~ Hello, Do You Know Me? ~

by

Sherry Derr~Wille

Artillery shells exploded over the heads of the two men lying in the trench soaked in mud mixed with blood from both bodies.

“I’ve found two more over here,” he heard someone say.

“My God, this is one hell of a mess,” a second man said. “How are we going to tell which one is which? Even if there was someone from their company left, they’d never be able to identify them.”

“What about their dog tags?”

“They’ve been blown off. We’ll just have to put names to them and hope we’re right.”

“Since they’re both dead, it won’t matter.”

“Holy shit, this one is still alive. I sure as hell hope we’ve put the right name with the right man.”

~ * ~

“NO!” Matt screamed. His shouts shattered the dream he’d experienced so often over the past thirty-four years.

Why? Why did I have to have the dream tonight, on the eve of Donna’s funeral? he silently questioned.

“Are you all right, Daddy?” his daughter, Chrissie, asked as she entered his room.

“I’m fine, honey. It was just a nightmare.”

“The Vietnam one?” Chrissie questioned.

Matt nodded. “How did you know?”

“I’ve always known, Daddy. Mom told Kevin and me about your nightmares years ago. Do you want to talk about it?”

Matt could see her as a little girl who came into their room when she’d had a nightmare. The difference was that, now, he was the one with a bad dream, and this beautiful young woman was at his side to dissolve the terror.

“What’s the dream about?” she probed, sitting beside him on the queen sized bed.

Matt took a deep breath. “You know I have no memory of my life before the war. My life began after I woke up in the hospital. That was where they told me who I was. After that, I went through a lot of surgery.”

“What does that have to do with the dream?”

“The dream is about what happened before I woke up. In it, I’m in a firefight with my friend. We’re both so badly wounded that, when it’s all over, they can’t identify us. Even our dog tags are blown off. What if I’m not Matt Bratzman? What if I’m someone else?”

“It’s only a dream, Daddy. Things like that don’t happen.”

~ * ~

Two months after Donna’s funeral, Matt could stand the nightmares no longer.

“I’m selling the house,” he told Chrissie on the phone.

“Why, Daddy?”

“There’s nothing left for me in Wichita. My life here centered on your Mom and you kids. Now she’s gone and so are you. With Kevin in Seattle and you in Boston, there’s no reason to stay here. I got a good offer on the house, and I’ve decided to take it. Considering I retired just before your mom died, I’m restless. I’ve bought a motor home, and I’m going to do some major traveling.”

“What about all your things?”

“I’ll put them in storage. Face it; this was something your mom and I always said we’d do when I retired. I’m doing this for her. She’d be all over me if she knew how I spent the past two months.”

Although his kids didn’t understand, Matt signed the papers on his house the next day. After putting most of the money in the bank, he got behind the wheel of his motor home and left Wichita behind him.

Mile after mile, he watched the scenery as he drove across the country. With each stop, he prayed something he saw would trigger a forgotten memory.

By the time he got to Washington, DC, he’d given up on his obsession with finding his past. Instead, he was beginning to enjoy the trip.

Matt had stopped at a small restaurant for breakfast when a man about his own age approached him.

“Did you come to see The Wall?” the man who introduced himself as Al Powers asked after he took the stool next to Matt at the counter.

“The Wall?” Matt questioned. As soon as he spoke the words, he remembered the Vietnam Memorial. At the time of its conception, he’d sent a donation, not because of his memories, but because of what he couldn’t remember. What he wouldn’t give for the memory of the men with whom he’d served, his comrades in arms. Who were the soldiers that shared his company? What had happened in their lives? Were their names on the wall?

“Oh yes, The Wall. I thought I’d get there while I’m here.”

“Were you in Vietnam?”

Matt swallowed the lump in his throat. “I was, but I don’t remember it.”

“Good God man, how could you forget? I’ve lived that nightmare for over thirty-five years. I’d give anything to forget.”

“And I’d give anything to remember. I was hurt so badly in the last battle I was in; no one could even identify me without my dog tags. The only way I know who I am is because someone told me in the hospital.”

“That’s a bad trip, man. I thought my drug addiction was a living hell, but it can’t hold a candle to your story.”

Matt nodded. “Do you live around here?” he finally asked.

“This is where I landed after I sobered up. I’ve bummed all over the country though. When they built The Wall, I wanted to be close to my buddies who didn’t make it. I worked at a lot of odd jobs until I came on my current business. I do research on the people listed on the wall for their families. Not everyone can get here to do rubbing of the names. Some folks want to know how their loved one died, or who was with him when it happened.”

Matt held back his opinion of how he thought Al was exploiting the families of the men who never came back. Instead, he turned away from the man and concentrated on his breakfast.

“I’m going over to The Wall when I finish here,” Al said, as though trying to get Matt’s attention. “I have to get a rubbing for a woman in Oklahoma. Her kids ordered it. The daughter sent me an E-Mail yesterday. It seems that her mother is dying. The kids thought it would give her some peace.”

“Isn’t that a bit morbid? How could a rubbing of someone’s name give that woman any peace?”

“You’ll understand once you see The Wall. Before I first saw it, I thought it wouldn’t make a difference, but it did. Every time I go there, I find another name, another friend. Even if I didn’t serve with them, I know them. We all went through the same things when we were little more than kids playing soldier.”

Matt played with his food, all the while contemplating what Al said. “If I gave you my name, could you do some research on me?”

“I don’t understand. Why would you want me to do research on you?”

“Like I said earlier, I have no memory of the war. The only thing I know about Matt Bratzman is what the people in Wichita told me. The only reason I can make myself look like any of the pictures my folks had is because of the amount of surgery I needed. Do you think you can help me?”

“Not until after you see the wall. If you still want me to do the research, I’ll be glad to help you with it. I just won’t do it for you. This is one trip you have to take for yourself. I have the knowledge and the access to the materials, but you have to do it. It will mean more that way.”

Matt agreed. This was his quest, his desire. He certainly couldn’t pawn off the responsibility on a virtual stranger.

After paying for not only his meal but also Al’s, Matt went out to his RV.

“Are you staying at a campground?” Al asked.

Matt nodded then told Al which one.

“Good. We’ll take your rig back there, and I’ll drive you over to The Wall. With the amount of traffic in and around the city any more, there’s no need to try maneuvering anything this big through it.”

Al made sense. As Matt pulled out of the restaurant’s parking lot, he watched Al get into a fairly new pick up truck and follow. It made Matt feel good to have made a new friend. In all the years since he’d been stateside, he’d never found anyone who wanted to talk about the war. To Matt, the subject was no more than what his kids learned in history class. Of course, that wasn’t much. The teachers had a way of glossing over the Vietnam War as though it wasn’t important. To his friends, it was repulsive and something other vets didn’t want to talk about.

Once he parked the RV in the space he’d reserved last night, Matt got out of the driver’s seat and waited for Al to pull down the gravel road of the rural compound.

“You sure found a remote place to stop,” Al commented, when Matt opened the truck’s passenger door.

“It was late last night when I got here. I had no idea how far out it was.”

“Why did you drive fifteen miles for breakfast then?”

Matt didn’t know the answer to Al’s question. “I guess I thought it was on the way. Now I realize I went there to meet you.”

“To meet me?”

“I’ve never met anyone I could talk to about the war. The way I see it, most vets don’t want to talk about what happened over there. That’s not my problem. Maybe it would be if I could remember.”

For the rest of the ride back to DC, Matt listened as Al related story after story about jungles, battles, and an enemy that could blend in with your allies.

When they arrived at The Wall, Matt was overwhelmed by the amount of information he’d gleaned from Al. Ahead of him, the black granite wall stretched across the landscape; the etched names drawing him like a magnet.

Jerry Fellows - the name jumped out at Matt. With it came the vision of a young woman as well as a baby boy. The names of Betsy and Ronnie assaulted his mind.

Overwhelmed by the memories that were flooding back as though a dam had broken, Matt sank to his knees with tears streaming down his cheeks.

“Why?” he sobbed. “Why was this the first name I saw?”

“Maybe for the same reason you came to the restaurant. Maybe it’s the name you were meant to see. I don’t have to do any research for you. I did it for Betsy Fellows Conner. She asked me to do the research on Jerry about three years ago. Your name was listed as being with him when he died. To be truthful, I looked into your life as well. You were the lucky one. No one else from your company made it.”

“You’ve got it all wrong. They were the lucky ones. The war and what happened have haunted me for years. You don’t know what having no memory, except for what you see in your dreams, can do to a man. Am I Matt Bratzman or Jerry Fellows?”