Metro Pulse/A Note from the Publisher/Dazed and Confused

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A toast to Bearden High School's Class of '83

by Brian Conley

Martin Amis once wrote a novel called Time's Arrow in which everything moved backwards. The protagonist wakes at the moment of his death to tell his story in reverse, ultimately revealing his guilt over the role he played during the Holocaust in Nazi Germany. It has been over a decade since I read that book, but I was reminded of it this morning as I sat down to write this article. Here's why:

7:30 a.m.
Me: "I feel horrible! Why'd you let me drink so much? And Taco Bell? What were we thinking?"
Wife: "I'm sorry, honey."

12:20 a.m.
Wife: "What do you want, honey?"
Me: "Three tacos."

12:10 a.m.
Wife: "Did you have fun?"
Me: "Yeah. Did you?"
Wife: "I did."
Me: "You know, I have to admit I was dreading going to this reunion. But it wasn't like I thought it would be."
Wife: "How do you mean?"
Me: "I mean it's amazing what some of the people have done with their lives. I thought it would be boring, but it wasn't. The last time I saw a lot of these people we were listening to Zeppelin, drinking Mickey's Big Mouths in undeveloped cul-de-sacs. Bud Watts flies a DC-10 for FedEx. Jeff Black is an analyst for Lehman Brothers on Wall Street. Johnny Gass just got back from Iraq."
Wife: "Really? I had no idea."
Me: "I'm hungry. How about pulling into Taco Bell."

11:10 p.m.
Me: "You know, Metro Pulse comes out on Thursday and, this year, Sept. 11 falls on Thursday. I want to write about that, but not unless we can do it justice."
Jeff: "A buddy of mine came into my office and said, 'Hey, man. We have to go.' He had a grave look on his face, but I thought he was joking. 'No, man,' he said. 'A plane just hit one of the towers.' Halfway down the stairs a guy coming up says, 'It was just a small plane. Everybody can go back.' My friend looked at the guy, laughed and said, 'A small plane? Screw that!' We kept going. Ten minutes later I saw a guy jump. It was surreal. I didn't see him hit, but what I remember most is how his tie was trailing behind him as he fell. It's strange, isn't it? All that carnage. The sheer, unspeakable horror of it all and the image that stands out in my mind to this day is that guy's tie."

10:15 p.m.
Me: "So how long have you been back?"
John: "A couple of months."
Me: "What do you fly? A Black Hawk?"
John: "An Apache."
Me: "You think it will be all right over there?"
John: "It has to be. We don't have a choice now. The thing is we're not trained to do what we're doing now. We're trained for combat, not to be policemen. We get a little bit of that training, but we don't practice it. I see these people complaining about the looting or the fact that soldiers are still getting killed, but we do the best we can. You know, after you've been in heavy combat for three weeks, you're not gonna shoot some kid walking down the street with a TV or some old lady pushing around a couch. But then you can't tell who's gonna walk up to you with a smile on their face, pull out a gun and shoot you between the eyes. It sucks. But we knew that going in. We have to stick it out this time. We can't abandon those people."
Me: "What you've done with your life is amazing."
John: "I just go where they tell me, Brian."
Me: "No. Really, Johnny. You may hear this all the time, but I've never gotten to say it. I am in awe of you and of everyone who does what you do. And I'm proud as hell of you, brother."
John: "Thanks, man. Let's get another beer."

7:00 p.m.
Wife: "Are you excited about the reunion?"
Me: "I guess. Don't let me drink too much. I have to write a column for the paper tomorrow and I have no idea what I'm going to write about."