Silver Wings

When I graduated from high school in 1964 the United States had been sending our soldiers to fight in Vietnam for a decade. It had shaped our expectations, as we grew up with war constantly in our peripheral vision. Boys my age had to register for the draft when they turned 18. Then if they were healthy and not in school and did not have dependents, their names would be entered into the draft lottery, the winners of which would be drafted into the Army and most probably be sent to the jungles of Vietnam. Others would join another branch of the service or join the Army and volunteer for Vietnam.

When I married a soldier a year after graduation, my new husband was already in the Army and at 24, felt he should be there, in the fight, felt he wasn’t pulling his weight with tours in non-combat theaters. It wasn’t long before I found myself standing in the airport watching an airplane lift off and climb skyward with my husband somewhere on board.

There was a coldness in my chest as I tried to solidify everything about him as we had said goodbye. Would it be the last time? Would I someday be left with this as the last memory I had of him? Was this the end of our life together? Thirteen months seemed like an eternity at that time in my life. I literally could not envision a year without him. It loomed like a dark void in my mind.

I felt a tap on my shoulder and turned to see a woman several years older than me, with tears sparkling in her eyes. “It’s bad luck to watch them out of sight,” she said and turned me toward the exit. “Vietnam?” she asked. I nodded and she kept her hand on my shoulder as we walked silently toward the parking lot where we parted and went to our respective cars and lives. Military wives.