ORCHIDS FOR THE MEKONG DELTA copyright by Michael Forbus The Fight by Miguel Forbus The last night Michael was whole in front of Cherie he got into an argument with his young girlfriend. They were getting ready for the prom and he had a little too much bourbon with his dad. Pop gave him the Caddilac for the night and rich ass that he was, he let the police know hands off the Caddy. So we had more then one tumbler of Maker's Mark. We were talking about my enlisting and the war in Nam. He was a retired Master Sargeant from the paratroopers, and a hero of the 101st Airborne. He had a chest full of medals and was a warmonger. I was drafted. Had a bad time in college where I met Cherie. We had argued because she had a dream that I had a bad time in Nam. I tried to talk her out of the dream but she was crying and arguing about my going in the morning. I finally loaded up in the Coupe de Ville and sped out. I kept up on the jug of Makers I had and by dawn's early light I was leaning over the steering wheel over the bank of the bayou, jug in one hand and Orchid in the other. My head hurt like bombs going off and I was dry and sad. I dropped the Caddy off and without saying goodbye, I got to walking to town. Got a truck ride and barely spoke a word to the farmer up the road. Nice to get a ride. When I got to the bus to take me to Camp Pendleton, I was coming around. Still stinking though. Short version, I placed first in my platoon in sharpshooting, I was always shooting as a kid with my dogs, and first in my platoon for damn near everything. Since I didn't go to officer's school, they moved me up to the highest NCO they could and quick. Then they shipped me off to the Mekong to shoot the yellow man who wasn't looking. I still had a heart of hate and didn't mind taking a bunch of Cong out. I couldn't even feel it in my soul. A part of me died each time I shot, cause I didn't miss. One day, I lit a smoke and didn't see the wire in front of me. I was thinking about Prom Night. Lost both my legs to the thighs and stayed in the swamp for 2 days dying. They finally found me and against my wishes they saved me from deaths jaws. Sent me home and I been laying in the guest house with a nurse washing my behind ever since. Today I pulled out a book by Pablo Neruda and inside the book was the dry orchid for Ma Cherie. I cried for myself and her. She couldn't bring herself to see me like I was. Pretty damn morose. I took my .45 down and broke it down and oiled it, wiped it and did it in record time and tasted the barrel again, as I did everyday. Today I got as close to it as I could, but the Orchid saved me. I saw some degree of courage in the dry and old flower with its lovely lavender ribbon. I still clean my pistol everyday as a soldier should but I no longer try and eat the barrel. copyright by Michael Forbus