I forget her name and I never knew theirs.
Mrs. Brasswell. Her first name might have been Lucille. She was definitely southern born and thought she was a lady or at least expected us to think that.
The Hawaiian guy above and below one of the cooks from the mess hall here. He always treated me nice. I thought he was cute but that was it. What was really nice is when we were all, or at least a bunch of us, going home on the trains for Christmas. We had to wait a long time for the trains but we had to go out there early because finding a cab at that time of the holidays was always hard. A bunch of us would share one when ever we could.
This guy came out there that night with a huge tray of gigantic chocolate chip cookies for any of us that wanted them. We'd already been waiting a long time in a cold station with not much for snacking that didn't come out of a vending machine. He brought a tray of sandwiches, too.
I had another friend who came to the the station to see me off. I don't have a photo of him but his name was Brendan. He was townie, not a soldier and I met him also at the USO. He liked me. I liked him, but only as a friend. He always had a sad look in his eyes but we were friends only. He never indicated anything else.
When I was getting on the train he gave me a friendly hug and put something in my hand. It was a Christmas card. I didn't get cards for anyone. I'd just never thought of it. It was not special other than the fact that he had thought of it when I hadn't. I never saw him again either. If he was there when I went back, I just never ran into him.
We must have looked a strange site there. I say this because I was carrying a big axe I had bought for my dad for Christmas. It was a lumberjacks axe. I thought he would love it.
I really loved these train trips. I could stretch out and walk around when ever I wanted to move about. I don't know why but I felt safe on there. I was given a pillow and had to share my seat with a guy for the first part but the rest of the trip I was on my own and I loved it.
I'm starting to see a pattern here I never saw before. It would seem I never believed a guy who said he loved me. I guess I figured if I didn't feel what it implied in all those Harlequins then I couldn't love someone. I don't mean I didn't love them. I meant I couldn't.
Maybe I thought I was unlovable but I think its more that I thought I was not capable of loving someone. I do know now that I can love someone but back then I didn't. Maybe I just thought if they knew who I really was they would know that I was unlovable and there fore I was saving us all a lot of heartache by keeping myself to myself.
I wrote poems about most of these guys.
