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Mustang Sally By Heather St. Claire They say love is eternal. They say love can accomplish impossible things. Tom and Sally Fuller, a retired couple living a seemingly ordinary life in the city of Westport, are an amazing testament to love's power. It's hard to find a starting point for their story, because it's really a loop of time....The best place to begin may be in the year 2008. Tom Fuller, sixty-three years old and twice a widower, had just sold his insurance agency, packed up and left the home he had shared with his second wife Lisa for almost thirty years, and moved to a newly-built suburban subdivision. It had been a difficult change for Tom, who was a real creature of habit. He had been in the workforce for more than forty years. Tom's second wife had been dead for more than a decade, a victim of breast cancer, but her clothes still hung in the closet exactly where they were on the day she went into the hospital for the last time. Tom had a few golf and fishing buddies, but no truly close friends. Sally Fuller had died while pregnant with their first child, and Lisa Fuller had been unable to conceive, so Tom was without any immediate family. He feared becoming an aging hermit, the kind of person you see shopping for groceries alone late on a Saturday night. He thought the move to the suburb might force him to re-engage with the world. It was one of those new developments designed to harken back to the world Tom had known as a child with wide sidewalks, porches on the front of every house, and stores and other amenities within walking distance. Gradually, as he settled in, Tom started making new acquaintances. Most were his own age, like the morning coffee group at the local McDonalds, so his friendship with the 17-year-old son of his next-door neighbors was unusual. Tom had found himself drawn to Justin McDowell almost immediately. It didn't make a lot of sense at first. Tom was a Reagan Republican and still wore the crew cut he had had for fifty years, though it was mostly gray now. Justin was a slight, gentle young man and a passionate liberal whose greatest disappointment in life was that he wouldn't be old enough to vote for Obama that November. Still, Tom thought the kid was unusually bright, kind and funny, and he enjoyed matching wits with him. They argued about the current overseas wars and about past conflicts. Justin thought we had no business overseas while Tom's complaint was that we weren't doing enough. For a youngster born in the early nineties, Justin seemed to have an unusually strong passion for all aspects of life in the 1960s. The youngster and the oldster shared a love for the music of the era (though Tom was a Rolling Stones fan, while Justin thought the Beatles were the greatest band of all time). One day the subject of Vietnam came up. Justin asked Tom, "Did you fight there, Mr. Fuller? I notice you have a limp?" "No," Tom said. "it's not a war wound. Nothing that heroic. I was ROTC in college, and I was supposed to go over right after I graduated in '65. But that was when we were in the accident. I lost Sally and our baby, and my leg was smashed up pretty good. That ended any opportunity for me to serve." He swallowed hard and was silent for a long moment. "And my best friend, Dave Ramsey, was killed over there. I always wondered if I could have saved him if I had been over there." Justin said softly, "I'm sorry, Mr. Fuller. I didn't know." Tom forced a smile and patted Justin on the shoulder. "It's OK kid. Ancient history. I still miss her, and him, but you move on...because you have to. I found Lisa a few years later, and we had a pretty good life together." Justin wondered if it was really possible to truly love more than one person in a lifetime. He sensed that Tom missed both of his wives; but the real spark of passion had shown when he talked about his first wife. There was something about his eyes; something intense and something strangely familiar. The feeling left Justin both curious and disturbed. Because of his careful nature, Tom Fuller seldom acted on whims. So he even surprised himself when he found himself pulling into a vintage car dealership that had recently opened in downtown Westport. There was a nice looking '57 Nomad, a couple of sharp late sixties Corvettes, a gleaming black Pontiac GTO, and a classic Jaguar XKE out front. But Tom gave them little notice. It was one car in particular that was speaking to him--a metallic blue 1965 Mustang coupe that looked like it had just left the factory. He soon learned that it was a four-speed with the 289-cubic inch engine. The young salesperson was talking about how much expense and attention to detail had gone into restoring the car, but Tom wasn't listening. All he could focus on the fact that this car was identical in every detail to the one that he had been driving on the day of the accident. As the young hotshot (I must be getting old, they all seem like young hotshots these days, Tom thought) was writing up the paperwork, he asked, "Did you have one of these when you were younger, Mr. Fuller?" Tom got a wistful look on his face as he said, "I had one EXACTLY like it." He wrote out a check for the purchase on the spot and left his Lexus on the lot, promising to retrieve it later. For some reason he couldn't wait to get the car home and to show it to the neighbors--especially Justin. "Wow!" Justin exclaimed when he came over to inspect Tom's new acquisition. "This is really beautiful. Talk about an ultimate sixties ride." "They weren't performance cars, they were sport cars," Tom said. "But it was a lot of fun to drive...for the few weeks I had mine." "What are you talking about, Mr. Fuller?" "I was driving a car exactly like this one when that semi jackknifed and hit us on the highway." There was an awkward silence. With a bit of forced bravado, Tom said, "Hey, like I said before, ancient history. Want to go for a ride, kid? See what cars were like back then. Not so much damn plastic, for one thing." Soon they were cruising through the neighborhood. "How do you like it, Mr. Fuller?" Justin asked. "I haven't driven a stick in a long time," he said with a grin. "I almost forgot what it was like to actually drive, instead of just ride. You know what I mean?" Justin didn't quite understand, but he smiled and nodded. "What do you say we take her out on the freeway? Like I said, this isn't exactly a hot engine, but she's got respectable performance." Justin nodded and they were on their way. Almost without realizing it, Tom Fuller found himself approaching the site of his accident of more than four decades earlier. He usually tried to avoid this spot, but there was no easy exit nearby. He found himself boxed in behind a motor home and impatiently signaled to pass. As he pushed down on the accelerator, he didn't notice the speedometer begin to glow when it approached 65 miles per hour. But he couldn't help but see the blinding flash of light when he reached that speed. For just a moment, everything was white. When his vision cleared again, he beheld a sight he never expected. The sensations were coming at him so rapidly they were hard to process. The first thing he realized was that Westport's skyline was dramatically different. Buildings that should have been there were missing. Then he noticed the vehicles around him all seemed to be of a similar vintage to the Mustang. When he caught a glance in the rearview mirror and saw a smooth, unlined face that he hadn't seen looking back at him in more than forty years, he exclaimed, "Oh my God!" But the biggest surprise of all came when he glanced to his right. Justin wasn't there any longer. Sitting in his place was a slim young woman in a polka dot mini-dress. He recognized those lovely legs he hadn't seen in so long; she was wearing a pair of white vinyl go-go boots. Her freckled face, upturned nose and sparkling brown eyes were recognizable in an instant. She wore her reddish-brown hair in the same bouffant flip he remembered so well. "Oh my God! Sally???" The woman spoke. It was clear she was confused. "What are you talking about, Mr. Fuller? It's me, Just--....oh my God!" A feminine scream followed. Tom knew that whatever the hell had just happened, he needed to get off the freeway so they could sort it out. He found an exit ramp moments later and pulled into the parking lot of a steakhouse he remembered well. "The Ringside?" he thought. "They closed this place down in the eighties." He turned to Justin, or Sally, or whoever was riding with him, and said, "I'll be right back." The woman, who seemed on the verge of tears, said, "Don't worry, I'm not going anywhere." Tom walked up to the newspaper box sitting by the restaurant's front door. He found a silver dime in his pocket and dropped it in the coin slot. He pulled out a fresh copy of the Westport Journal, dated May 15, 1965. It was a newspaper he had delivered after school during his boyhood. It was a newspaper that had ceased publication in 1982. What had appeared to have happened had really happened. He--and the woman with him, whoever she might be-- had traveled back in time. As he climbed back into the Mustang, he glanced at its license plate. He turned to the woman who appeared to be his first wife and said, "This isn't the car I just bought. This is my original Mustang. And you....you're my original wife." "But I'm not!" Sally protested. "I'm Justin. I'm Justin." Good God, though Tom, the way her lip quivers when she's crying. It is her. It has to be her. "I don't understand this," he muttered. "This isn't a DeLorean and there's no flux capacitor." Sally reached into the purse in her lap for a handkerchief. "I'm scared, Mr. Fuller...and what on earth are you talking about?" "Haven't you ever seen the movie Back to the Future?" Sally shook her head. "Well, you'll have to see it when we get back to our own future," he said, wondering if they would be able to find a way back. "Let me try to figure this out," Tom said after thinking for a few minutes. "I was driving the same kind of car I was driving in 1965. I must have been going sixty-five miles an hour when this happened. And it happened at the same spot as the crash." "But," Sally said, her lip still trembling. "That doesn't explain why I was changed into a copy of your wife." The shock was just starting to wear off; Justin/Sally ran her hands over her face; she then cupped her new breasts for a moment. She felt a shudder of delight when she gave them a squeeze, and quickly let go. "The only thing I can think of is to go back to that spot and hit sixty- five again, and see what happens," Tom said. "Let's go." Sally put a hand up. "Wait, Mr. Fuller. I think we ought to take this opportunity to see the world as it was." Her unspoken thought was that it might also give her a chance to further explore the sensations of her new form. Tom nodded. "Okay then. It might be nice to spend a few hours in a body without arthritis, bad vision and a leaky bladder. But that's probably too much information for you," he said with a laugh. Sally smiled at him. It was her smile, her smile. He didn't realize until that moment that it was possible to feel incredibly happy and indescribably sad at the same moment. He got back on the freeway for a few miles and then exited near the Westport Plaza, the city's first big shopping center. It still stood in 2011, though considerably expanded and changed. "It's so small," Justin/Sally said as they pulled into the lot. Tom chuckled. "It was big for its day," he said. As they walked though the mall's main entrance, Sally found herself reaching for Tom's hand. He took it. They held hands for several minutes before Sally realized what she was doing. "Oh," she said, letting go of Tom's hand. Tom was lost in the bittersweet joy of holding his wife's hand, but accepted the momentary disappointment. Sally looked with wonder at the world around her. Everyone was dressed so differently from the world she had known. Although a few women were in Capri slacks, the majority wore dresses; many of the men were in jackets and ties, and even those who weren't wore sweaters or neatly-pressed sport shirts. There didn't seem to be a pair of jeans or a t-shirt in sight. No one wore pajama bottoms or baggy pants. She didn't spot any baseball caps, but knew if she did see one, the bill would be pointing forward. Tattoos and extreme body piercings were also absent. No one was talking into a cell phone. It truly was a different place. Of course it wasn't all better in her eyes. She wasn't used to people smoking indoors. People of color were noticeable by their absence. It was a lot to take in. On further reflection, Sally/Justin also realized the deceptive nature of what she was seeing. Currents were moving through society that were about to bury so many of the old norms. Some of this change would be good; some would be difficult and painful. "Look!" Tom said suddenly, pointing to the mall's ice rink. "They took this out when they remodeled in the nineties. God, we used to spend a lot of time here." "It's where you and Sally met," the woman said quietly. "How do you know that?" "I don't know how I know...I just know." "Do you remember the details?" "Not really." "Well I do--like it was yesterday. It was October of '62. I was a sophomore at State, must have been 19, and you, er, Sally, was seventeen, still in high school. It was a Sunday afternoon. It was Sally's first time on skates. She fell down--" "--and you were the knight in shining armor who came to her rescue. You taught her how to skate that day." She was smiling wistfully. They looked into each other's eyes with a mixture of hope, fear and confusion. Sally finally spoke. "I guess...I guess I acquired some of Sally's memories when I became her double." "I suppose so. Well, I think we better try to see if we can get back. I don't think I'm up to living through the last forty years a second time, and I doubt that you want to stay female." Sally nodded, but didn't say anything. When Tom started the Mustang, he noticed the gas gauge was showing a nearly empty tank. "Don't want to run out of gas in the middle of our trip," he said. "We could get stuck in the eighties or something." "That's a television show, Mr. Fuller," Sally said. But his attention was diverted as they pulled into the Enco station. Sally gasped when she realized full service premium gas was twenty-nine cents a gallon. When the attendant checked the Mustang's oil level and tire pressure and washed the windshield, she turned to Tom and said softly, "Now I've really seen everything." "Yeah," he said with a grin. "Some things really were better in the old days." After he had paid the attendant, Tom turned to Sally and said, "Ready?" She nodded, and they were onto the freeway. When they approached the accident site, Tom floored the accelerator. There was the same flash of white; when things cleared, they were back in 2011. "I'm me again," Justin said with a mixture of surprise and relief. Tom sighed, "And I'm the old me again." There was little conversation as they made their way back to their neighborhood. As Tom pulled into his driveway, Justin said, "I've got to work on a report for school, Mr. Fuller." He was already out of the car and closing the passenger door when he said, "I'll see you around." Tom nodded. "See you, kid." He sat in the car for several minutes before going into his house. When he did he made a beeline for his liquor cabinet and poured himself a double shot of his favorite scotch, Chivas Regal. Then he settled into his favorite overstuffed chair and began to cry. "Oh God, Sally," he said to no one. "I didn't realize how much I still missed you." The drink was still mostly unconsumed when he went to bed several hours later. He spent a long time wide awake staring at the ceiling. Finally, as the clock clicked over to read 2 a.m., Tom got out of bed, got dressed, and walked to his driveway. He had to find out if he could go back again. He started the Mustang, drove through the quiet suburban streets, headed for downtown. First, he had to make a detour to the cemetery. It was a clear night and the moon was almost full. He really didn't need the flashlight he carried. The moonlight, and forty years of memories, made it easy for him to find his way. The grass was slightly damp from the dew. He made his way steadily until he found a simple brass marker, flush with the ground. It read: "Sally Fuller 1945-1965." Tom stared at the grave marker for a long time, reading the description to himself over and over. Then, not trusting the evidence of his eyes, he dropped to one knee, and traced the letters and numbers with his fingers. "Are you really in there, Sally?" He looked heavenward. "Or are you out there, somewhere?" He returned to the car and headed toward the heart of the city. Before long he was northbound toward the place that he had come to think of as The Spot. He had turned on the car's AM radio, which he had tuned to the local oldies station. The first thing he heard out of the speakers was "Mustang Sally." It was Wilson Pickett's version, the mainstream hit that came out in '66. "Mustang Sally, h'uh, h'uh, guess you better slow your Mustang down." His Mustang Sally had never lived to hear it. Tom flipped off the radio; he wasn't about to slow down now. He gripped the steering wheel tightly and accelerated toward sixty- five.... ....and felt a sense of crushing disappointment when he reached that speed and nothing happened. He drove home, climbed back into bed, and was finally able to fall asleep when exhaustion caught up with him. For the next week, Tom found it impossible to focus on much of anything. He would turn on a baseball game and turn it off a few minutes later. He'd pick up the newspaper and fling it down in frustration when he realized he couldn't concentrate on it. He went to his garage meaning to find a project of some kind and ended up just shifting boxes around. He didn't see Justin the entire week; he figured the kid was avoiding him, and who could blame him? So he was more than slightly surprised when he heard a knock at his front door the following Saturday morning and found Justin standing there. "Hi Tom, er, Mr. Fuller, mind if I come in?" Tom gestured for the young man to enter and sit down. "Well, I have to say I'm not surprised I haven't seen you for a few days." Justin nodded. "Have you tried to go back again?" he asked quietly. Tom was surprised by the directness of the question. "Why yes, yes, I have. Later that same night, as a matter of fact. But it didn't work for some reason. I suppose it was a one-time thing." "Don't you know why, it didn't work, Tom?" Fuller wondered about the boy's sudden familiarity. He was still old school and thought young people should address their elders as Mr. or Mrs., but he let it pass, simply shaking his head. "It should be obvious. Your wife wasn't with you." "What do you mean, 'My wife?'" "Isn't it clear to you? I wasn't just transformed into a copy of your dead wife. I was--I am Sally, reincarnated." Justin had been looking directly at Tom. Now his gaze shifted, as if he was looking at something invisible in the distance. " I had the most powerful dream that night. I was Sally again. I was walking along a path. I couldn't see its beginning or its end. For some reason, I wandered off onto a side path for a time. But I finally realized I was going the wrong way. It took some effort, but I found my way back to the main path and I knew that I was headed toward my correct destination again. We have to go back and pick up our lives where we left off." "You're sure of this." "Completely sure. It makes so many things I've never understood about myself before perfectly clear. It's more than the fact that I've never been into sports, power tools or big engines." He chuckled. "And it's not just that I've been attracted to theater and literature. It now makes sense that my best friends have always been women. I've always been able to relate to them in a way I never could with most men." He smiled at Tom. "You've been an exception." He blushed slightly, paused, then went on: "I've never had a conscious desire to be a woman, but I've always known that something....something wasn't quite right. For all the good in my life, something fundamental in my life wasn't right. I never felt at home in this time...or in this body. I could never put my finger on what the issue was...until now." "Do you want to say goodbye to your parents...to the McDowells...before we go?" "No, that would be too hard. I don't pretend to understand all of this, but if it works like I think it will, Justin will be erased from existence. It was like I--he--was never born. At least I hope so. They're wonderful people, and they've been wonderful parents." "Well then....let's get going." Without another word, they climbed into the car and headed toward the city center. As he accelerated toward The Spot, he found himself reaching out to Justin. He gripped his once and future spouse's hand tightly as they headed back toward 1965. Justin closed his eyes and said a silent prayer that the portal in time would open once more. Even though his eyes were closed, he was still aware of the flash...and of the fact that he was now Sally again. Tom, young once more, looked over at his wife, smiled, and said, "Welcome home, darling." "Oh Tom," she said, unable to hold back the tears. "I love you so much." As soon as they were able to exit the freeway and park, Tom Fuller wrapped his arms around his wife and pulled her toward him. Before he kissed her he said, "You don't know how long I've been waiting for this." "Oh yes I do," she said. She tilted her head back, closed her eyes and parted her lips in anticipation of the moment she had been waiting for for so long. After a long time had passed--or at least it seemed that way to both of them--Sally finally asked, "It's a beautiful Saturday. What do you want to do?" Tom Fuller smiled. "I was thinking I'd like to take my wife out on a date." He started the Mustang and pulled away from the curb. His destination turned out to be Westport Plaza, site of their first date. After paying for their skate rental and putting on their skates, the Fullers were soon heading out onto the ice hand-in hand. Sally looked up at her husband. "I've got a confession, Tom," she said. "About that first day we met? I had actually learned how to skate when I was eight years old. I caught one look at you and fell in love on the spot. So I fell down on purpose. I figured that would catch your attention." Tom shook his head, and tried to feign disgust. "Women," he said with a snort. The rest of the day went by in a blur--lunch at a drive in where they were served by car hops ("This isn't even retro yet," Sally said with a giggle), a matinee showing of one of the year's biggest films, "The Sound of Music" (Sally marveled at the one dollar ticket price, plus tax), and then, at last, home to their downtown apartment in a sturdy old brick building a few blocks from the State University campus. On an impulse, Tom picked up his wife and carried her across the threshold. "Home, darling, such as it is." He walked over to the black-and-white television and turned it on. He adjusted the rabbit ears to bring in a clearer picture on Channel 2. "One of the four channels we have to choose from." "Oh, the Hollywood Palace!" Sally exclaimed. "I love this show!" Tom crossed the room to the table where the sturdy green desk telephone sat and picked up the receiver, triggering the hum of a dial tone. "And this is it if you want to call somebody. Cell phones are something out of Dick Tracy in this day and age. Are you sure you're not going to miss all the gadgets of the next century?" Sally shook her head, walked over to her husband, and said, "You silly man! Don't you understand that I have what I really want?" She pointed toward the television. "Now, as much as I'd love to hear Edie Adams sing and watch Ann Miller dance, there's something I'd like even more, and I'm counting on you to know what it is." And with that, she walked over to the television, turned it off, and headed toward the bedroom. "I don't need an engraved invitation," Tom said. Justin had ended his brief journey on earth as a virgin. But Sally soon remembered how much she loved giving and receiving pleasure as a female. Her whole body was soon shaking with multiple orgasms. And that night, their daughter was conceived. The next few of weeks passed in a pleasant blur. Tom wrapped up his classes at State, while Sally spent her days at her clerical job in the university's admissions office (When one of her co-workers found herself smeared with black goo from carbon paper and muttered there needed to be a better way, Sally overheard and thought, 'someday, but not yet'). Yet life for the couple could never be ordinary again, given the miracle they had experienced. In the mornings, as he was getting ready for class and Sally was getting ready for work, Tom would watch his wife put on her bra, apply her lipstick, slip her feet into her high heels. He found it hard to believe that someone so comfortable with the rituals of womanhood had ever been a young man named Justin. It was as hard to process as the idea that he could ever wake up as a female one day. As the Fullers were having their after-dinner coffee one evening (Tom had never forgotten how much he loved Sally's meatloaf) he asked her, "So, do you remember everything now?" "You mean about this life, my life?" she asked. He nodded, and she continued. "Yes, yes I do. It's all there...how scared I was when I was five years old and my daddy went to serve in Korea; how hard I prayed that he would come home safe, and thank God, he did; going to school and ducking under my desk when we had the air raid drills; doing the twist at school dances; it's all there. "What I don't remember is what happened between my death and being reborn as Justin. And I don't know if there have been any other lives. I feel like been given a priceless gift, but there's so much I don't understand about it." Tom nodded. "And we probably never will understand it." He paused. "You know what day tomorrow is." "Yes," Sally said softly. "It's the day I'm going to die." "Except this time it's going to different. This time we're not going to be on the freeway when that semi jackknifes. This time we're going to spend the entire day in this apartment." "But what if death can't be cheated? What if the building catches fire, or there's an earthquake, or--" "Look darling," he said. "Every day is an adventure and every day is a risk. But I can't believe that we went through all we went through only to have us lose each other again." "You really think so?" He reached out for her hand, which rested atop the dining table, and held it tightly. "I know so." So they stayed in on that Sunday. Even though they tried to make it seem like an ordinary day--having breakfast, reading the Sunday Journal, laundry and housecleaning--it was hard not to think about what wasn't happening. The next day, they opened the Westport Journal with a sense of curiosity and fear. "I'll never forgive myself if someone else was killed because of this," Sally said. Tom was scanning the pages with haste. Finally, near the back of the first section, his eyes alighted on a small item. He handed the paper to Sally, pointed, and said, "Take a look." She read the item with a sense of wonder and relief. "Traffic on Interstate 605 in both directions was stopped for nearly three hours Sunday afternoon after a tractor-trailer rig driven by Russell Clemons, 53, of Atlanta, Georgia jackknifed in the northbound lane near the Riverfront exit. Clemons suffered cuts and bruises but was not hospitalized. No other injuries were reported." Sally looked up at her husband smiling. "I guess I'm in the clear." That night, Sally enjoyed the most peaceful sleep she had known in ages. It was a good thing, too, because she had many sleepless nights ahead. Sunlight was already streaming into their bedroom on this beautiful early summer Saturday morning. Even before she opened her eyes, Sally sensed that her husband was moving about with a sense of purpose. She looked over and saw he was sorting through the contents of his sock and underwear drawer. "What are you doing, love?" "Packing, of course." "What do you mean, packing?" "Sally, don't you remember? I'm due to report tomorrow. I'm going to Vietnam." "You're what?" The fog suddenly lifted from her brain and she threw back the covers and was on her feet. "No, no, you can't. You, more than anybody else alive right now, ought to know the utter futility of this war. By the time it's over, fifty-eight thousand will be dead, and for what? For what? You can't go Tom, you just can't go over there and leave me a widow with a new baby. Not after all we've been through. You can't!" She started to cry. Tom wrapped his arms around her. She buried her face in his chest and continued to sob. "Don't you understand, honey? I made a commitment. The government paid for a good share of my college. I have to go." Sally looked up. Her face was red and puffy from crying so much. "This is about more than that, isn't it? It's about Dave Ramsey, isn't it? You figure if you go over, you can save him, just like you saved me. But you might just get yourself killed instead." "Honey," he said. "I don't have a choice in the matter. I really don't." And so it was settled. There was a tearful sendoff at the airport, and Sally drove home alone to begin her life as a single expectant mother. Fortunately she wasn't alone--her parents, her older sister and Tom's parents were all close by, and they all were a frequent presence in her life. She was especially grateful to be able to draw on the other women's collective wisdom and experience with pregnancy. This year was the only time when Sally truly missed the technology of the twenty-first century. It truly felt like Tom was a world away. In a strange way she envied the military wives of coming generations, who would have Skype at their disposal. Yes, you couldn't hold and kiss a computer screen, but at least you could look into your beloved's face...see how he was holding up under the strain of war. The highlight of her week was the arrival of a letter from Tom. The letters, which she would carefully preserve in a jeweled music box, were long on romance and bravado and short on details of the horrors of war. Of course, he wrote a lot about how great it was to see Bob Hope and his group of stars that December (though he didn't go too deeply into detail about how sexy he found Joey Heatherton to be). He almost made it sound like a grand adventure. But all Sally had to do was turn on the Huntley- Brinkley Report to see the reality of what her Tom was experiencing. Sally thought about tying a yellow ribbon around the sturdy oak in the apartment building's courtyard, but realized no one else would understand its significance, since the Tony Orlando song was still a few years in the future. As her abdomen kept growing steadily, she began marking the days off of two calendars. One was for the expected arrival of her child. The other was for the date of Tom's homecoming. As it was, both events came sooner than anticipated. Michelle Fuller arrived on December 29, 1965, a few weeks before her due date but without complications. She was a healthy six-pound, eight ounce child. "Dear Tom," she wrote the next day. "You are going to fall in love with your daughter the moment you lay eyes on her. She is so very beautiful. Speaking of eyes, she has your eyes--big, brown and beautiful. She has my face--a little on the chubby side--but I'd know those eyes anywhere. I can't wait until I'm looking into yours again." Sally didn't expect to see her husband until summertime. But one cold February evening, the telephone rang, and her feminine intuition instantly told her that something was wrong. Sally was exhausted--Michelle was going through a bad spell of colic and hadn't slept more than an hour at a stretch for days. Sally didn't know how she would be able to bear the strain of any bad news. She picked the receiver up and heard a deep male voice on the other end of the line ask, "Mrs. Fuller?" That was the last thing she remembered clearly until she found herself on the couch, her sister at her side, saying, "Easy, sis, easy. Remember, he's alive, and they say he's going to be fine. That's what matters. He's going to be fine." Even after the passage of almost fifty years, Tom was reluctant to give up too many details of what had happened in that village. Sally did learn that his unit was tracking a Viet Cong cell when they came under attack. Tom had led the counter attack that saved at least a dozen lives. But among those who fell that day was Second Lieutenant Dave Ramsey. "You're sure, you're sure they said he's going to be OK?" Sally sobbed. "Yes," her sister said evenly. "Yes he is. He took a lot of shrapnel in his left leg, and they said he's probably going to have a limp for the rest of his life, but he's going to be fine otherwise." Sally bit her lip, trying not to cry again, and failing. But this time they were tears of relief. She knew her husband would be coming home. She sensed the years ahead would not always be easy; she was sure Tom would carry scars of guilt over his inability to save his friend every bit as painful as his physical injuries. Three more children would follow Michelle into the world, and their collective lives would be filled with the kind of joy and pain most of us know in our own lives. But they would be a family, and Sally knew the bonds of love forever binding them would be enough to see them through.