When I quit the Navy over thirty years ago, I didn't have the heart
to get rid of my uniform, after all it was made of good cloth and of
the hope of going back some day?
The uniform kept hanging there, a silent witness to work, dreams and
my lack of achievement. The call never came, there was an issue of my
instability, although treatment had been successful.
Dark blue uniform, silver buttons, three silver stripes on each sleeve,
going to waste. By impulse, I took it out from the bottom of my closet,
put it. Oddly the uniform fitted, but shoulders were too big and my old
frame could no longer fill it. The mirror told me I looked ludicrous.
Put the uniform in a bag, dropped it off in a green metal box that is there
for poor people who cannot afford to buy new gears. And thus I severed
the last futile romance of a life as a seaman and officer.
But how does one stop dreaming...
