GORDON’S HOMECOMING

The white two-story Craftsman style house was built for the Vincent’s to share into their retirement years. The addition of a private bungalow was constructed in 1968 for their sixteen-year-old son, Robert Gordon (Gordo). 

The home had been a focal point of family togetherness and unconditional love for twelve years. The Vincent’s had been married for over three decades and raised two children. Their daughter had moved out after college and worked as a television producer on the nightly news, Huntley-Brinkley Report. Gordo felt a calling and joined the Marines after high school. 

Sara would spend countless moments in the bungalow doing mom stuff in anticipation of her son returning from Vietnam. Gordo had been gone for almost a year and was scheduled to return home in a few weeks. Her heart ached for his safe return. She planted the spring flowers and installed a blue awning to celebrate his arrival. 

But today, glancing out the bungalow window, she saw a dark government sedan rolling into her driveway. Sara’s body began to convulse. Her shaking hands would not stop. A man in a dark suit with a white clerical collar exited the passenger side. Walking in back of the government sedan was a Marine Officer, in his dress blue uniform, painstakingly maneuvering toward the house.  

Sara made the sign of the cross, almost fell, regained her strength, and opened the bungalow door to greet the intruders. The two gentlemen turned toward the bungalow and lumbered up the red brick walkway. They were there with notification that her that son would be coming home in a flag-draped coffin. Father Jacobs consoled the tearing mother and began to tell the story of her son’s agonizing demise.  

Charlie owned the night, and for Marines, nights in the bush were as black as Cocoa Cola. Everyone experienced an elevated vulnerability. With the uncertainty, and fear of the known-unknown, the stress would be oppressive. But one evening seemed darker than most. For Gordo, it became an insufferable challenge. 

Lance Corporal Robert Gordon Vincent, a squared-away Marine, reliable and combat tested. His attitude was constructive, an asset to the platoon. That’s why this evening’s installment of Battlefield Acrimony brought everyone to their knees. 

Each Marine felt the pressure in different ways. Each warrior would find their own coping mechanism. Gordo decided to handle it with his own baneful device.  

No one noticed his change of attitude and vacant expression. Gordo’s casual demeanor began to change, focusing on the upcoming Marines withdrawal from Vietnam. He ended every soliloquy with a whisper, “I don’t want to be the last Marine to die.” 

He couldn’t tame the spasms. He needed an off-ramp from the abyss he was descending into. On a rainy, cold evening in the Que Son Mountains, Gordo Vincent’s demon took control of his decision-making. 

He stumbled into his fighting hole and pulled a plastic bag filled with white powder from his rucksack. After a few deep breaths, he galvanized what was left of his outer life to complete the intended task swelling up from his inner life. His existence had devolved into an abnormal process that challenged his cognitive ability for rational persuasion. His life’s spiritual formation was rendered mute. His puerile catechism offered no compromise. 

He took the powder from the bag, spilling some of the skag on the ground, quietly smirking, “It don’t mean nothing’.” He inserted the remaining powder into his nose. A heavy snort began an intoxicating journey to the final pacification of the beast. 

He scribbled a note to his parents to explain why. He asked them not to be angry. He was sorry for the pain he knew his actions would cause. He leaned back on a sandbag, pulled his poncho over his head, closed his eyes, breathed one last shallow breath, then quietly resigned. The following morning, the Marine was found in his rain-soaked fighting hole, face down, life having passed from his broken, fragile body. 

Gordo was packaged into a body bag and dropped next to the LZ. A routine medevac helicopter was called to retrieve the canvas coffin. The helo had a three-hour ETA. 

Once the medevac helicopter landed, two pallbearers precipitately loaded the body bag into the rotary hearse. The platoon sergeant whispered a prayer as the helicopter lifted. Lance Corporal Robert Gordon Vincent, USMC, unceremoniously began his journey back to his old house with an attached bungalow.