I opened the door. The smell of cedar came out. Sharp and clean.
On the left side, behind Peg’s old winter coat that I’ve never been able to give away, there was a heavy black garment bag.
I unzipped it.
My service dress blues.
The jacket. Double-breasted, dark navy wool, with gold buttons. The trousers. The white shirt. The black tie.
The rating badge on the left sleeve. An eagle over three chevrons and an arch, with a crossed
anchor in the middle. Chief Petty Officer.
On the lower sleeve, gold service stripes. Seven of them. One for every four years.
And on the left breast, my ribbons.
Seven rows of them. Twenty-eight years of service in a little colored rectangle. Vietnam Service.
Navy Achievement Medal. Good Conduct, six awards. Sea Service Deployment.
And at the very top, alone in the first row, a blue ribbon with a thin white stripe down the middle.
