Groovy Gma with FND

I finished Navy boot camp just before New Years in 1992. I opted for the two weeks of leave after boot camp, with only a one-week reduction in accumulation if we put in four hours at the recruiter’s office each day x 5 days. I was happy to do that. I was VERY proud of completing boot camp and wanted to encourage others. I’m the type of person, “If I can do it, ANYONE can do it”.

I had a little hiccup in boot camp and was pulled from my company for a few days. Little did I know, that was the precursor to my bipolar coming out once I was transferred to a ship after my daughter was born…..another post! That did not effect my graduation date. I participated in choir and because of that, I didn’t have to participate in work week. The stories I heard about work week turned my stomach, and i was SO grateful that I volunteered for choir and was accepted. The only downside? I had to endure the gas chamber twice, once with my company and once with choir. Again, another post!

At the end of boot camp we learn where we’re going for school. At the time, Hospital Corpsman was being taught in San Diego or Great Lakes. I was hoping and praying for San Diego because I am from the L.A area and had family there still and in San Diego. BINGO! I got it!!

There was another gal in my boot camp company that was also from Oregon and also was assigned to Hospital Corps School in San Diego. Once it was time to report to San Diego, she took a bus to my city, then we drove to San Diego in my ’88 Honda Civic sedan. It was so fun and scary to be on my own at 19. We arrived at the old Balboa hospital on 1/17/1993 that had been converted into barracks. We were actually late, so we faked stomachaches and went to sick call so we wouldn’t get into trouble!

The next day, my boot camp friend and I were driving around San Diego on the freeways, trying to get a feel for the city. Suddenly, a white Suzuki Samurai was struggling to get being us. Keep in mind what my friend and I look like; two 19-year-old gals, white Honda Civic, loud music, tooling around having a good time. I’m wearing Ray-Ban Cats Eyes with a pink and purple mosaic across the top and on the arms, my long auburn hair blowing in the wind. I’m young and free.

I get nervous when these two obviously older, and obviously military (hello high n tight), seemed desperate to talk to us. Again, I was nervous, so I pulled off the freeway and into a 7-Eleven and they followed us. They parked a couple cars away and when we all got out of our cars, the guy that would become my husband said, “I am so sorry. you look exactly like a gal I know from Oregon. I thought you were her and she just didn’t tell me she was in town.”

I was shy and empowered being on my own for the first time. We engaged in small talk, quickly realizing that we’re both Navy. He’s an AMS2 at North Island and the Drug Counselor for his unit. He’s, at the time we met, an instructor for his rate. He’d been on three Westpac’s, all on the USS Carl Vinson. In 8 years, he never left San Diego/North Island.

“Today is my birthday. I’m 26.” He invites me and my friend to his house for a ‘party’ that he says he has planned. His friend that was driving the Samauri is talking to my friend. He tells Martin, “Let’s have them over for my party tonight.” Martin agrees, Ray gives me his address, and we part ways.

It’s 1993 and no one has a GPS. I had to buy a map to figure out how to get to his house. It ended up being pretty easy. He lived in a small two-bedroom 1 bath home that was one of four on a small parcel behind a gas station and across the street from a strip mall that has a 96c store, a NY pizza restaurant, a Mexican food place, etc. The other three houses contained another Navy guy, a Navy Veteran and his girlfriend, and the fourth was a Mexican family with ties to cartel. It wasn’t uncommon to smell horse piss coming from that little place. Ray was on very good terms with them…come to find out much later, Ray was buying from them.

There was no party. It was just the four of us, and the guys had bought wine coolers. We hung out listening to music, played dice and dominoes. As the wine coolers disappeared, so did my clothes. Ray refused to let me into his room, and I never did find out why. Martin and my friend went into his room and closed the door. That one night turned into 28 years’, a long 28 years.