Between the Rows

As the plane approached the L.A. Airport my thoughts of homecoming were overwhelming. Two years of army life had made me battle worn and bone tired. With a lottery number of 23, being drafted was unavoidable, so I had enlisted. At 21 years old, my life had been put on hold. Not that I had any pressing plans; my life was already mapped out. Libby had seen to that. In fifth grade she had decided I was the one. From there, she had decided where we would live, how many children we will have and where we will be buried. Yes, she had plans, the first being that she and I would marry as soon as possible. Me, I wanted to farm and raise the best cattle and tobacco in the county. My family had lived on the same farm for generations, and I was in a hurry to continue that tradition.
Libby had not wanted me to make this stopover in L.A. She was excited about my homecoming, but my army buddy Doug Campbell was in Los Angeles, and wanted to see me before I went home. Doug had been my savior in a strange country, where the mere sound of gunfire made me break into a cold sweat. Not so for Doug, he was fearless and he kept me alive. He also kept me high most of the time. I learned more from him than anyone in my life. The life is told me about was so different than mine; Doug had been in Los Angeles for two months now. I had no way of knowing that this visit would change my life forever.
The picketers were out in full force, hippie types with long hair and beads, shouting anti war slogans and vile comments to me and the other GIs as we left the baggage area. Out of the crowd came Doug, cool as ever, wearing chinos, an open polo shirt and loafers with no socks. He hugged me and took my bag.
“Don’t mind the locals, Kentucky.” He grinned, using my familiar nickname. “They’re all draft dodging motherfuckers, trying to piss off the government. They’ll get their picture taken and go back to their dorms to get high. College kids are going to change the face of this war. We fought in Nam, but their protests are making the news. Hell, maybe people think they’re the true heroes of this war. How was your flight? Feels good, doesn’t it, to finally be free of Uncle Sam. Man, I’ve been busier than a dog in heat. I have a great job, a new apartment, and a nice piece of ass. Life is good.”
I let him ramble on, just enjoying his excitement. Without the threat of death and danger threatening our every waking moment, Doug’s life seemed perfect. As we drove onto the freeway, I couldn’t help but notice all the fancy cars, new and expensive. What did these people do for a living? What would Doug think if he saw my old pickup? Doug was still talking about his new job as an inspector in an import-export business. I was impressed. At twenty-four, it seemed to me Doug had his whole life together.
“Hey man, enough of me and my shit. Tonight we’re going to party L.A. style.”
I didn’t argue. I just wanted to sit back in his car and feel young and free again, to enjoy this time with him before I faced the responsibility of home. Was I ready for the life Libby had already mapped out for me? Would I come home the man she expected me to be?
That night Doug took me to a trendy Los Angeles night club. I had never seen so many beautiful girls, golden haired with lean, tanned bodies. These girls were sexy, and they lacked the innocence I was used to, and I felt uncomfortable around them. Later, Doug invited some friends over to his place and the party really started. The pounding music and booze started taking a march across my forehead so I slipped out to his balcony for some air.
I wondered if my Libby had become like one of these girls. These party girls, they had no worries about the future, with father who paid their way through college and gave them good jobs. Libby’s father, the Judge, had always given her everything she ever wanted. Libby’s brother, Justice, had already finished law school and was working at the Judge’s law firm. What the hell kind of job was waiting for me? I knew farming wasn’t going to support Libby, not in the way she was used to.
“Hey man, don’t jump, the party’s just started.”
I laughed. Doug had that way about him, when he’d see me deep in thought he knew just how to break the spell and lift me from that place of self-doubt.
“I was just getting some air, I’ll be in soon.” I said.
Doug wasn’t buying it.
“Kentucky, I know this isn’t your thing, but this is how we live out here. It’s not frogs croaking and cows mooing, but try to enjoy yourself man. Quit mooning over those brown-eyed calves and let one of those beauties inside help you get your groove on. You’re not married yet.”
“My groove is already screwed up after spending the last year with you.” I closed my eyes. “And I’m going home to the reality that I have no job, no future, and I’m as scared as I was in that hell-hole with you.”
Doug hesitated for a second, and then said “Well, I was going to wait till morning to talk to you about something, but now may be as good a time as any. Kentucky, that farm could be a gold mine.”
“Kentucky is not California. There is no gold in them there hills. And by the way we call them knobs.” I grinned.
“No, but your land is perfect for growing a product that is in great demand. Isn’t that what farming is all about, supply and demand?”
“I don’t know what you mean.” I said, scratching my chin.
“I’m not talking about vegetables. I’m talking about marijuana.” He looked at me sideways, seeing how I would respond.
“Doug.” I shook my head. “Are you nuts? You think my daddy is going to sit back and let me grow pot? You’re higher than I thought, or crazy.”
“No, no, listen. I’ve been thinking about this for a long time. It seems those knobs of yours are the perfect place to grow the stuff. Years ago people called it hemp, and used it to make rope or something. The soil and climate are perfect. David,” he took my shoulders and faced me towards the living room. “Look.”
I watched as a joint was passed from one pretty woman’s lips to the next. “David, pot is everywhere. Not just out here, not just for the hippies. It’s on every college campus in this county. Every draft dodging motherfucker in the goddamn state is smoking pot. Mexico and California are the main sources, but the law is cracking down. Your area is more rural and not on their radar. With my import-export business I have contact with trucking and warehouses all over. David, I can make you rich.”
“Are you stoned?” I was sure he was.
“I’m serious. The hippies will be running this county one day, and they will still be smoking marijuana. I remember those stories you told me about the moonshiners in those knobs. What’s the difference? People are willing to pay big bucks for what they can’t get anywhere else. You and me, man, we can be the next chapter in bootlegging history. You grow, I sell, and we both get rich. What’s not to love?” Doug was pleased with himself, with his plan.
“I think you’re insane. Daddy controls what’s on the farm. If he knew I smoked pot in Vietnam he’d have a fit. That’s another world. I can’t bring that home to Kentucky. You think we don’t have the law in our county? I don’t aim to spend the rest of my free life hopping from Vietnam to the county jail.”
“The law is not the problem.” Doug urged. “They’ve got real criminals to deal with anyway.