Untitled - ScholarWorks Home - California State University, Northridge
Untitled - ScholarWorks Home - California State University, Northridge
Untitled - ScholarWorks Home - California State University, Northridge
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*<br />
There are no secrets on any Air Force base, and, even when there are,<br />
there are no secrets in the Communications Squadron. The Comm Squadron<br />
processes all incoming and outgoing messages for every unit on the base, and in<br />
the days before email this meant that whenever anything happened someone in<br />
the Comm Squadron knew about it. Which is how I knew, even before anyone<br />
in the Services Squadron, that Jeremy was facing a court martial on charges of<br />
homosexuality.<br />
Of course he did not get the court martial, but he was taken into cus<br />
tody, and he did get an Article 15. An Article 15 is what they give you after they<br />
threaten you with a court martial. The difference is that an Article 15 is adminis<br />
trative, there is no trial, there is no federal conviction, and they can have you off<br />
the base and on a plane back to the civilian world in less than a week. They had<br />
him off the island so fast he did not have time to say goodbye to anybody.<br />
Anybody but me that is. We had time for one last night in the town of Comiso<br />
before we said goodbye forever.<br />
*<br />
The sound of the Iron Curtain falling all across Europe woke me that<br />
morning, and the clang of metal crashing to the ground echoed loudly in my<br />
ears as I looked around and tried to remember. I was in a field behind a low<br />
stone wall, and I knew exactly where I was, but not how I got there. I raised my<br />
head from the dust and opened my eyes as wide as I dared, but I already knew<br />
that Jeremy was gone. Gone. Off the island. Back to the real world. Beneath my<br />
body the box of take-out was smashed flat and the leftover calzones were<br />
squashed beyond all recognition. The bottles at my feet were empty, but when I<br />
turned my head I could see a full bottle leaning against the wall.<br />
The label on the bottle read "Bianco" but the wine inside was red, and<br />
on the outside Jeremy had written "capelli del cane" (as if I could read Italian). I<br />
dragged myself to a sitting position against the wall made from stone, brushed<br />
the ants off the calzones, and opened the bottle of Vino Locale. I wasn't worried<br />
about Jeremy. He would not miss the bus to the Navy base at Sigonella, or his<br />
flight out. Jeremy was never late. He was always where he was supposed to be<br />
when he was supposed to be. Always.<br />
I looked around and could see bits and pieces of concrete littering the<br />
ground and the events of the previous evening started to flood back into my<br />
mind.<br />
The Lancia was in the shop again, so we hitched a ride downtown<br />
120