American Gulag

The Roxy Theater was on Augusta's Main Street. It was an old fashioned movie palace, much like the hundreds of treasures the world has split in half or demolished in favor of those egg-crates that rattle sixteen screens and Crisco flavored popcorn. It was a lady of elegance; and the Marquee sported "Clint Eastwood's" name along with "The Good, the Bad and the Ugly." In front of the box-office stood Avilia, waiting for me as promised.

There was nothing for us but the sanctity of the theater and a handhold in the dark. The film was great; but being beside him made me feel warm and safe, warmer and safer than I ever felt. It was my birthday. I had told no one. I thought it odd that I would turn twenty alone in some God forsaken Georgia encampment. But now, as Clint shot up the Bad and tricked the Ugly, I turned age twenty beside this spirit of comfort, this man who held my affections. The popcorn was good too.

"It's my birthday today," I said as we walked down the Main Street of this frumpy old Southern town.

"Well, Happy Birthday. You should have told me. I would have gotten a card or something for you."

"No need," I said. "Being here, away from the Fort is present enough. Being here . . . with you."

Avilia smiled. I could see the flash of imagination in his eyes. We walked through the Woolworth's, making fun of the ladies accessories. We crossed the railroad tracks and window-shopped for tattoos. There were a host of "Army" shops here specializing in rings, insignia, and tattoos; and at the end of the street were the "adult" magazine shops. Of course, they were just called "Newstands," and the magazines then were very mild. Our modern day teenager sees as much in "People" as we saw in those so-called "Hot" rags. And of course, there were no Homosexual materials at all, let alone frontal nudity. This was not New York, where you could see some of that stuff, all be it with the naughty bits cut out.

Here we were looking at "girly" magazines admiring the girl's boyfriends, in a store filled with titillated soldiers, all laughing nervously. It was a hard thing to buy even a Playboy as it was difficult to hide one through inspection. Usually these items were gathered up in a laundry bag before inspection and sent to a place that was not being inspected.

As night fell and hunger harkened, we went for my Birthday meal. It wasn't much - a chicken joint. I quite forget the name. I do remember the conversation.

"Here's to you," said Avilia lifting his beer. "Happy Birthday Winslow."

"Thanks," I said. "Thanks for everything."

"Your name is a bit awkward," he said. "I am used to Gibbs. But that's too Army. And Winslow is so formal, like the guy on Gilligan's Island."

"That was Howell," I said.

"What do your friends call you?"

"Winslow."

"Not Winny . . . "

"Like in Winnifred," I said. "Not on your life."

"Maybe I'll call you Howell," he said.

"I'd rather be called Gilligan," I laughed.

He smiled, a broad smile, his thick lips parting to reveal his bright white overbite.

"You wouldn't dare," I said.

"Gilligan," he laughed. "Happy Birthday Gilligan!"

"Fucker," I said.

"No," he said quietly, "we say, 'bitch.’'"

"That sounds funny," I said.

"There's lots to learn," he said. "You're like a babe in the woods. You must promise me that wherever we wind up, you will write and tell me everything. You'll have question upon question. You don't want to be eaten alive out there. As natural as it sometimes feels, you must guard yourself from the realities of this world and the strangeness of this new world. You’re like Alice down the rabbit hole."

"I'd rather be called Gilligan, thank you," I said.

"Wonderland," he said. "You are in Wonderland."

"But Wonderland isn't real."

"This one is," he said. "That's why I'm taking you by the hand and escorting you through it."

We finished our meals in silence. I was a bit nervous, because I knew where my feet would wander. There was a hotel in town, one that the hookers used. It was old but serviceable. It was across the street from a warehouse. For a place meant for the clandestine, it was as busy as all hell. It was at this place, I entered Wonderland with Private Avilia.

"Happy Birthday Gilligan!"

It was a weekend to remember. The following week was graduation. I was to leave Fort Gordon forever. I was continuing on to Fort Benning to learn radio repair; while Paul, that is Avilia, was doing his advanced training at Fort Bragg. We met briefly once more to make sure we knew how to stay in touch. I knew then I loved this man; and never wanted to loose contact. It's funny how when our destructive fears, our phobias disappear, they congeal into a symphony of life giving heal and repeal.

Two days before my departure from Fort Gordon, I walked across the Parade field - that same Parade field that I ran across daily to the gym - and said farewell to the Special Training Company. I do not know why I had a need to return; but, the place, for whatever hideous reason it was established, had fostered a new person in me - release through hermitage. I went to the office. I hesitated before the doorknob. I no longer belonged to the place. Why open it again? But the place belonged to me, always a part of every waking hour - and every restless dream.

"Gibbs," said Gonvea as I entered.

"Sergeant Gonvea, you remember me."

"How can I forget my little fat boy who became a grade A troop," he said. "You did well, troop."

"Well, I'm off to AIT, to learn how to repair radios," I said.

"Where?"

"The Infantry School at Fort Benning."

"Good, troop. That's a fuckin' good thing to learn."

"And," I said, "I . . . came here . . . to, well . . to thank you."

Gonvea's mouth opened wide. He was taken aback by this, quite unexpected. In fact, it was quite unexpected on my part as well.

"Gibbs," he said, "I'm only doin' my job."

"Yes, but - you were right about me," I said.

"I know, but I'm only doin' my job."

"You called me a faggot," I said. "I just wanted to let you know, you were right about me."

"Where you put you dick is your business," he said. "I'm only doin' my job. But Gibbs, you showed us you're more homo than most. Those other girls are gone. They could not stay here in the kitchen where it's hot. You know I am not like this at home? My wife and kid get a real gentle, quiet man. I'm a lifer; but, this is what I do. I'm just doin' my job; and sometimes a troop comes along who makes good, like you Gibbs."

He stretched his hand out. I grabbed it with enthusiasm and shook it.

"I told you troop, I was your Mommy and Daddy here."

I smiled and left the Special Training Company forever; although it never left me.