Love in the Backseat

Sketches From the Book - "Romances of a Midwinter Soldier"

Augsburg. Germany

1) Love in the Backseat
(Chris Steward's Sandwiches) (9-1970)
At the 1/36th Artillery

Boot camp was boot camp, and I was for the most part, a midwinter soldier, in that I was, or it was midwinter when I ended up in book camp and that is in itself another story, under the heading of the Novelette, "A Midwinter Soldier."

While in boot camp, we marched in the rain, and in the light snows of North Carolina, Fort Bragg, it was the winter of 1969 when it was all completed, and I'd head on to Alabama for my advance training. I had met a girl at the EM-Club, on the base at Fort Bragg, a German girl, but everyone was after her, and I was drinking in a location new recruits were not suppose to drink, so I said my hellos as much as I could when I drank at the club, got my eyes full of her, and kept my distance, I preferred to drink, than to have a short relationship with her, and had I fooled around with her, I'm sure the other crowed-those soldiers who were stationed at Fort Bragg on a permanent bases, the ones that stood sullenly around her hoping to amuse her enough to take her to bed, would inform the captain of my company that I was not allowed there, and thus, cause me trouble, and at the same time reduce the completion.

At the end of book camp, we had a beer bash, at Fort Bragg, and a lot of memories to bring home, the trials and tribulations of the Mess Hall, and peeling those potatoes on KP, and running around that three-mile field, like horses, with rubber hoofs, and the fighting Irish in me with my fellow soldiers, and my confrontation with the Captain of our company over my attitude and behavior, my drinking and madness, my low opinion of the drill sergeants. And on and on (another story in itself): but I made it anyhow, which I was doubtful a few times if I would. Not because I felt the Army was too rough, or too disciplined, or two physical, but it was simply just too disrespectful, and I had a hard time adjusting to that and nothing else, and I rebelled, and somewhere along the line, came to an understanding, I'd have to be jammed solid in the Army, and march halfway with it, or run to Canada, like a lost camel, and sleep on someone else couch I suppose, hiding, and looking in mirrors, so I changed my reasoning and perhaps the Captain gave me a better understanding on the matter, and yes I became in time a good soldier, or if not good a well balanced, holding no grudges soldier.

In Advance Training, at Redstone Arsenal, Alabama, by Huntsville, I had met two girls there also, but again, the training took too many hours away from my daily thirst for girls, you couldn't really have both: good training and an Alabama relationship. And I didn't want to look for hookers.
But the two girls, me and my friend, an Indian, who would reunite with me in Vietnam, walked through the park with the girls, had some chants, and that was that; and onto my next duty station I went, in six weeks.

Augsburg, Germany, the 1/36 Artillery; this would be my home base for ten-months. And I was fascinated with it, with Germany per se, its culture, traditions, foods, likes and dislikes, its history, its maps, and of course its beer, which was stronger than the American caned beer.

Chris Steward, a German-Jew, started coming over to see me on guard duty often, I had met her in a dance hall, and she had called me over to her side one evening, about two months after I arrived in Augsburg, she was quite wealthy, and a manager of a Pizzeria. Had a new sports car, and took a liking to me. She was conceivably a few inches shorter than I, but not more than that, thin, and simply cups for breasts, but a pretty German girl-all in all, and intelligent in many ways. And she was like that Sharon girl, in that she loved sex, and when we had it, she came through, or we came through, like two logs grinding against one another. She was as hardy with her business lifestyle as well.

I don't want to cut down any old lovers, but the Shadow, a woman I dated prior to Chris, was in comparison, quite clumsy, crude and elemental, in that area.

With Chris, I always assumed this is what was happening: business, sex and buried in the sand with her daughter, Carmen. She was strict with her ten year old, and took no liking for me to give advice in her rearing methods, which could be harsh at times.

I had told her once during a bowling session, with her and her daughter, told her not to slap her in the face, when I was around,

"Don't talk that way to me," she inquisitively and angrily replied, "Carmen did wrong (and she did)..." she had told her daughter to go wash it off, the ice-cream, she had spilt on her hands, I had bought her some without Chris' permission, and Carmen was not suppose to accept the gift, which I didn't know. The child was not happy, and got a little moody with her, and Chris's response was (just before the slap) "Don't get huffy with me, Carmon, just because Dennis is here, it doesn't mean the rules are different (then 'slap...!')"

But that was just one occasion; she was all right normally, because a few minutes later she asked,

"Was anything the matter?" looking at me, and I said-looking at her and over to her daughter, and back to her, "No," I said, trying not to remember the argument, and slap, and her temper, which was for the most part, not, more often than not, out of control.

Chris came over this one evening, I was at the gate, a Security Guard at Reese Military Base: she pulled up across the street, parked her car, it was a no parking zone; but I was used to her doing things like that, so it was not out of the ordinary.

She came over to see me in my little corner hut, by the gate, where I waved in cars, checked out identifications, and checked out motor vehicles for violations, such as contraband and so forth. She was silent sort of, as if she was thinking. I was sitting inside the little hut, my joystick, on my lap, you know those sticks you are given as police officers to wound your assailants with, in case of need.

Anyhow, there she was, looking at me through the open window space,
"Dear, I don't think I have much time, but here is a sandwich, I want to talk to you, its ham and eggs, I know you like them."

"Can we talk later," I almost begged her, knowing she could be insist especially at times when told her 'no'.

"No." she had said, handing over the sandwich, "We can go in my car and sit and talk."

I thought about her 'no,' and if anything gets to me, is disrespect, and I said harshly, "Are you going to argue with me or leave, I got work to do!"

She started to cry, then I figured it must be serious, I had never seen her cry before (likened to my mother who I only saw once cry, and that was when I defied the judge, and told him to put me in jail for underage drinking, I wanted to be like my brother, and he did just that, but instead of jail, he put me into pre-trial, detention home for two weeks, and at the end of one, he visited me, and I told him, in so many words, I had enough of jail, and crime, and he smiled, and I was out in another week.) So, I felt, this must be serious, and accordingly I said, "Can't you explain it here, right here while I eat?"

"Sorry, but I can't" she said wiping her tears on her beautiful mink coat.

"It's all right," I said, "I'll wake up Jim; he'll take over for me for a while."

And I did just that, and we went to her car, in the wee hours of the morning, and she talked, and I listened. She had lost $50,000-dollars, when the Mark went up, and the dollar went down (when I arrived in Germany, the Mark was 3.5 to a dollar, and now it had hit a low, the dollar that is.)

It was a frightfully chilly morning, and after Chris told me her troubles, she got into the backseat, and said,

"Ok, I want to make love."

I thought about it, it would be jamming two bodies into a Mustang, and that was hard to do. Jim motioned to me, there was a police car parked a block away, parked, waiting for American soldiers I suppose to be drunk racing down the street, coming back from a late night at one of the clubs.
In any case, I jammed an absolute tired body into her backseat, and we lay there in perfect harmony, until the action started, and it seemed like I was hitting barricades along side my hips, head, everyplace, worried half the time, those police officers would come and check us out, but Chris could care less.

She tried to get over me, and I her, and somehow we worked it out, and what were obstacles at one time, were now gone-or at least forgotten for the meantime, and at the end of the getting together, the gradually getting used to reality again fluttering on the peak of trying, with two aching bodies, we both fell back, and laughed, and I went back to work, and she, I thing, went back home.

See Dennis' web site: http://dennissiluk.tripod.com