Day LXVI

Grounded

     The guard sent a report back to our CO, our commanding officer. It listed me as the owner of one fifth of rum, which was a lie, since the bottle was half empty, and that I tried to smuggle it into the country. He was pissed, as he always was when ever he got news that one of his men screwed up. He passed the problem to the captain who called me into his office.

     “A bottle of rum, what the hell did you do that for?”

     “Captain sir, it was an oversight, we…I forgot it was in the trunk, sir.”

     “My hands are tied airman, the Colonel is pissed, and I gotta punish ya!”

     “Yes sir!”

    Neither Angel nor Juan ever said a word. He put me on report, and my ass was grounded for two months. I couldn’t go into town.

    Before the pool table was brought over to the barracks, to our day room, our recreation room, our pool room was a long way from us. Maybe they wanted to discourage us from going there. I don’t know. But it was across a huge field of tall grass. A worn, long, narrow path, right in the middle of it, led to the day room’s front door. After sundown it was scary going there by yourself, and you needed a flash light. I remember them suckers had a red plastic rim, so you could see them from far away in the dark. Everybody had one.

     We used to tell new guys:

     “Hey man, when ya goes da, be coiful ada grass snakes, they be poisonous. Don’t be smoking neida, cuz they hates smoke, it kinna wattles em, an fo heavens sakes, don’t go da by yaself, neida. Ya na, in case ya gits bitted.”