"Everyone's talking about the TBI guys" he says sadly, "but no one remembers us that over indulge". We started walking over for yet another cup of coffee that I was sure he wasn't going to finish any more than his previous last three cups when he starts telling me this part of his story. He spent some time "over there" doing what Uncle Sam told him to do unquestioningly; not because he felt a patriotic duty but because he was promised a better life when the job was completed. I will never forget the way he said "things will be different".
However when he "came home" things weren't different - in fact they were worse. His girl didn't wait for him like she promised (he didn't blame her), he had a hard time finding a job - not because he wasn't qualified or society wasn't bending over backwards to give a returning vet a chance, but because he didn't have a clue what he wanted to do. His friends had gone on with their lives (again not bitter) and those that were still around seemed like they were doing the same childish things they were doing when he left - they just didn't have anything in common anymore.
As he's putting the sugar in his coffee he laughs. Turns out the only thing that made him get up in the mornings then was that our society was so guilty about how we treated returning vets in our past that "you folks are going overboard to make up for it". For months he would go into a restaurant alone with his deployment jacket on and have his meal and bar tab picked up by other customers. To hear him tell it, people were buying him drinks left and right - "and that's rough for someone that never touched the stuff UNTIL he came back". He admits to taking advantage, even says he's not sorry about it - after all he couldn't afford those meals or top shelf alcohol in a month of Sundays. "...besides I'm paying for it now don't you think?" and he takes a sip of coffee & winks at me.
Our conversation was interrupted by a HUGE rumble behind us. Motorcycles were slowly coming over the hill two by two around the patch of grass the spectators occupied. The riders stopped to the left of the podium, dismounted
and quietly walked the route they just rode through picking up an
American flag on the way. Half the group was from the Patriot Guard
(http://www.patriotguard.org), the other half was part of The Rolling
Thunder. It's one thing to hear about them on the news; it's something
totally different to SEE and HEAR them in person. The crowd went
totally silent once the first four rows of bikes rounded the corner
& stayed that way until the last one accepted his flag and stood his
post. 
I turned around to my new friend and there were tears streaming down his face. He pulls me into a bear hug, whispers in my ear "Now I'm home... thanks for listening." and then disappeared into the crowd for the start of the ceremony. I looked for him again after it was over, but I couldn't find him.
Learning to ride has always been on my bucket list. After today I want to be part of the Patriot Guard and/or the Rolling Thunder.
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