Freedom

Basic Training is much like prison. When you arrive, they take all of your personal effects and place them in a manila envelope along with your civilian clothes. My personal effects were a Sony Walkman and two cassette tapes. To Live and Die in L.A. by Wang Chung and Crush by Orchestral Manoeuvres in The Dark. It was the mid eighties and both of theses bands were very popular and I loved these tapes enough to pack them with me to Missouri and subsequently to California.
     After I finished Basic, I arrived in Monterey, California to begin my language training for my eventual job in the Army, Russian Linguist Intercept/Analyst. Up to this point I had not had very exposure to the outside world. I had never lived on my own, I had never been out Oregon.
     The first night at my new duty station was like being in a college dormitory. We were young, excited and potentially the smartest people in the Army. There were seagulls and mist filled winds from the ocean. We could hear the sea lions at the wharf in Monterey all the way up the hill. As I was sitting in my room trying to decompress after the harrowing experience of Basic Training, I put my orange eared Walkman headphones on and started the cassette of OMD. Soon, I was dancing around my room and nervous that my room-mate would return. To alleviate my nerves, I decided to walk.
    The walk started as any walk generally does, slow, measured steps down the hill into town, no real goal or direction. I remember thinking that I had no idea where I was going and that it would be a good idea to stay on the road that I had started on. It was early evening in the middle of February in Monterey, California. The weather was mild and even warm. To have come from the bitterly cold fens of Ft. Leonard Wood, Missouri and end up in this seeming college dormitory paradise was a real shock to my system. Soon I was trotting and listening to "...Rain, rain. Go away. I can't stand this one more day." Then it hit me. I was no longer the terrified subject of maniacal Drill Sergeants and a bully cohort. Once the realization set in, the warmth of the night air and the driving beat of 88 Seconds in Greensboro lit my feet up in a dead run. The air rushed past my face so hard it brought tears to my eyes. Running faster and faster, I effortlessly covered the ground between the Presidio and the beach. I ran all the way to the water. I felt light and free. The music and the night and the smell of the ocean were the greatest things I had ever seen, heard and felt. If there were some sort of soul meter that could observe and record the strength of our souls, I am sure it would shown mine exploding upward into the universe with Joy. Pure, unadulterated Joy. Every stride seemed to lift me 3 feet into the air as I got closer and closer to the Bay. All the while the album advanced, "...The Native Daughters of the Golden West!" Undeniable syncopated drum punches and desperate vocals lifted me like wings. I was eighteen and I was free for a moment. But only for a moment because the Army would own me for the next 4 years.