Behind Sight

By Billy Garrett

"Behind Sight" is a #1 best selling true story. Billy and his best friend Jesse were about to fight in the Vietnam War when tragedy forever altered the course of their lives. For almost five decades Billy has refused to speak of that horrific until now. Frozen in time, he wandered the country sleeping in the vegetable fields of Missouri and in the forests of Yosemite trying to remember who he once was. Billy Garrett draws you into a deeply moving story of how the power of relentless perseverance can draw hope from devastation and loss. Brilliantly written and filled with colorful characters, "Behind Sight," is dramatic, inspiring and surprisingly humorous.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Billy Garrett
• Release date: Nov 22, 2014
• ISBN: 9780996089142

Billy Garrett

Billy Garrett is a retired general contractor living in Bend, Oregon. He loves playing the guitar, fishing off the Oregon coast, writing and most of all playing with his five wonderful grandkids.

Book preview

ONE

Part of me died in a 57 Chevy. It happened on a desolate two lane highway just outside of Bakersfield, California, at one in the morning. I was in a muddy ditch lying face up when I awoke. Except for my right arm I couldn’t move, not even my neck. There was blood seeping down the side of my chin and as I reached to wipe my face I felt my nose dangling to one side.

As I looked skyward the moon was full with grey puffy clouds peacefully drifting past its cratered face. Then I heard agonizing cries of pain and calls for help. His deep unfamiliar voice was that of an older man, perhaps forty or so but no sounds from my friend Jesse who was traveling with me. Then the cries bled into moans, and even that ceased and the night became still. No distant tire noises from approaching cars, just crickets chirping in the vegetable field next to me.

When I rolled my eyes I saw two cars crushed like accordions in the middle of the road. The last thing I remembered was a set of headlights diving into the hood of my car. Why am I so far away from the pile of metal? Seventy to eighty feet I guessed. I must have been catapulted out the front windshield on impact. Broken glass was scattered down the highway all the way back to the wreckage and they sparkled like diamonds under the moonlight.

I searched for movement of any kind but there was none. Then a calm wind drifted over my body. I saw it free a lonely piece of paper that was trapped in a patch of tall weeds next to me. It lifted, fell to the road and tumbled slowly to the other side.

The mud beneath my limp body was cool from the night air but my body burned with pain. This must be a nightmare and soon I’ll wake up to the smell of bacon frying in mom’s kitchen, but why do I feel pools of warm blood under my neck, left arm and both legs? Could this be the end of my life? Will anyone come to help?

I couldn’t catch my breath. I struggled to expand my chest but the air felt thin. A rib must have punctured a lung when I landed. I’ll be dead soon if nobody comes. Maybe I’m dead already, I wasn’t sure. I felt suspended as if floating between two worlds.

Except for the stars moving slowly across the blackened sky, I wasn’t sure how long I’d been laying there. Maybe an hour or two had passed when off in the distance I heard a faint humming noise. I couldn’t tell what it was. Perhaps the spinning of a farmers wind mill or maybe it’s my imagination. The humming got louder with each passing second. It was a car, I was sure of it, and the whining of its tires were heading towards me.

Headlights appeared and shot a beam down the center of the highway causing the yellow striped lines to glow. I heard the vehicle go into a skid. They must have been flying. The tires screeched for a hundred feet or so and black smoke rose from the burning rubber. The vehicle’s headlights spun out of sight and back again as the car did a three sixty before coming to stop twenty feet from the wreckage.

A door opened and a dog barked.

Oh no, this is bad, real bad, a man’s voice yelled.

Another door opened and another voice said, You got that right, no one can survive this.

I heard running on the pavement and saw the two men as they came into the headlight beams of their car. They approached the totaled cars as the large dog circled the accident.

You check this car and I’ll look inside the other, one man said.

Do you see anybody?

Can’t tell. The roofs caved in and the dashboard is pushed against the front seat. Wait, wait I hear someone. Yeah, there he is. He’s on the floor with his legs wrapped around the foot pedal.

Do you see anyone in that car?

Blood. Blood all over the place. Oh god, oh god, oh god. I’m gonna be sick.

I heard him run to the ditch and vomit. More than once he heaved and choked and gasped for air.

You okay?

No. The guy in the passenger seat has no head.

What about the driver?

I don’t know where the driver is, but there’s more blood on the steering wheel. We’re going to need help dude, I can’t handle this. Let’s get the flashlight out of my car.

I tried to yell, over here, over here, but I didn’t have enough air in my lungs to holler. Clouds had blanketed the moon and I couldn’t see what the men looked like but the dogs bark was deep. Might be a german shepherd or a lab. I saw the flashlight beam search back and forth across the highway. They were looking too close around the wreckage. The dog raced down the ditch on the other side of the road and into the vegetable field, zigzagging back and forth.

Rex, get back here, one man yelled, and then the other said,

Look, see that path of broken windshield bits on the highway? Let’s follow it.

I heard the crunching of their footsteps get closer and closer.

Shine the light in the ditch. Do you see anyone?

There he is, he’s alive, he’s alive, as the flashlight scanned my body.

Hank, take my car. Rex and I will stay here. Go get help. Hurry, he’s bleeding badly.

I passed out before the ambulance arrived. I couldn’t remember anyone carrying me on a stretcher, but I regained consciousness on the way to the hospital. I heard voices saying, Open your eyes, open your eyes, are you okay?

The sounds of sirens began screaming in my ears as the ambulance sped around corners tossing us from side to side. Hovering over me were two medics, one holding compresses against my open wounds while the other dug glass from my skin. Then one of the medics asked, What’s your name son? My lips moved but I didn’t have enough air in my lungs to speak. He leaned closer and asked for my name again. Not wanting to die without anyone knowing who I was, I sucked in as much air as I could muster and whispered, Billy, Billy Garrett.

On the gurney next to me lay a body with a white sheet completely covering it. I knew it was my friend Jesse. Above him was another gurney. That had to be the man who killed my friend. He was pounding the side of the ambulance with his fist screaming, I can’t see, I can’t see. Then I heard a voice say to me, I’m gonna give you a shot of morphine to ease your pain.

When it kicked in I watched the interior of the ambulance slide into a blur.

TWO

It was 1965. I had been drafted to fight in the Vietnam war and I was to report for duty next week, but that wasn’t going to happen now. This nightmare began when I got a call from Jesse, who was on medical leave from the Navy.

Hey ole buddy, let’s go fishing this weekend.

He was at his parents house just up the street from my folks where he was recovering from a gunshot wound to his leg. In six days he’d be boarding his ship back to Vietnam.

Jesse didn’t have many friends, but I liked him. He was a tall skinny guy and always had a pack of Camel cigarettes tucked under the right sleeve of his tee shirt. With his olive skin and dark hair he looked Italian, but I never asked if he was.

I had visited him a couple of times in Long Beach when I was in high school. The air craft carrier he was stationed on would dock at the Naval base for repairs. We’d meet at the Pike. It was an old amusement park built in 1902. After dark it was a hangout for sailors on leave, bums and hookers. Over the years different rides were added to attract tourists. My favorite was the Cyclone Racer. It was a dual track roller coaster built on pilings over the water.

To impress the ladies, Jesse always showed up wearing an immaculate white sailors suit. Not a wrinkle or a speck of dirt could be seen on him.

What are we going to do tonight Jesse? I’d asked.

Lets catch a flick if there’s no foxy babes around, he’d reply.

Jesse had a favorite wall he’d lean up against at the Pike where he’d have a birds eye view of every chick that strolled along the boardwalk. Jesse would tilt his sailor hat forward, rest one foot against the wall and light a cig.

Watch this, he’d say.

Jesse took a long drag, rounded his lips and with a snap of his jaw pushed perfect smoke rings into the evening air.

What’s the most rings you’ve blown in one shot? I inquired.

Eleven. I can even make little ones pass through big ones if there’s no breeze.

After Jesse smoked his camel to the nub he turned and said,

Dude, did you get a tattoo yet?

No, I can’t decide what I want.

Listen Billy, there’s a far out little tattoo parlor around the corner on Ocean Boulevard. This guy’s a chinamen and inks out a badass fire breathing dragon. Look, he did this one.

What about the bald eagles head on your other forearm? I inquired.

I got that done in Nam for five bucks.

I hadn’t spoken to Jesse in over a year when I got his call inviting me to go fishing and it was pure coincidence that I was at my folks house in Los Angeles. I was eighteen and had moved from Los Angeles to El Paso, Texas to hang out with my cousin when I got a love letter from the Army. They were inviting me to fight in the Vietnam War. The letter informed me I had two weeks to get my butt to the military post, so I headed back to Los Angeles to say my goodbyes to my folks.

I gladly accepted his invitation. I knew it would be a long time before I would have the freedom to do whatever I wanted, and a few days at Lake Isabella fishing with my buddy would be a good send off. Around eleven that night we loaded our bags and fishing gear into my 1957 Chevrolet and off we went.

THREE

I loved that candy apple red vehicle. It had tall shark like fins on the rear fenders and a long sleek body that gracefully curved towards the crowning emblem on the hood of the car. There were a million gold metal flakes in the paint that sparkled in the sun and more so under street lights. My buds and I looked groovy cruising Van Nuys Boulevard on the weekends in our plaid polyester shorts and funky colored shirts, or at least we thought we did.

Cruising the Boulevard was an art. If you wanted to look cool you had to develop a style. The windows should always be open with elbows casually draped across the door. It was extremely important to look liquid and not uptight. If the speed limit was thirty I’d go twenty. When we came to a stop light I would rev the engine four or fives times. Everyone did it. As soon as the light turned green, if there were no cops around, we’d all peel rubber for ten or fifteen feet. It was the code.

Scanning the side and rear view mirrors for approaching vehicles was crucial as well. If a car load of chicks slid next to me, it was a serious mistake to look at them too quickly. Stay calm and turn your head slowly.

Most other guys had fast cars to attract the girls but my Chev was a bit of a slug off the line. I had to rely on the cool cat approach to attract them. I never landed a single date on the Boulevard, but it was a gas anyway.

Hanging out at Bob’s Big Boy at the end of the strip was the best. Greasers congregated at one end of the parking lot, surfers at the other end and nerds usually parked on the street. Bob’s served humungous burgers and the carhops were bitchen. They’d fly from car to car on roller skates wearing mini skirts and low cut blouses. After inhaling our food, we’d scrunch down in our seats and listen to tunes on the vibrasonic radio. A relatively unknown group, the Beatles, had just released their new song I Want to Hold Your Hand. But Bob Dylan, the Beach Boys and the Rolling Stones were still the kings.

The best part of the Chevy was its vinyl bench seat. Chicks could slide next to me at drive-in movies. Sometimes I’d forget to let my buddies out of the trunk when I snuck them in. I’d be watching the opening cartoons and hear banging and muffled yells coming from the rear of the car.

Are we here yet? Is it safe to come out? Open the stupid trunk.

FOUR

We were a bit late leaving for Lake Isabella that night, Jesse and I, but we knew we could arrive by two in the morning and have time to set up camp. Maybe even catch a few winks before the early morning fishing bite.

Except for an occasional car, we had the two lane highway to ourselves. Jesse talked a lot about girls, fast cars and what he was going to do after his hitch in the Navy. As for me, I just listened, kept my eyes on the road, and tried not to think about going to Vietnam in a month or so.

Then off in the distance I saw a set of headlights heading towards me. Another car was following close behind, maybe too close, but I thought nothing of it as they approached. Suddenly the second car swerved into my lane with no warning. No