Thanks to Seychelle for the inspiration and encouragement, and to Roger, Kathy, Diana and Mel for their support.
The beer was ice cold, the bar was flaming red hot and the Five Amigos were enjoying graduation night, coming down from our Navy SEAL/s-induced high.
We had made it, evolving from wide eye and bushy tailed kids into well trained, unbelievably mentally and physically toned men. All in a matter of brain-draining, physically demanding, months.
It's funny, but looking around at my friend's faces at O'Leary's Tavern there weren't a lot of smiles, just looks of satisfaction. We had beaten the odds, battled formidable obstacles, attained a high level of confidence and BUD/s --- Basic Underwater Demolition/SEAL graduates.
Mike was joshing Tony about week one in the First Phase when he almost washed out before getting wet between the ears. A late night pep talk and kick in the ass got him back in the game before the instructors did what they do so well --- torture, humiliate, challenge and destroy ---- those without the guts to make it happen. Hey, many are called and very few are chosen in this journey of a lifetime.
Somehow we made it. Tonight we celebrated. Tomorrow, well, who knows what evil will be lurking.
Mike, Tony, Chas, Stephan (that's Steph-Ann, not Stephen or Steven) and I were just some of the winners, but on this night we weren't gloating. I think it was a little bit of a comedown actually, for the first time in months we actually were totally in control of our destiny. We had accomplished something few do, and now it was like a bunch of slow inhales and huge, hearty exhales of exhilaration.
"Know what's amazing Chas?" asked Tony, his voice booming above the rubble of the hip hop.
Chas sorta shook his head as if to ask:" What?"
Tony smiled, waited for a break in the music, and spoke about our making the grade and not getting dusted. "It's the Hotel Coronado. That's amazing. Here we are, running on the beach and up ahead the rich people are savoring her beauty. Eating fine food. Sleeping on satin sheets. And there we were putting our bodies through pain I dare most people couldn't even dream of. Every time we were out there, from tadpoles to seasoned growlers, that damn Hotel would be smirking at us.
"Tonight, I spit on her," he added, laughing. "But I also admire her. She's withstood the sands of time, and we will too. Here's to all of you."
"Here, here!"
We settled in for the evening, watching the dancers dance, the flirters flirt and the zigs zag. If you've never been a people watcher in a bar, you should, especially one old school one like O'Leary's. It's not pretty, but it's home to scores of people out for a good time. And hey, the fries aren't bad either, cooked in peanut oil to perfection.
Talking about our time at BUD/s we raked the trainers, laughed at how some officers were reduced to rubble before washing out, and how The Old Man --- our Commanding Officer --- always had a scowl on his face as if looking at us in dismay. That man just had a nasty look to him that we all learned to hate.
We were there for R&R, knowing full well that in a few days we'd have orders to head out to jump school, sniper school or learning another needed talent. But on this night we were merely exhaling months of torture.
Along the way I spotted an oasis, a blonde-haired striking girl dressed in a blue cami and black skirt that ended just short of her knees. What struck me was that she didn't look the part of a bar girl, a woman on the prowl searching for her latest conquest. No, she was a woman on a different kind of mission. I couldn't place a finger on it, but she was up to something. She glanced around the room, almost as if a long-lost friend would come into view while she nursed a boat drink of some sort.
On numerous occasions guys would stop at her table, saying something which I surmised centered around asking her to dance, offering to buy her a drink or maybe even asking if they knew her from somewhere. She was steadfast in her reply. A deep smile, a shake of her head, and a firm "No Thank You."
Who knows, maybe it wasn't a guy lost friend she was searching for but a girl? Hey we are in the 21st century.
Stephan spotted a pair of girls in the corner, stalked them, did his country boy act and soon Rachel and Marie were sitting at our table. The two were cute, but lacked some brain matter. Still, for five guys who had been out of the man and woman game for months they would do.
We talked, joked, and drank, maybe not in that order.
Near midnight I visited the head, grabbed a breath of fresh air in the back, and then sauntered inside. Turning the corner to my table I spotted the long-lost friend looking girl sort of swaying in her seat to the beat, still without a partner.
I had to ask. "Hi, I'm Rob, and I just have to ask you something."
There was a callous blank stare thrown my way.
"Look, I'm not a perve, but I did notice you've been over here all night by yourself. I'm over there with my friends," I said, shrugging my shoulders at the table. "Feel free to join us...we don't bite."
Smiling at bravery I never had before SEAL/s training, I walked back to our table, totally failing at getting her name, rank or cereal favorite.
A bit later I looked over and she was gone, thinking to myself what a waste that was. Still, her eyes were etched a sketched into my brain cells, a sort of smiling eyes you just can't forget. There had been something about her, something in an odd sort of way. She wasn't someone I had known or met before, still something about her which was familiar.
The table banter was not centering on bad jokes, some so unfunny that they were hilarious as the drinks were taking over our minds. Our two new found friends, Rachel and Marie, had somehow escaped our lure, and our jokes got raunchier and raunchier.
"So there were these two hobos, see, and the one was digging through a trash can and found this purse. It had a wallet in it, and he didn't know what to do. On one hand, there was cash, but on the other, he remembered the time his mother lost her purse. Somehow that memory got the better of him and he called a number from the wallet. It was the lady who lost the purse.
