This story is a slice in time, about the events of one evening in the lives of a group of soldiers.

They were all lonely being away from home at Christmas time. There was much humor and laughter, but with a sensitivity that reflected a genuine respect for each other. They found solace and strength in being together with a common purpose and shared burden. And yes, they did a little growing up at the same time.

The shadows of Christmas Eve wrapped us in their spell as our minds recalled the memories of Christmas past. The colors of the lights strung around the entrance to the NCO Club at the old 44th and the feeling of warmth when we entered. The smells of food, smoke and drink wafted across our faces. Sounds of Christmas music and laughter rang in our ears. The smiles and cheers from our friends greeted us. They were all there: Lamb, Hood, Hatler, Wilkerson, Reilly, Machefske, Kissinger, Barton, Etheredge, Kabasawa, Moore and Day.

We sat at our usual table and ordered drinks. Glancing around, we took in all the sights of soldiers and josans expressing their happiness. We lifted our glasses in a toast to good comradeship and appreciation of how friends could make a time of separation and isolation seem not so lonely after all.

A pretty girl approached our table and asked one of us to dance. I was feeling festive, so I agreed. We conversed in a kind of broken Korean-English economics. I smiled and played a little hard to get. I’ll threw this one back in and continued fishing; the evening was still young, and who knew what Santa had in store?

Happy hour in the Army was a stroke of genius by the club recreation officer; that night it didn't end. Pfc. Hood, the only GI in the place without a dance partner, was striking out. Spec. 4 Etheredge, holding up his empty glass, ordered another round, to be put on Pfc. Moore’s bar tab.

The live floor show singers had major problems with the letters l, r nd w. They struggled with "Rudolph the Red-Nose Reindeer." Somehow, on this most special night of night, it didn't matter. We enjoyed their oriental verse and rhyme and were caught up in the spirit of Christmas. Pfc.C Machefske, the avowed intellectual of our group, sat gazing with that wiry smile of his, muttering words such as “indigenous expostulation." Sgt. Wilkinson, finishing his umpteenth beer, invited the whole room to his place in Texas. Meanwhile, Pfc. Hood, resorting to offering PX privileges, was still striking out.

The music stopped, and from the shadows in a dark corner of the room I see her approaching. (Somewhere, far off in the distance, I could swear I heard sleigh bells.) Ah, yes, my present was here at last, Josan Extraordinaire. She was dressed all in green in a form-fitting sweater dress that tried to follow her every curve. Snow-white fur trimmed her collar. She had the scent of jasmine about her, not even a hint of Kimchee here.

All at once I felt like I was back in the States, asking a beautiful girl to dance. She smiled with that self-assured look one sees when they have just caught ‘the Big One’ hook, line and sinker. We danced close together, slow and smooth. No words were spoken; no words were necessary. She recognized me as a player of games, with emotional barriers up all around me, lest a serious thought might penetrate my façade. (Strange how seemingly transparent I was.)

In Korea, love was not real, and sex was a way of life. I believed sometimes we could too easily confuse those feelings. In spite of this knowledge I felt my defenses slipping away. I held her closer to me, and she followed my lead like she knew my every thought and welcomed me into her world. I became faintly aware the music had stopped. We were still moving to our own rhythm. Everyone was walking off the platform with the band. Neither one of us wanted to break our hold. for fear of losing the moment. I felt her breath on my face. We stared for several long moments at each other. A wave of feelings and emotions swept over me. Love, hope, peace and beauty in the Land of the Morning Calm.

Suddenly another Josan pulled her away and began speaking very fast in their language. She turned back to me and stretched out her hand, touching mine, and then she was gone, lost in the crowd. Helplessly I stared after her. This wasn’t happening, but if it was, why did I feel so alone? Am I to understand Santa’s gift was an emotional reminder of love and wonder, too briefly felt, but remembered for a lifetime?

Reality and my senses returned as I saw my friends waving to me. Spec. 4 Etheredgewas  ordering another round. Pfc. Lamb was agreeing to dance with a girl clearly half his size. Pfc. Hood was passed out on the table. Pfc. Moore, who must have silently observed all that had happened, whose grasp of the understatement brimmed with wit and humor, looked at me and smiled with a friend’s compassion and said, “You know what, this is unusual What was I just saying about emotional barriers protecting us against serious thought? Must be contagious."

The evening was winding down, and the band was packing up. GIs and Josans were departing for the village. The bar stools were still full with those waiting for last call. Some of us were heading back to the barracks, carrying Pfc. Hood as we went. The night air reminded us that you couldn't wear enough clothing to keep out the winds of a Korean winter. The temperature hovered around zero. The recent snow swirled around our feet and crunched under our boots.

The curfew sirens sounded at midnight, and tonight was no exception. We slowly made our way home. Did I say "home"? Wasn’t that the place many of us were pining for that night? Yes, that’s true, but for right now, this was where our friends were. This was family; this was home.

I am sure in some future date, some future Christmas, we will look back on those days and events and see the friends we’ve made, the times we’ve had and the joy we’ve felt, with pride and fond remembrance. MERRY CHRISTMAS!