Globusz^® Publishing 

BEING ALONE ON SUNDAYS MADE the day seem forty-eight hours long. It was amazing how accustomed he had become to a solid comfort level with the Barkleys. Time just seemed to fly when they were around. Of course, the time flying with them was no comparison to time spent with Peggy. He had awoke at 5:30 a.m. and, predictably, couldn’t go back to sleep. It was now 8:00 a.m. and felt like noon. What was he going to do until tomorrow, when he could talk to Nick?

He stood up and looked about the room. Mr. Barkley had given him permission to move things around and if he wanted to remove anything to just put it in the shed outside. One chair had to go. Now where did I put the key? Oh, yeah, on the nail next to the door. He thought he should check out the shed before he carried the heavy chair down the steep stairs.

The key fit. However, the lock looked like it hadn’t been opened in years ? rock-hard, rusty and laden with dirt. He walked upstairs and retrieved a little WD-40 spray lubricant and shot a couple of squirts on every place he thought might help make the lock work better. After some seconds, the lock snapped open. Placing more oil on the lock, he opened and closed it many times until it worked as good as new. With this little job completed, he felt like a new man.

Jim then had a look inside the shed. He opened the double doors wide and stepped in. It was like a time capsule. It appeared as if the user of the shed had just closed the door one day expecting to use the tools the next day; however, the next day never arrived. On the left wall, neatly hung, were garden tools. That seemed strange to him because he could see no signs of a garden outside. He looked out the open door thinking he might have overlooked something. The yard was behind the post office and surrounded by buildings on all sides. At the back of the yard was an old pathway. The yard looked as if it were a product of weeds growing to maturity and then falling over to be replaced with a new crop of weeds the next year. At one time there might have been a garden, though no sign of it remained.

He returned his interest to the shed. The only thing out of place was an old green duffle bag lying on a bench. This bag must be the belongings of Michael that the Army had sent to the Barkleys. He put out his hand to touch the bag and before he could touch it he jerked his hand back like it had touched a fire. A strange sense of reverence came over him. He had the same feelings as he had the first time he visited the graves of his mother and sister. The emotions brought back the anger that had been driving him for the last eight years. He looked at the bag ? all that was left of an American hero ? one green bag. Shameful! Where’s the justice in that? ? He thought. People like Mr. Bob and his son spend their whole lives taking advantage of everyone around them, making sure if they find someone down and out they supply an additional kick. What is their punishment? Parks, roads and buildings named in their honor!

He sat down on an old bar stool and just looked at what was left of the Barkley’s son. The reflection of the sun off a mirror broke the trance. He quickly looked at his watch. It was 2:00 p.m. He would think, would muse over and just sit around for almost two hours. Then he remembered why he was in the shed in the first place. He saw where he could put Michael’s bag and have it out of the way.

In the right corner was a nail, or more like a spike. It would be more than adequate to hold the weight. He picked up the bag and turned it around to find the latch at the top. It would be just the thing to slide over the nail. When he turned it around, he saw a very disturbing sight. The end of the bag had been up against the wall and a family of rats had made themselves at home. All that was left at the top was the latch. It looked strange with the latch securely locked with a military padlock but the latch and lock were no longer attached to the bag.

He opened the top of the bag and looked inside. Some of the contents looked damaged. What should he do? It might be too painful for Mr. and Mrs. Barkley right now. When they talked about Michael now, they seemed to have happy memories. Would looking at his things in this bag bring bad ones to the surface? Now this is a good idea.

He decided he would look through it and take out anything he thought might upset the Barkleys. He would repack it and then tell them about the rats making a hole in the top of the bag. They might not even want to look at the contents. He picked up the bag and turned it upside down and let the contents fall out. Four field rats made their escape to the weeds outside. What a brave man you are, Jim Coleman! COLE, you fool! You cannot afford to make that mistake again, he thought.

The bag appeared to have been packed by a military man. Socks, shorts, and t-shirts were rolled. Khaki shirts and pants were neatly folded. Two Khaki uniforms, five sets of socks, shorts and t-shirts, a shaving kit, a pair of shoes and one pair of boots. Two pairs of blue jeans and two short-sleeve civilian shirts were the only non-military items. Not much, but apparently, this is all a soldier needs. Under the civilian shirts, Jim found a small wooden box. When he opened it, he found badges, pins, rank insignia, tie, pen, a small rock and a pack of letters from someone by the name of Susan.

On top was a letter addressed to Susan Barkley, Blue Ridge, Georgia. The letter was not sealed. This must have been the last letter Michael had written. He opened it and began to read...

Dear Susan,

I received three letters from you today. Don’t be concerned, I looked at the date at the top of each letter to make sure I read them in order. Honey, you can’t ever know how much I miss you. I just wish I could hold you in my arms and smell your hair. I better stop this or I’ll need a cold shower! Like we have hot showers! Ha! Ha!

Sweetie, I’m so glad you took the chaplain’s advice and saw the doctor in Atlanta. Chaplain Kuhlbars told me that we have such a special relationship. He said he has seen more “Dear John” letters than he could count, and it was nice to see a couple that were truly in love. He said that most wives would never have shared with their husbands what happened to you. He thinks because there are no secrets between us that there is nothing we cannot accomplish.

Speaking of accomplishments, my platoon leader, Capt. Sam Wright, is from Atlanta. He plans to return to his job as a GA State Trooper. I have discussed Mr. Bob and Craig with him. Capt. Wright vowed they are only big fish in a very, very small pond. I told him I wanted to settle some score with them when I get home. I assured him I wanted to do it legal and all. He has promised me all the help I need. Don’t worry. I didn’t tell him what they did to you. Susan, I promise I will settle the score with them...

Major Patterson called CW2 Larson and I into his office this afternoon. I thought we were in trouble at first. The major just smiled and said to us: “Do sit down short timers”. When you get close to going home, that’s what they call you (Short). I told him I was so short I could sit on a nickel and use a dime for a footstool. He laughed and asked me how many days I had. I told him 18 and wakeup. Larson has 22 and a wakeup. He then said he had good news for us. They need a helicopter at Fire Base Nancy for the next three weeks. All we need to do each day is fly to Nancy, land and wait to fly the commander when he needs us. He laughed saying we might get six more hours of flying here in Nam. He hoped we would enjoy them.

Sweetie, it’s getting really late. I’ll close now and mail it tomorrow when I get back from Nancy. Then I will only have 17 days and a wakeup. Hey, I love you!

Yours... Michael Mouse.

He couldn’t believe it. He’d had only 17 days left to serve. He had so much left to do. Well, Michael, tell you what... Maybe I can help you settle that score, Jim thought. He repacked the bag as neatly as he could and placed the box in the middle of the bag with Michael’s civilian clothes on top. Luckily the rats had destroyed only one of the civilian shirts when creating their nest. He placed the shirt in the bag last. When he finished he looked with a little pride on how well he had repacked the bag. It looked as if it was packed years ago and with the exception of the rats, had never been touched. He placed the bag on a box in the corner. He planned to find the right time Monday morning to approach Mr. Barkley about the damage from the rats and ask what he thought should be done. He could see how the personal letters could cause a great deal of heartache; therefore, he placed them inside his shirt. He would read the letters and hopefully clear up the mystery of why she needed to see a doctor in Atlanta. He was also very curious as to why the chaplain thought they had such a special relationship. He had never had a close relationship with anyone in his entire life, so he was very skeptical that one could exist in the real world. Oh, he had read about such relationships in books and seen them in movies, but everyone knew that wasn’t the way life was, not any day of the week.

He took the letters upstairs and placed them under a loose board he had discovered while moving his bed. He picked up the chair that he had planned to move six hours before and, exhausted, he placed it in the corner of the shed. Funny, the chair looked horrible in his apartment but so comfortable in the shed. Why was that? He just had to see if it was in fact comfortable and chose his moment to sit down. He was surprised to find that it was. If he only had a little table he would be all set. Then he remembered the table in his bathroom that was just in the way (the table that had given him more than one bruise as he stepped out of the shower) he thought this might work. As he was climbing the steps to get the table, he decided it was time to find a pen and paper to start a list of things he would need for the coming mission. Of all his missions, this one seemed the most justified.