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I walked along the streets of Saigon, emotions welling up inside me. I was surprised, on second look, how much had changed, yet so little. I recognized Marine House but it looked taller than I remembered. I wasn't billeted there….I was in a less fancy barracks, but I had been there on occasion. I counted the floors and realized it was indeed taller. It was nine stories now; it was only six before. And it was now the Star Hotel. That's when I also noticed the address was different. It used to be 204 Hong Thap Tu….everybody knew it.…it was now 204 Nguyen Thi Minh Khai. I decided I wanted to see more of what might have changed, or stayed the same, so I hired a cab.

It was mostly a drive-by tour but I had him stop at the Presidential Palace, which was now, he informed me, The Reunification Palace. He proudly informed me of tours they offered of the private quarters and the war command room, and of films they showed. Yeah, I really wanted to see a propaganda film of how they liberated the South from the evil Americans and slaughtered a few million citizens in the process. I told him no, I wouldn't be going inside. I just wanted to see the palace. What struck me was that the tanks that had crashed through the gates during the siege were still standing sentry in the entryway. The tanks were well kept and there were flowers growing around them now. As I stood looking at the place I wondered what the outcome might have been if President Ngo Dwong had not been assassinated; and wondered still, why we did it.

I got back in the cab and we drove on. There were some new buildings here and there but in the old city things still looked familiar. Except that I recognized certain places, I might have become confused with some of my surroundings. Back in my familiar territory, I paid the cab driver and walked.

I hadn't come for closure, not particularly, but I was searching for it just the same, and I was finding it to a degree. I guess I did want some kind of unspecified closure so I could say I left it behind. It was easy, almost comforting to walk and soak up sensations, like the smell of kerosene, and a wet, soupy smell, like fish sauce and some unsavory, cheap part of a pig. Then from nowhere, would come a hint of jasmine, and something like the smell of oranges.

I walked, feeling suddenly weighted down by the letters in my pocket but even that didn't change the feeling of being home again. I still missed it. I missed seeing other GIs and hearing the vulgar banter. Fuck, I missed the war! It had been a time of my coming of age; and growing old before my time, but I loved it. And once again thoughts of staying crept back in my head.

I was afraid to take the letters out of my pocket. I wasn't sure if I was searching for a place to read them; or a reason not to. I didn't realize it but I was still, after all these years, a creature of habit; I found myself crossing the street, heading toward the Trent Hotel. It had always been my refuge, and it was again.

Toby was right; it was pretty badly run down. I stood for a long moment just staring at the place, and there was a tugging inside of me as I approached the entrance. Inside, the lobby was as I'd left it the last time I walked out of the place, except Ralph was older than the guy who used to be behind the desk. I handed him Toby's card and he nodded and reached into a box and handed me a key. I looked at it.

"Number 238," I said, handing the key back to him.

He nodded, dug around in the box and handed me the key to number 238. I walked to the stairs, clutching the key tightly in my hand. The stairs creaked under my weight, but they'd done that before; it was a good and familiar sound. I went up the stairs and paused at the top with the dim hallway in front of me. It was a haunting maw that both beckoned me and cried out not to be disturbed. It seemed to say to me there were memories down there that should be left alone. But they were my memories, not those of a stranger, and I had come a long way back. I had a right to be there.

There were no lights in the hallway, only the small, dirty window at the end. I walked down to number 238 where we had spent most of our times together; the number was still on the closed door. I wondered for the first time why it was numbered 238; there were probably not even thirty-eight rooms in the entire place. For some reason, I knocked. I didn't know why; I'd never done that before. I'd always gone in first and would be waiting for him. But I knocked then actually paused, waiting for a voice to tell me to come in. But there was only the silence of an old, decrepit building, except for the soft creaking of the hinges as I slowly opened the door.

Old memories flooded my mind as I went inside; of the great times we'd had here, the laughter, the quiet times, and of course the sex. My Godd, the incredible sex! I felt choked up as the memories threatened to drown me. I was stunned to see that nothing had changed. Just like Toby said, the room was still the same. The bed was still there, in the same spot and there was the same rickety chair. I smiled, remembering that chair. I looked around then walked over and sat on the chair. Gazing at the bed, I imagined Jason walking in, all smiles, looking so damned handsome and rugged with a few days growth of beard that always made him look more ruggedly handsome. Then he would sit on the edge of the bed untying his boots, getting naked for me. He would come out of the alcove that served as a bathroom, still drying off, with his cocky grin and a "what?" look on his face because I was staring at him. He never got used to me looking at him, and I never tired of it.

The room was musty so I opened the window on the side street then went over to the bed. Even the soft creaking under my weight was a familiar sound. I sat for a long time, staring into space, trying to bring it all back, aching for a replay of history. I was about to cry. After a long moment I took out the two letters, now sealed with tape. On one was a message that read; "Do not read this until you have read the other letter first." So I picked up the other envelope. My hands trembled as I carefully removed the tape and then took the letter from the envelope. I took in a deep breath as I unfolded the pages. I glanced away at the open window before I could focus on the page.

Hey, Buddy,

I drove up in the hills behind my parents' home where I'm sitting with my back to a tree, sipping piss-warm beer and writing to you. It's late evening, the sun's about to go down and yeah, I'm sitting in the woods writing a fuckin' letter when I should/could be in town banging some chick's brains out. I don't know if I'll mail this or hand carry it and give it to you when I get back in country…. or if I'll maybe find my balls and say it all to your face. If you're reading this letter it's because I chickened out from telling you in person. I hope it still suits the purpose.

I paused to put things in perspective in my mind, like when he had written it….he was writing this when he'd gone home on leave. He was on that fateful journey from which he never returned. I read on.

How I came to write this was pure logic, at least for me; as only you would understand my logic. I've asked myself, would I lay down my life for you. The answer is an unequivocal YES; without question or hesitation. I would take a bullet for you or a grenade. Well, if I had that kind of courage, why was I being such a pussy about laying the truth on the line? So here I am, about to do just that. (Fuck, the hills and woods and the sun going down remind me of Vietnam. It's beautiful. I want to be back there).

When I arrived back here in the States, the first thing I noticed was the peace freaks, of course. They were practically everywhere, and sad to say, I saw my own brother at one of their rallies. But that's not the reason for writing this letter. I guess I'll start by telling you that I hooked up with some of my ex-girlfriends while I was here and it wasn't the same. We had a lot of fun and I liked the sex, naturally, but it just wasn't the same as before. Before what, I asked myself. When I thought about it, I could only come to one conclusion. I finally decided that you had become the standard when it comes to me getting off. It's a crude way to put it, maybe, but it's the truth of the matter, and the only way I know how to put it. Anyway, I've sort of been down in the dumps since I came back. I was looking for something but can't put my finger on it, and knowing all the time that I wouldn't find it here, whatever it was. My mind seems to be going in all directions; sort of like I was back to being a POW is the best I can describe it.

I miss Vietnam. I miss the fuckin' war, dammit! I can't wait to get back to it. Most of all, I miss you! I lay in bed in my old room and I can't sleep because I'm thinking about you. Not that we slept together on a regular basis, but lying in my old bed, I want you here with me so damned bad. I need to be back there, in country, with you. If you still don't have a clue why I'm writing this, what I'm trying to say is that I love you man. I know, I told you that before, but what I'm telling you now is different; I love you more than a friend and more than a brother. I hope you understand why I had to write instead of tell you; it's just so hard to tell you right to your face. Yeah, I'm a coward after all. And you kept telling me how courageous I am, when all along it was you who had the balls. When you said "I love you" to me for the first time, I didn't say it back. One; back then I still wasn't sure about anything, least of all myself, and two, I didn't have your balls. But I admired you for saying it. It took guts to say those words and you said it, buddy, right out, honest and bold as hell. Now it's my turn. I love you buddy, as a man, more than you'll ever know.

Honestly, I don't know what it all means; I don't know if I can be even a little bit gay for you, but it never mattered to you that I was straight. And even if I am, I don't think it'll matter to me either, because love knows no boundaries, right? So if I'm straight and you're gay, what difference will it make, because with no boundaries separating us we won't be able to tell where straight ends and gay begins. So I make you this promise-and if you're reading this, you've got it in writing to hold me to it-I will love you every way I know how, and I'll learn from you and love you every way a man can love another man.

Jason

I took in a deep breath. My lower lip was quivering and my chest heaving with sobs fighting to get out. I was alone, and in familiar surroundings; why was I holding it back? I think because I knew there was more and I needed to hold off. There was more to the mystery. It was contained in the second letter, and I wanted, needed, to save all those pent-up emotions for whatever was on those other pages. After a moment of composing myself, I took out the other letter and opened it. When I removed the pages and carefully unfolded them, I noticed little wet circles here and there, and some of the writing was smeared, like it'd started to rain, or maybe Jason had been crying while writing it.

Dear Brad:

I am assuming you read the other first letter. I'm writing this one at the airport where I will soon be boarding a plane, on my way back in country; heading back to you, buddy. Something hit me while I was sitting here waiting on the plane; like what if something happened and I didn't make it back. I never had that feeling before; not even when I was out in the fuckin' wet, soppy jungle, or even when I was captured. But it hit me, and I needed to write you again. So, if you're reading this letter, then I guess I didn't make it.

I will say upfront that my greatest regret is that you and I didn't make it together, not like we should have. I mean….like I wanted to, deep down, but didn't realize it in time, or didn't have the balls to admit it and follow through. If you're wondering what's going through my mind while I am writing this (and now, you're reading it), it is this; I love you so damn much, and I wish it didn't have to end like this, I wish we didn't end like this, man. I would have loved to be with you forever but I guess forever doesn't work for us, huh. I know that right now you're devastated because that's how I would feel if I lost you. But you're stronger than that. We're stronger than that. I may be dead but that won't stop me from loving you, Brad, from another place, and it can't stop you from going on with your life, hard as that might be for a while. After all, if there is life after death, then there must be love after death. I hope you feel the same way.

Someone wrote that if you love someone you have to let them go and trust that they will come back. With that said, I have to also say that if you really love me then you have to let me go. I know you man, you're probably still looking at my pictures or wearing my jocks and underwear, and thinking that you would do that kinda flatters me, but it also scares the shit out of me because I don't want you to live with my ghost. (We had too much "in the flesh" for you to do that.) I keep thinking/hoping that you'd never wanta forget about me and that's fine; I don't want to forget about you or what we had, either. It was special, putting it mildly. But just because I'm gone doesn't mean you have to be dead too. Look, just promise me that you'll start living again, and be happy for the both of us. I don't know how you fill in the blanks….maybe just remember me at certain times….but I know you're stronger than just letting yourself die inside. Hell, man, you're a Marine. Look, I'm starting to tear up and people are watching me. Just know that wherever I am, I'm loving you….till we can be together again. Gotta go.

Your buddy forever,

Jason

I managed a smile through the tears streaming down my face. My hands were shaking so badly, I dropped the letter. The ache in my chest was worse and I thought I might be having a heart attack. Suddenly I hunkered forward with my hands over my face and sobbed uncontrollably, so full of remorse and regret and guilt that I couldn't stand it. Why was life so cruel? How was I supposed to be strong enough to handle this? Godd, it was such an awful thing to discover that the man I loved so deeply loved me back and I never knew it. I was awash with guilt that I actually had gotten on with my life before he told me to; before he gave me permission to live again. I had gotten on with such gusto that I'd nearly turned into a male slut. Godd, how could I have done that to him, when he loved me the way he did. Dammit, why didn't he tell me when he had the chance!!!

I was surprised at my anger at him, and ashamed, and I quickly subdued it. I lay back on the bed with my forearm across my eyes, my body still wracked with silent sobs, my stomach muscles aching from them. Finally, I regained my composure. If Jason was up there looking down on me, he would be sorely ashamed. I sat up and looked all around. I got up and walked around the room, taking in every detail of the walls and the furniture. I went into the alcove and the bathtub that we had shared. I could almost feel the warmth of his hard muscles against me, his abs rippling and dancing against my back when he held me and laughed. I could smell him, clean and ready. I could even smell his male musk before he showered.

I couldn't bring myself to leave. There were too many memories in this room and something in me thought if I stayed long enough, and willed it hard enough, I could bring them to life. I went back and stretched out on the bed. I wondered if the ceiling fan still worked. I wondered if he would be late, or if he would show at all. I heard a soft creaking sound in the hallway and rose up, my heart thumping in my throat, my eyes glued to the door. But it never opened, and there was no more sound. I closed my eyes and willed his tall, muscular body to be beside me, and then moving on top of me. I felt my legs lift of their own volition, preparing to receive him. I brought my arms up to wrap them around….but there was nothing but empty space. I relaxed, let my arms fall, and started to cry again, angry at my cock that had prepared me for action.

I cried my guts out. I couldn't stop. I didn't know it was possible to feel so much pain and agony from inside. When there were no more tears, I lay quietly and listened to the silence till a sense of calm came over me.

After composing myself, I left the Trent and walked quietly along the routes that Jason and I used to walk. I walked towards the park and found the spot, the bench under the now sprawling trees, but I didn't sit down. I walked on, to the spot where Jason and I used to say our goodbyes, down from the guard shack. I remembered how Jason would wave, then turn around and start walking, not stopping, and not turning back. Without a word, I started walking away, also not looking back. I headed back to Toby's.

Toby was sitting at the bar on the last stool, doing some bookwork. When he saw me come in he nodded for Ryan to draw us two beers. I took the stool beside him and nodded my thanks to Ryan when he set the beer in front of me. Toby waited for me to say something and when I didn't, he asked, "So, how'd it go?"

"Not good," I said. "Not good at all."

"I'm sorry," he said.

"I want you to read the letters," I said.

"All right."

"I need somebody else to know; to understand," I said.

"All right," he said again. He slid off the stool and put his bookwork under the counter then picked up the two beers in one hand and the letters in the other. He motioned me toward a table in a corner with a small window facing the side street. We sat down and he pushed my beer in front of me. I took a long swig and watched as he took the first letter out of the envelope. I watched his eyes and his facial expressions as he read. There was surprise, and dismay, and even hurt. He never looked at me once. He looked up at me when he was finished with it and I could see the hurt in his eyes was for me. He still didn't say anything. He guzzled his beer down and told Ryan to bring us two more. Then he took out the other letter.

"Geezussss!" he whispered at one point, and it was the only thing he said the whole time he read. Finally, when he was finished, he laid his hands on the table, still holding the second letter. He didn't look up at me for a long time. He just sat gazing at the letter. Finally, he folded it up and put it back in the envelope. Then he looked at me and I saw he was teared up.

"I don't know what to say," he said quietly

"You don't have to say anything; I just wanted you to read them," I said.

"I am so fuckin' sorry, Brad, about everything. Him dying, and now this, when it's too late. I wish I'd read the damn things sooner, and tried to get in touch with you instead of letting them lay around all this time. But I felt I should respect your privacy."

"I should've kept in touch with you," I said, sadly. "Thanks for the room, by the way," I added. I stopped before I choked up. I looked down till I regained my composure then looked back up at Toby. "You know how people say they'd give anything if this were true, or if that could happen? Well, I would give anything if I could have him back, even for just one night. I mean it, Toby. I would give my life for that. If I could have him for one more night, now, knowing what I do from those letters, I would gladly get on that plane with him, and die with him."

"He wouldn't want you to be talking like that," Toby said.

"I'm gonna die young anyway," I said.

Toby reared back, his head cocked in surprise.

"I'm gonna die of a broken heart, man," I said.

"No. You've got Jason, Jr. now," he said.

"But he's not Jason," I said. "He's not the man I loved, or the man who loved me."

Toby tapped his fingers on the envelopes containing the letters. "He expected you to be stronger than that," he said.

"Then he expected too damn much," I said. "He didn't know how much I loved him. He died before he knew."

"You'll pull through this, Brad," Toby said. "Once you get that boy on the plane, headed back to the States……"

"Once I get on that plane, I'll be leaving it all behind again," I cut in. "And you know what? I don't wanta do that. I don't wanta go back. I would rather stay. I feel closer to him here. My Dad was afraid that was the reason I was coming back, to stay. Fuck, I miss the war."

"There is no more war. You need to take the boy back," he said.

"Why? I could stay and raise him here. There's gotta be something an ex-GI can do here in this new country, in this new economy. Hell, look at you. You've weathered so many storms."

"No, you take him back," he said sternly. "You can't make a life for him here. Not the life he deserves. He's Jason's son. He's got a right to live in the States. Jason fought for that right."

I lowered my head, trying to feel ashamed of myself, but I didn't.

"I know. I'll take him back," I said, nodding.

"Listen….." He paused, glancing down, then back up at me. "I mentioned us getting together, maybe even with Ryan."

"Yeah, I still wanta do that," I said.

"How about….without Ryan?" he asked, rather hesitantly. "How about just you and me."

I nodded. Hot as Ryan was, I liked Toby's idea. "Yeah, that'd be great." Suddenly I felt ashamed that I was talking about having sex with Toby with Jason's letters lying on the table right in front of me. But, hell, he would understand that. He knew me that well. He had told me to get on with my life, and this would be my last time back in country.

"Look, I, uh….I don't want you to misinterpret what I'm about to say….it's just a thought….but….well, we could go back there….if you want…." He stopped, as if he suddenly thought it was a bad idea, but he didn't say it was.

I gazed across the table at him, my mouth slack, and I felt my lower lip quiver. I swallowed, hard; so hard it was audible.

"To the Trent," I said.

"Maybe it's a bad idea," he said finally, with a shrug.

"No," I said quickly. "No, it's not a bad idea."

"I don't mean I could be Jason for you," he said. "But maybe a cheap imitation…..?" he added with a thin smile.

"You wouldn't have to be him," I said. I paused and bit my lip so I wouldn't say anything else.

"Okay," he said. "I know you've got a lot to take care of. Drop back by when you're ready."

"Tonight?" I asked.

"Tonight would be great," he said.

We were finished and I felt better for the moment. We both stood. Toby picked up the empty bottles and I took my letters.

"Listen, instead of me coming back here, why don't you meet me there, about nine. Room 238," I said. He got my meaning. I wanted to be waiting on him, like with Jason….like before.