A Little Bit of Home

 

A Little Bit of Home

By Arlene Levin

(c) 2021

“Just for the day, I wish I could step outside and I wouldn’t be in Spain.”  

Mary Jo said, “Let’s go to the air force base. We can get into the PX store and buy all kinds of stuff. Everyone speaks English. It will be like a trip home.” We made a list of things our friends wanted and couldn’t get in Madrid. Peanut butter was right at the top of the list followed by popping corn. In Spain it was considered a gourmet delicacy. For some reason Spaniards make fabulous pastries but not cake. Who would think we’d miss cake. “Look for Twinkies” was another request. Pregnant Sara John said “I want Fruit Loops please”. “Go figure” I thought.

With our list of things to buy we gleefully left on our adventure. Mary Jo had been to Torrejon Air Base a couple of times and knew the route, which bus to take, where to get off and most importantly how to get past the sentry at the gate. Mary Jo assured me “Two nice American girls with a smile, don’t worry it won’t be a problem.” So I followed. For me it was pretty exciting. This was my first trip outside the city since Michael and I settled in Madrid a couple of months ago.

I don’t remember much of the trip, only that it was a rickety old bus locals used to get to and from the city. We got off the bus at the long paved road leading to the base. For early February it was unseasonably warm, the sun was shining and the walk in front of us seemed long. Finally we reached the Sentry Post.

I was a little nervous. I had my identification, US money and a smile. The guard asked for our ID and we showed him our passports. Just then a bright yellow stingray car pulled up screeching to a stop. Momentarily startled, the soldier turned and approached the convertible. A woman, probably in her 50’s with bleached blond hair and a very thick southern accent said “Can you tell me where I can go to protest a traffic citation?” I thought to myself, “Yep, we’re home!” While the soldier was dealing with her, Mary Jo and I hoped our interview was done as we slipped through the gate and on to the base.

One would think I’d be comfortable and able to relax not having to deal with language, but no. The realization hit me hard. I was in the middle of the war machine I’d escaped in 1968 when Michael and I emigrated to Canada. We left the U.S and the damaging Viet Nam war behind us. Now I was surrounded by men who decided to enlist or worse, had been drafted.

I thought “These soldiers are my generation. I went to school with these guys. They could be shipped out to Viet Nam tomorrow and die fighting a war that a growing number thought was wrong. A war that I thought was wrong.” But here I was, the intruder walking through an engine of war. I looked into the eyes of soldiers. I couldn't help thinking “Dead men walking”. I said nothing to Mary Jo because my feelings and discomfort were too painful to share.

We walked a little further and Mary Jo found the commissary. Lunch time and it was busy. There was the clanking of dishes and the din of conversation under the blanket of a hungry humanity. Cafeteria service was available, but we opted for the less crowded snack bar off to the side. Mary Jo was happy with her real American Hamburger. As a vegetarian, it took me a while to choose my treat. “I’ll have that big piece of chocolate cake please”. Mary Jo whispered “Isn’t this great?” My smile froze remembering my shocking realization of where I really was, but then I relaxed, smiled and agreed. “Ya this is really great”.

Next it was off to the PX store. It was a darkly lit warehouse. The groceries, still in their packing boxes, were stacked on metal shelves. We easily found everything on our list. I was a little nervous when it came to checking out. But just as Mary Jo said “They don’t care. They’ll just pass you through.” The clerk, a soldier about my age, asked no questions or for ID. He just took our money and handed us our groceries. I wondered what he must have thought as he packed our bags. We bought lots of things but I can only remember 4 huge jars of peanut butter, 6 packages of Twinkies, 2 big bags of popping corn and 2 boxes of Fruit Loops.” With a heavy shopping bag in each hand we headed to the bus.

Shouts of celebration greeted us on our return. “Here’s a little bit of home” I said. We emptied the bags of groceries onto the floor in the middle of the circle of our gathered friends. With excitement everyone grabbed for their special treat. “Peanut butter on a bun, who thought I’d miss my childhood Go-To lunch?” “Twinkies, can I take 2 packages?” And so it went. I kept a jar of peanut butter and some popping corn. 

 Pregnant Sara John was particularly delighted with her Fruit Loops. “I can’t believe you got them” She opened the box and began eating them one at a time by color. “Go figure” I thought with a smile.

Postscript: I lived in Madrid for close to 2 years and never went back to the base. Once was enough for me to be confronted with my demons and maybe with a little bit of my guilt for abandoning the country of my birth.