[at-l] Jan Part One

[kahley@ptd.net (kahley)]

Hiya Folks,
Jan has Ok'ed posting her Journal to the list.  You can reach her directly
at liteshoe@pocketmail.com but keep it brief cause her mobile unit is a
little limited.
Enjoy!

Well, we made it safely, but at cost.
"I feel like got drunk last night," said Clyde.
}
I know what you mean, buddy. I'm kind of shaky myself.

It's 8am, and we drove straight thru the night, having left Southern Pines
at 2:30 pm yesterday. Clyde took the graveyard shift from 12-3, otherwise I
drove. I did manage to doze a little during my time off. It wasn't quality
sleep but it beat a poke in the eye with a sharp stick.

We're hunched over our coffees now in the Moonlight diner. We're so looking
forward to meeting up with Susan and Art, but only our bodies will show up.
Our personalities are non-existent.

We took a wrong turn in Washington DC. I was trying to help Clyde get a
better shot of the Jefferson Memorial - he'd never been to DC, when
suddenly we were of the interstate and on the mall.

It was right after sunset, and Clyde mentioned wistfully he would like to
se The Wall one day. I knew generally where it was, but had never been
either. No time like the present.

Clyde, who also served, lost a brother Darryl in the Vietnam war. We parked
on Constitution Ave. Clyde practically jogged the few blocks of parkway to
the wall. It was twilight now, a pink skim hovering in the west, a lovely
coolness settling after the day's brutal heat.

There it was, polished granite, starting small and growing to well past
head height, stretching out for a vast distance, completely covered with
tiny,engraved names. There were many small flags, and flowers at the base.
One 15-year boy was rubbing a name with a paper and charcoal, to make an
impression. Another woman passed, talking to four lanky teen-agers: "He was
six feet tall, born in '49 and loved to fly-fish." It was very hard, in
this reverent, hushed place, filled with quiet people in the dusk, to
remain unmoved.

Clyde looked his brother up in the directory - 22W, line 39.  He turned on
his heel, and began walking very fast back the way we came. I let him
proceed, unwilling to take his discovery away.He found the panel, then, a
little higher than head height, the name: Darryl G. Francisco. He was my
half-brother," Clyde explained. "He was buried on his 19th birthday."

We walked back, slower now, my normally talkative partner quiet now. I
moved off the pavement to walk on the grass, and Clyde did not follow,
needing the space, walking a little ahead. I left him be with his thoughts.
we didn't talk until we had ben in the car awhile and needed to ask an
Indian cabbie how to return to the interstate.

Time to Tucker Clyde's pack and meet our partners Susan and Art. coffee, OJ
and a monstrous corned beef hash have restored some semblance of humanity.
Aug 1 - Thurs