On Borrowed Time, Part Eight; London and Home

Being the veteran, I advised Calvin that the only thing in London for a couple of 22-year-old boys was to hang out at Piccadilly. So we got us a room in a cheap hotel and took the tube to Piccadilly.

“You are going to have to find somewhere else to go, I plan to bring someone back here for the night.” Calvin advised me.

My instant reaction was to close down and withdraw. I had been cut out of the action more than once in the past and I was no stranger to it. My idea was that if we had found a couple of chicks, birds they call them in London, we would come back to our hotel with them together.

I knew better, I felt bad that he was treating me this way but I know the English better than he does.

“You are wrong if you think you will get anybody to come home with you tonight.” I countered.

“What makes you think I can’t get laid?” He continued, with distain in his voice.

I knew Calvin had already made it with one of the WACs back at Bitburg. Not too many of us had, I never did, the pool to pick from was extremely limited. I had a roommate who picked his women from base housing, the married women that is.

Calvin told me the WAC he had dated was strange in an earlier conversation. I knew the girl he was talking about back then, you see there were a grand total of 30 women stationed at Bitburg, in the enlisted quarters that is, everyone knew all of the girls there by reputation. And knowing the girl he had dated, I thought Calvin was a little weird anyway, just because he had gone out with her in the first place.

“We are in London.” I knew I had him, “You will have to be properly introduced.”

I just make an enemy. Was it my negative vibes, my forthright attitude, or was I just right? We spent most of the evening hanging out in Piccadilly and we rode the Underground back to the cheap hotel together.

It was the low spot of our trip. Calvin couldn’t get laid. I lost my friend.

Bummer.

The somber feelings continued all the way back home.

We almost ran out of gas in Belgium, it being the middle of the night, nothing was open. Our planning to make it back was difficult. We did stop in a gas station that was closed and drained an already empty hose into Steven’s gas tank.

Calvin became nervous as we got near the German border. He kept asking if I had gone on the reserve yet. The early motorcycles had a tank valve that selected reserve, an extra half gallon to get you to a gas station when you ran out of gas.

I felt nasty. I told him we were on reserve, but we had not gotten that low yet.

I know he knew I was lying, the numbers just didn’t add up. He kept on me about how did we make it without gas. He never did drop it.

I hate it when I lose a friend.

It always makes me feel like I am all alone in the world.

Why can’t we just have a good time?

Looking back, I think it was the women. Would I have had those problems if we had hooked up that night in London?

Destiny is a funny thing.

What do you believe in?

I believe that regret is painful. What if I didn’t lie to Calvin about the gas? Or what if I didn’t tell him that he couldn’t get laid in London? Regret tells me that everything would have been different. But what really would have happened? Would the outcome really have been different?

I kept my friends throughout my stay in Germany. I still talk to Billy Dexter and Don Mack. But I‘ve lost track of all the others. I tried to contact a few of them. Mostly I get no answer and no call back after I leave a message.

I even went to a Bitburg reunion a few years ago in Branson with my wife Norma. We had a good time but the people were not the ones I had such a good time with back then.

Yes I regret not keeping up with the old gang. I can’t even remember a lot of their names. But it’s too late now.

And that’s why I am writing this. I am opening up my soul to get all this down and in print. I want the world to learn from my mistakes. I hope I can pass this one thought on to at least one person out there.

We are all on borrowed time. None of it belongs to us in the long run. We just move on. But what we leave behind is what matters the most. When I am old and sucking my gums in front of the fireplace I want to feel good about what I have left behind. I value my friends the most but it is expectations that ruin friendships.

I once told a friend when he asked me why I hung around after I saw him do something wrong to someone else, a mutual friend. I told him that friends are those who like you even after they know your faults.

And what about family?

I see them as the friends you don’t get to pick.

Live well, love all, and hang in there when it doesn’t work out.

I will be back with another story soon, from Germany but on a higher note.

I promise.