This year they were ready just in time. She had always dreamt of having Lilacs. From her bedroom window she could see the ocean mist the sides of the rocky cliff with each passing wave. Setting little rainbows across the horizon. Surely someone above was giving them HIS blessing. In her room, all her best friends and closest family were buzzing around her like bees to their queen. No need was too great and nothing was left untouched until it was perfect. The moment was soon arriving she knew, as one by one, everyone left her there to gaze out at the scene she would soon be the center of. Checking herself in the mirror, she saw that her hair was perfect. All swept up in little ringlets. She had on just a touch of make-up and his favorite perfume. Picking up the garter, she held it in her hand as she thought of his delight when he’d see she was wearing the sexy thigh-highs he loved so much. Slipping it carefully up in place, she then turned around to look one last time at her gown in. Living vicariously through my future brother-in-law’s military accomplishments, I’d regale all of his battle exploits to my friends as if he was Audie Murphy, a Congressional Medal of Honor winner from World War II. Classified as 1A in the military draft, the first year of the draft lottery, my excuse not to go to war or flee to Canada, I was glad that I was in college and wouldn’t be drafted to fight and die in Viet Nam. It took a special kind of American, a real hero, who’d fight for his country on the chance that he’d never return home to enjoy the fruits of freedom for his bravery. Not a coward, I just didn’t want to needlessly die for another political war while my Congressmen sat on their fat asses and collected all the monies they’d steal from making closed door, dirty deals with arms manufacturers and military suppliers. War was money. War was power. War was posturing, peddling, and pandering their political influence. War was their political machine. War was professed to be.
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