I should get custody. Gill had prepared us for the worst, but my wife was a no-show. I was awarded custody almost before it started.
The divorce also went uncontested.
My wife dropped the bomb on me the first time I saw her, she was so ridiculously beautiful. I was infatuated—I fell in love right away. It was inconceivable that a romance could end like this. Why me? Where did it all go wrong? My wife and daughter didn’t have to experience combat—two years amid spells of senseless madness—the thought of her and Tami followed me everywhere in Vietnam and kept me going. In basic, the Drill Sergeant taunted us with, “Ain’t no use goin’ home. Jody’s got your girl, drove your car, spent your money.” I can attest to every word!
I broke down, sobbing. I was no longer captain of my soul.
My wife remarried and started a new family. At first, Tami was a sad little girl. “Where’s mom?” When my ex started her visits, they were random and rare. Her no-shows were heartbreaking. When the visits came off, Tami would start crying after she dropped her off. “Mom’s not here.” Here we go again.
I vowed no second act and kept Tami close. Tami and I developed strong ties and a life-long friendship with our former in-laws. I am forever grateful for that.
Sgt. Dunnuck was wrong when he said, ‘It dun’ mean nuthin’.
Charles Jacobson is an army vet, has an abiding interest in philosophy and the arts, and lives in Alton, Illinois, with a cat who doesn’t like him. He’s been published in Proud to Be, Fleas on the Dog, Military Experience and the Arts, Poets Choice, Drunk Monkeys, Wingless Dreamer, Kallisto Gaia Press, Gabby & Min, Free Spirit, Story Collider, and others.
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