The last time I saw Charlie, I was in-country and they were maddening shadows, the damn bastards, in the green and black dense jungle foliage. Hiding, ghostly and evasive. My brother soldiers and I were sweating in dry-mouthed anticipation. The Bong Son Bombers we smoked the day before was a brief vacation for our spent minds. We had some fear, some anger, and what the hell are we doing here.thoughts. We would drift dreamily with the weed But the following day in-country all I could recall is a flash of burning ungodly pain. A chopper raging, descending lower, thunderously. I was in and out of consciousness, as I was loaded onto the angry bird. Then, she was there. I remember seeing her, right before I blacked out. In the real life, Sharon in her red and black cheerleader outfit in our high school gym, just tossed up in a flight of acrobatic beauty amidst the guys' basketball game. Her long strawberry blonde hair streaming, I became blissfully lost in it. The bridge of her nose sprinkled with endearing freckles. Her happy bright brown eyes, then, a sadness, as she began to whisper to me. I awoke in a wounded soldiers' ward. I felt such a loss. With my blurry eyes I looked down the length of my body. Oh God, I was missing my lower right leg! I was heavily bandaged and woozy. I raised my head up, got a little dizzy. My next thoughts were of my brothers still in-country, some of them in-country longer than me, some Cherries. My psyche screamed, " I can't leave my war buddies!" I slept so much, and the Army nurses were friendly and compassionate. One of them had such a good sense of humor, she reminded me of the comedienne Carol Burnett. My leg bandages were changed regularly. I could swear I felt my lower leg was still there. I played checkers with a few of the other recovering soldiers. We had a camaraderie, we'd talk of our home towns, and what we left behind. We had some laughs too. The hospital meals were alright. I couldn't complain about my stay. My surgeon, a tall man graying at the temples with crisp military bearing came to see me, and he told me I was going home stateside. I was elated, but then experienced some guilt. My brothers were still in that storming chaotic earthly hell. Tears filled my eyes. The rude scent of napalm still in my nose. I took a long sip of apple juice from the styrofoam cup next to my bed. I was only nineteen but my brothers were young too. The transistor radio was playing the Cowsills song, "Flower Girl." I began to daydream of Sharon, of high school, and all of our friends again at a bonfire that chilly Homecoming night in October. All of Sharon's loving letters to me, waiting, waiting, my parents too. I'm coming home, sweet girl, I'm coming home!