Khaki

 

© O. Douglas Jennings. All rights reserved.

DATELINE 1987: Chicago Suburban Public Library. Fluorescent lights hummed overhead, casting a sterile glow on the bustling aisles. I'd just finished my research for a youth newspaper movie review of the movie “Inner-Space," of all things. 

Folding my notes, I turned to return the books, when a prickle of awareness ran down my spine.

A young man stood across the counter, his gaze locked on me. He wasn't just looking; he was appraising. As I approached, his voice cut through the library murmurs.

"That jacket," he said, his tone laced with something I couldn't quite place. "Looks familiar. I just got out of the marines. Did you serve?". 

We were both about the same age. I might have been a year or two older. I glanced down. We were both clad in the same olive drab Army surplus military jackets, a common sight back then. A nervous apologetic smile flickered across my face. "Just got it at a thrift store," I offered, feeling a strange guilt for this bargain find.

The guy's face, etched with a youthful intensity, contorted in a flash. The expectation, the flicker of hope, drained away, replaced by a hollow disappointment that sent a jolt through me. That I wasn't a fellow veteran was obviously a let down. 

Silence stretched, thick and heavy. "Thank you for your service," the phrase that would later trip so easily off our tongues,didn't occur to me. Here, in 1987, it was a bridge unbuilt. Both of us went our separate ways.

 

Another clothing-related post: Plaid