Page 52 of The Wilder Widows

Once again, I was no longer sitting at a table with the Wilder Widows. I was standing on a tarmac in Vietnam surveying the surroundings that terrified me more than I had admitted, even to myself.

“After a whirlwind trip from the States jumping from one plane to the next, I landed out in the middle of nowhere. It was surreal climbing out of the Jeep on the base, knowing it would be my home for the next few days, months, or even years. As I walked to the tent that I would call home, a few GIs were tossing around a makeshift football, and an overshot throw sent it colliding with my head. Percy ran up apologizing, and right behind him, trailed his two buddies, Manz and Stilts.”

I remembered Percy skidding to a stop in front of me, sweat beading his smooth brow. Barely twenty himself, he’d only been in-country for a few weeks, and the horrors of war hadn’t deepened the creases on his face yet.

“After they apologized, they introduced themselves and offered to buy me a drink at the club to make it up for me.”

“There were clubs in Vietnam?” Alice asked, leaning forward, perching her chin on her knuckles.

I snorted. “Well, we called it a club, but really it was a tent with warm drinks and an old jukebox with some American records. We spent a lot of time in that tent when we weren’t on shift.”

“I still can’t believe you were in Vietnam. It must have been awful.” Doris squeezed my hand a little tighter.

Shrugging, I tipped my head. “Sometimes. Sometimes not. There were plenty of times we had fun, lots of laughs, and I got to see a part of the world I never would have seen otherwise. Other times,” I paused while memories flashed through my mind like lightning, “it was hell.”

“So that’s how you met Percy, then?” Sylvie asked.

Smiling, I remembered my sweet Percy. “Yes. We met when I was first stationed, and then after I was moved elsewhere, we met again. On and off for the first year, Percy, Manz, and Stilts kept marching back into my life. I made other friends there, of course, but those three were my best. They would get sent off on assignment, and I would be left behind with the other nurses, desperate to go with them. But because I’m a woman, I had to stay behind and just pray I would see them again.”

“I can’t imagine, Marge. It must have been awful not knowing.”

Blowing out a breath, I nodded. “Torture. On any given day, you could hear the bombs going off, the gunfire exploding around us, and I would wonder if they were in it. I got in some tight situations myself, but luckily my boys had taught me how to handle a gun when we got stationed together again up in the central highlands.”

Doris’s eyes widened. “Did you have to... shoot anyone?”

“You did what you had to do to keep yourself and your patients safe, Doris.”

Realizing I didn’t feel like talking about that part of my memories, Doris clamped her mouth shut and waited for me to go on.

“So, the boys and I kept getting stationed together, and each time we got closer. During my second tour, one night, we were in a club on our base in Cu Chi, and we heard about the Running of the Bulls. Manz just thought it was the greatest thing he’d ever heard of.” I laughed, remembering his excitement when he’d put his fingers to his head like horns and chased me around the tent. “And Stilts, who we called that due to his long legs and height of six foot seven, decided he could outrun any one of those bulls with his long strides. So that night, with a little more alcohol than we should have had, we all made a pact that once the war ended, we would meet up in Pamplona and run with the bulls together.”

Chuckling to myself, I continued remembering that time in my life. “I awoke the next morning with a headache and wondering why the hell I’d agreed to run with a pack of bulls. But that day, when I saw them again, they were just as excited about the pact, and instead of backing out, I’d decided if I could survive Vietnam, I could survive some bulls. So that is how it began.”

“And you never did it?” Alice asked.

“No,” I answered, and it felt like someone sucked the wind right out of my sails. “A few months later, just one week before my tour ended and I was going to reenlist, the sirens went off. We hunkered down in the bunkers for a while, but nothing happened. But then the familiar sound of the helicopters descending on the base forced us out of hiding to treat the wounded. I hadn’t seen my boys in weeks, and I didn’t even know they were in the area until I saw them carry Percy off the helicopter in a stretcher. The sight of him slammed me to a stop. My worst nightmares came true as I saw them race past with him, blood pouring from a wound on his head. I was in a daze when Manz came past on the next stretcher, burned so bad I almost didn’t recognize him. And then Stilts.”

I stopped and closed my eyes, fighting back the tears. “He was DOA. I saw them take him the opposite way. But I knew.” I stopped and blinked, drawing in a ragged breath as the emotions overwhelmed me. “His long legs didn’t fit on the stretcher.”

“Oh, Marge. I’m so sorry.” Sylvie took my other hand and squeezed.

“It took a few moments and a sharp order from my commanding officer, but I came back to my senses and raced inside to work on them. Their platoon ended up under heavy fire. Guns, grenades, mines. It was a bloodbath. Stilts got killed, and Manz and Percy survived the attack, but the injuries were bad. Manz especially.”

“Did he make it?” Sylvie whispered, her eyes boring into mine.

“No. He didn’t.” I slipped further down the rabbit hole until I landed back at his bedside, holding his bandaged hand. “He was severely burned and only survived a few hours. I stayed by his side the entire time. He knew he wasn’t going to make it, and yet he was still telling jokes right up until the end. I penned a letter to his mother for him and promised I would see that she got it. And before he died, he made me promise I would go to the San Fermin festival and run with the bulls... and bring him with me. So, he gave me his dog tags.”

I reached under my shirt and lifted three sets of dog tags concealed beneath it.

“Percy’s. Manz’s. And these were Stilt’s.” I fingered my way through the tags I’d slid over my neck in the bathroom this morning, determined to make sure they experienced every second of this adventure we’d all been determined to share with each other.

The widows teared up along with me, but I sniffled hard and shoved the tags back down inside my shirt.

“I stayed with Manz until he died, and then returned to Percy, who I knew was doing alright. He had a nasty head wound, and his legs were badly damaged and full of shrapnel, but he would survive. However, the injuries were too severe for him to stay on, and without any family to take care of him, I decided right then and there not to sign up for another tour and to go home and take care of Percy. He proposed to me in his hospital bed a few days later, and I accepted. We flew out together a month later, and I nursed him back to health in the States. We talked about coming here often, but he had a severe limp and leg pain from his injuries. I knew he couldn’t make the run. And a few years after we got back, we decided we wanted a child, so we got pregnant and had Martha. Between his limp and the fact that we were now responsible parents, trips to Spain to run with the bulls became a long-lost dream. Our adventures and wild days were long past.”

“Why didn’t you just say so, Marge? If you had just told us why this was so important to you, we wouldn’t have griped every step of the way.”

Shaking the sadness off, I smiled at them. “What? And miss all that time listening to you complain you couldn’t run because of your bunions?” I looked at Doris. “Or your plantar fasciitis?” My gaze landed on Alice. “Or your trick hip?” I grinned at Sylvie.