Till We Meet Again

     Till We Meet Again

Suzanne Marsh

“Hey Mac, how about we take one last swim before we leave?”

“Great, come on Tom, last one in is a rotten egg!”

Tom and I emerged from the cool creek water, invigorated and happy to be alive. That sunny summer day we made a pact, that whoever passed on first would return here to the creek, where we had spent the glory days of our youth. Time went on, I lost touch with Tom. Then one sunny afternoon in August, something began to niggle at me, I supposed it was premonition of something. I was twenty-five, just finishing my internship, Vietnam was raging. I knew sooner or later I would be drafted; however, I still had my residency to go through. I knew I would not be drafted since I had a school deferment. Vietnam had been the last place I would have wanted to go. Tom had been drafted, I received a letter from him, basically informing me he was now a commissioned second lieutenant in the army. I wrote to him telling him it had actually been a long time since high school, that I was in my second year of internship at Johns Hopkin, cardiology was my career choice.

I received several more letters from Tom during the course of my internship, then suddenly the letters stopped. I was torn between calling his mom to ask if Tom was all right, then changed my mind. I thought it wiser to take a wait and see mode. I still had that niggling feeling, I simply could not shake. I finished my internship then went onto my residency in cardiology. I soon met Laura, the girl of my dreams, we married and had children.

2023

I was now near retirement, I had everything I had ever planned for. Our four sons presented us with grandchildren. I had not thought about Tom in years, I still wondered where he was, if he was even alive. I put those thoughts out of my mind. My fifty year high school reunion was coming up, I thought maybe someone knew what happened to Tom. Laura and I went, it was that I saw Renee, the girl Tom dated all through high school. She was still one of the prettiest women there, she had always been very pretty. I told Laura I wanted to go speak to her for a moment, I had to know. Laura, before I left her side asked me why. I sighed as I told her about Tom:

“Laura, Tom was my best friend in high school, we did everything together. We were like

brothers. I became a doctor, he was a second lieutenant in the Army, infantry I think.”

Laura, nodded as she turned to get another glass of punch. I saw Tony, another one of my friends I had not seen for years. Tony was shy, soft-spoken man, swarthy complexion, he had also served in Vietnam. I marveled at how we had changed since our high school days. I asked Tony, if had heard anything from Tom:

“Tom? Oh, Tom Chandler, last I heard he was MIA, if he hasn’t been found by now the

chances are really good he won’t ever be found.”

I thanked Tony for the information, making my way through the crowd to Laura. I told what Tony had said, she told me Tony was no doubt correct in his assumption. I had no idea that Tom had become a MIA, I felt terrible about not pursuing things further years ago. We left the reunion, taking the long route home. I began to think about Tom, once again. That same niggle returned, I still had no idea what connected that feeling with Tom.

Several weeks later my secretary handed me a letter, smelling of what I thought could be a mold of some sort. The envelope was blue in color, as was the letter inside. I strode into my office closing the door. I had patients waiting so I simply glanced at the writing, it was shaky, that of an older man. Whatever its contents it would have to wait until I made my rounds. It was around noon when I finally returned to my office. Once again, I picked up the letter, my hand shook as I began to read the letter:

February 1^st, 1968

Dear Mac,

If you are reading this letter, I won’t be coming home, except in a casket. I find myself in a battle near Hue, in Vietnam. I am worried we will be overrun by Charlie (NVR), if that is the

case, they will wipe out our entire platoon. We are beginning to evacuate, so I will send this off on the chopper that is here. Well Buddy, take care.

Your friend,

Tom

My hands shook, I looked at the post mark it was dated February 2, 1968, this just did not seem reasonable, the postal service is slow but this was now 2023. I had no logical explanation for the letter in my hand. I decided that I would take off the weekend and return, keeping my promise to Tom. A promise that I now intended to keep, I would go back to return to the creek. I booked a flight to Texas before I left the office. When I arrived home I showed Laura the letter, she was just as puzzled as I was, how after all these years did it finally come into my possession? I intended to get some answers, this weekend.

The plane landed at the Dallas Airport, I rented a Lexus and headed for Caddo, Texas. I had rented a small cabin on Caddo Lake. Tomorrow, I planned to rent a canoe, paddle my way through to the opposite bank of lake, then walk several miles inland until I found the creek. I smiled to myself as I strolled along the beach of Caddo Lake. I remember Tom and I met two girls there one time, their parents had rented a cabin not far from the lake. That was a great summer. I shook myself out of my reverie, it was morning. I rented the canoe, and paddle across, I had forgotten how long a hike it was to the damn creek, by the time I got there my knees hurt, my feet hurt but I finally made it to the creek.

The closer I got to the creek, the more something began to niggle at me again. I looked up from the ground, a habit I developed during rattlesnake season, there near the edge of the stony creek bed, a old man sat slumped in a wheelchair. I did not want to disturb him so I began to quietly walk by. A shaky voice called: “Mac, Mac is that you?” My blood ran cold, as I strode toward the old man. I wasn’t sure what to think, Caddo Swamps have all sorts of strange stories, but this was impossible. My mind kept telling me Tom was dead but a small voice inside of me told me this was Tom. He twisted himself to look up at me. That moment I saw not an old man in a wheelchair, but Tom my best friend.

It is strange to think that he had been a MIA for so many years, when he finally returned after all those years in Vietnam prison camps, he was ill:

“Mac, it is good to see you. I knew you would come if I sent that letter, it was returned to me

a few months ago, by the chopper pilot I handed it to. I am finally home.