Two and a half years later, a soldier drove down the empty dirt road alongside the river in an old, familiar pickup truck. It had been cold for days, and the wind had just started whipping around earlier that morning. Now, as he drove alongside the river, the snow was just starting to fall, in bursts of snow squalls. 

Suddenly, he spotted the large boulder in the middle of the river. He pulled into the open space surrounded by bare trees and climbed out of the pickup. He limped to the water’s edge and tested the ice. The cold snap had been going on since he arrived back, so he was confident the ice was thick enough to hold him, but with moving water, you just never know.

He wasn't used to the cold weather, but was grateful for it nevertheless. It was his constant assurance that he was out of the jungle, for good. Slowly, he made his way onto the ice, sliding his gimpy foot along the surface, and pushing off with his good leg. The ice creaked underneath his weight, but did not crack, and he made it to the boulder with ease. 

He ran his gloved hand over the surface of the boulder, seeing the many initials carved into the stone. As he made his way around the large rock, he thought about all the other people who had special memories of this spot, even though he was convinced that none of them could possibly match his. 

He vividly recalled a naked, wet goddess, laying in the moonlight on this very boulder, as he drove his tongue into her even wetter pussy, in the middle of an endless summer. He remembered sitting here while this dripping-wet nymph worshiped his tool with her mouth, the very vision of happiness. He reminisced how they made love in this very river, their bodies moving together, fully embedded in each other, completely surrounded by water, itself constantly moving. They made love; REAL love, the way the poets described how love should be. These memories kept him alive during many hopeless nights in the jungles of the central highlands of Vietnam.

Suddenly, Lenny stepped back onto the ice, gasping aloud. He couldn’t believe what he was seeing. 

Painted on the stone, faded but still quite visible, were the words “Sally & Lenny”.  Intertwined around the names, the artist painted a long yellow ribbon, with a bow beneath the words “For All Time”.

Lenny now knew he had to find her, whatever the cost.

*****

This would not be easy.

He had been warned about how hard coming home would be, especially under his ‘special’ circumstances. The War itself wore on as wars tend to do. It was a romantic notion that wars ended once something decisive happened, but the truth was, only war movies ended like that. Homecoming was supposed to be that decisive ending. 

Still, he was disappointed when no one met him at the train station. He took a cab to the house he grew up in, but before he even walked up the steps, he knew his home was gone.

His mother gushed, and cried, hugging and kissing her 'baby' over and over, and was then pretty much useless after that. She tried, he'll give her that, but after the second broken plate, he pretty much gave up on the home-cooked meal he was looking forward to.

At least, she gave an effort. His father never even rose from his recliner, but complained the whole time he was there. 'Another mouth to feed' was a common theme, with the word 'freeloader' mixed in. 

His little sister didn't even recognize him, treating him like an unwelcome guest in the house he grew up in. She had taken over his room the day he left, but never quite finished moving her stuff out of her old room, so it was as if she had two bedrooms in the end.

It didn't matter. He didn't come there out of any other motivation than obligation to his mother, so that she would see him with her own eyes. He had something of much higher value to claim. Without asking for permission, he took the keys to the pickup truck, and his unpacked duffle bag, and walked out. The truck struggled with starting and then strived to remain running. He backed out of the driveway, restarted after another stall, then drove away. 

He turned the corner into what should have been a familiar neighborhood, which looked foreign to him now. The house he sought, and several surrounding it, were no longer there; replaced by a cheerless nondescript apartment building, which already looked much older than it really was.

“Okay,” he said to himself. “This could be a challenge.” 

[to be continued]