Never Goin' Back to My Old School

On my recent trip to Denver Colorado my boyfriend's parents took me round to see the remains of Lowry AFB. It had been nearly 18 years since I had arrived at that base fresh from boot camp in San Antonio. As we drove around the familiar yet vastly changed grounds I began to fear that I wouldn't recognize my old dorm facilty or my old school. But suddenly it slid into view. OMG! What a strange feeling overcame me as I studied it's dilapitaded and deserted appearance. While some of the buildings on the base had been restored as part of a community college campus, my old dorm looked deserted. Battered blinds still hung in the window of my old dorm room, refusing to allow me a peek inside although I am sure not much has changed. Hard wax-polished industrial linoleum tiled floor, cinderbrick walls thick and glossy white with dozens of coats of paint over the years, flourescent light fixtures mounted in brittle plastic trays.

What I searched for desperately, with my useless for the task, physical eyes was a shade of Michele. Was there some perhaps almost imperceptable hint of myself left there among the untended grass where I had played football with chums, on the cement patio where I had met daily in the cold, black, snow-scented mornings for roll call, or maybe just a lingering pink glow in the glass foyer where I had a first kiss with a young marine named Joe.

I had a swelling in my soul that made me want to burst into tears and for what reason I didn't know why. I of course did not burst into tears as I had an audience. But the feeling was strange to me in that I could not identify the motive. So I tucked it away to dissect later. I still have yet to sort it out. Sadness at a time past and gone forever? Sorrow over the loss of my youth? Compassion for the young girl who had no idea what she was doing? Joy at the obvious indication of my part in the system of birth, growth, decline and death?

I think I will have to sort it all out with a slew of martinis and a friend who is true enought to get drunk and weepy-emotional with me and hold no recrimination (or embarassing recollection) of the "session" upon the following morn.