Sarah I - The Ragle Years
                 By Katherine English

 
 Disclaimer: JAG and its characters are the property of Donald Bellisario, Paramount and CBS. All other characters are mine and fictional.

Sarah I - The Ragle Years

12:37 A.M.
July 1, 1989
Red Rock Mesa, Arizona


Even the stars were passing judgement.

Sarah lay in the chill darkness of the high desert, staring despondently at the all-seeing firmament above her. How could she have made such an utter mess of her life in only 19 short years? Where was the childhood she'd longed to live...the budding promise of womanhood soon to come?

She scanned the earth below. Red Rock Mesa seemed a million miles from where she thought she'd be tonight, a million miles from Chris, and even further from the cemetery where dear, vulnerable Eddie lay cold in an early grave.

She felt empty, hollowed out, alone. As she looked at the barren desert stretching outward toward infinity, she couldn't help but wonder...where did it all go wrong? When had her world become such an unbearable place in which to live? When had it all turned to dust?

Near the Marine Corps Air Station
Yuma, Arizona
May 30, 1985


Life had never been easy in the MacKenzie household, she reflected. Her father, Joe MacKenzie, a Marine NCO, was both a brutal man, and a drunk. His nightly dance with the bottle had left her mother weary beyond her years, and battered beyond endurance.

Within those tired and faded walls, the passing of time had become a tortuous existence. And so, while it damaged her in more ways than she would ever know, it came as no surprise to Sarah when on the night of her 15th birthday, her mother simply vanished.

No one had even looked for the matriarch of the MacKenzie family. It was as though her escape was long overdue, the theft of a clemency that had never been granted. In fact, if anyone had bothered to give it any thought at all, they would have wondered why it had taken her so long.

She had told her mother that she'd be "sleeping over" at her friend Cheryl's house that night, but it had been a lie. Cheryl was barely an acquaintance. Instead, she'd spent the night in the desert with her best friend and drinking buddy, Eddie.

In honor of her birthday, Eddie had "boosted" a six-pack from the local 7-11, an infraction that was rapidly becoming a habit for him.

Close and kindred souls, they spent the night watching the constellations float lazily across the darkened sky. There, beneath the unseeing moon, they sipped their beer and dreamt of rosy futures beyond their reach.

"Sarah?" he'd said. "Some day I'm gonna get away from here. I'm leaving this place behind me, and when I do...I'm never comin' back."

"Me too, Eddie. Me, too." she replied. "I'll be so far gone, this place won't even be a memory."

Sarah recalled coming home from school the next day, her long, dark hair streaming behind her as a "dust devil" whirled across the open desert on its way to the great unknown.

"Where've you been?" her father had slurred drunkenly. "I thought you left with that bitch of a mother of yours. I was just getting ready to celebrate."

"I had to study at the library." she lied, knowing full well that Joe MacKenzie would never check on her there.

"Well, pull my shoes off!" he ordered. "If I'm stuck with you, then you're damn well gonna pull your weight around here."

Stunned, Sarah realized that her mother was never coming back, and her already oppressive life had just taken a turn for the worst. Her first impulse was to follow her mother's example, and get on the next bus out of town. If it hadn't been for Eddie's sensitive counsel, her relationship with Arizona and her father would have ended right there.

Sadly, her best friend had demons of his own to deal with, and so they had formed a mutual support group for each other. He never asked for more than she was willing to offer, and she extended him the same respect. Instead they shared an empathy that only they could understand or offer. They each gave the other the comfort and understanding so needed in their young lives, but which the fickleness of fate had denied them both.

It was hard to believe that things could have gotten worse, but with the absence of her mother, life in the MacKenzie home suddenly took on nightmarish parameters. Joe MacKenzie, formerly a closet alcoholic, now decided to make his status official. His frequent binges on the dilapidated sofa in the living room, became essentially a thing of the past. His safaris into the bottle now lead him to the seedy bars and whorehouses on Santa Fe Avenue. More than once he'd been sentenced to the local brig for becoming "drunk and disorderly".

Her life was actually better when he was away, however, for it was when he was present that life truly became unbearable. Having no one else upon whom to vent his ever-deepening anger and frustration, he exercised what he felt was his paternal right and tormented his only daughter with his perpetual invectives and insinuations.

And then one day, during the summer of her 17th year, Chris Ragle came roaring into their cluttered yard on his huge, black Harley, and stole her heart away.

Summer, 1987
Yuma, Arizona


Chris was a rebel, a "bad boy" of the first order. Most people in their small town headed the other way when Chris rolled by. But to Sarah, he was the salvation she had always needed.

The rugged biker was eight years her senior, and had lived life on the edge since he had dropped out of high school at 16. His aging Harley, burdened with more miles than anything on wheels was meant to have, had been his only companion on the lonely road, and so, it was no surprise that he formed an immediate attachment to the lovely waif with the long, raven-colored hair and doe-like eyes.

He said that he'd stopped for directions to the interstate that day, but in fact, Ragle had seen young Sarah from the dusty dirt road that ran by her yard, and had invented a weak excuse to stop and establish a connection.

Wide-eyed and naive, Sarah had fallen immediately beneath his spell. He was her Svengali, and his hold on her was hypnotic. And so, in spite her father's vehement attempts to dissolve the relationship, Sarah found herself spending much of her free time on the back of his Harley, her thighs wrapped firmly around him, her cares becoming lost on the lonely stretches of desert roadway they perpetually explored.

The situation came to a head late that summer, on a balmy night in the front yard of the MacKenzie bungalow. Chris had once again ridden up to claim the winsome Sarah, only to be confronted in the yard by her father.

MacKenzie was drunk that night, as usual, only this time the "spirits" had told him it was time to take Ragle to task. Grateful for a chance to escape her father's wrath,, Sarah had rushed out to meet the aging Harley, hoping to be far away before her father could intervene. But it was not to be. With a burst of speed unbelievable in one so despoiled, Joe had rushed madly out into the yard behind her, grabbing her hair, pulling her off of the roaring piece of machinery into the dirt at his feet.

It was hard to say exactly what happened next. One minute Chris was sitting astride his ebony steed, and the next, he was leaning over her father, pinning him to the ground with his knee, his fist forming a choke-hold on the tequila-soaked collar of the older man's shirt.

She could still remember the words, which escaped, like a feral growl into the desert night. "If you ever touch her again, Old Man, I'll kill you." he promised. Then, once again astride his Harley, he had offered Sarah his hand.

Sarah looked at her father lying drunkenly in the dust, and at the handsome young man whose coal-black eyes pierced her very soul... and made her decision. That night, in the desert, with only the stars to bear witness, Sarah gave herself to Chris Ragle, and crossed an expanse that forever claimed the final tatters of her childhood innocence.

That Chris wanted her, came as no surprise. She was a beautiful young woman, and was accustomed to the lecherous stares of the young men with whom she came in contact. But until that moment, she had never felt the trust required to allow sharing this last piece of her body and soul with another human being. Now, at 17, Chris had come into her life, a knight in tattered armor rescuing her from the ravages of her existence, and she knew the time had come.

Chris had taken her far out into the desert that night, beyond the small sprinkling of buttes that ringed her tiny community, and away to the east where the sand shone red and gold in the fullness of the moon. He'd taken the large, colorful serape he kept bundled on the back of his Harley, and stretched it out on the desert floor. Then, retrieving a bottle of mescal from his saddlebag, he'd lead Sarah across the moonlit expanse, to the edge of the festively decorated blanket.

Silently, he removed the cap from the mescal, and pressed the bottle to his lips, sucking greedily at its contents. Then, wiping the rim on his sleeve, he extended the bottle to Sarah, his eyes bidding her to share in its warmth.

At first she was hesitant. Her experience with alcohol had been limited to the infrequent six-pack that Jimmy occasionally provided. But Chris was a man, not a boy, and the look on his face said that he expected her to act like a woman.

Silently, Sarah took the bottle from his hand, and poured the burning liquid down her quivering throat, feeling it sear its way into the pit of her stomach. She coughed... gasping for breath as the fiery liquor began to claim her senses.

Ragle took the bottle from her hand, and once again drained a substantial amount before screwing the cap in place and tossing the half filled container down on the sand at his feet. It was then that he directed his attention to the naively alluring young woman before him.

Sarah stood, pale in the moonlight, her hair streaming down her back, almost to the edge of the brief cut-offs that exposed her trembling thighs to the chill night air. Ragle eyed her hungrily as he closed the distance between them, his hands moving impatiently on the black leather of his biker chaps. Wordlessly, within the unyielding grip of his arms, he pressed the rugged planes of his body to hers, and claimed the soft interiors of her mouth.

Sarah tipped her head back, and watched the stars spin crazily out of control. She could feel his lips move greedily down the length of her throat...touching, tasting, demanding.

Then, with a primal growl, he lowered her to the blanket...and Sarah felt the last vestige of her childhood slip silently into the desert night, to be replaced by a woman of hunger and passion.

Slowly Chris untied the drawstring on her muslin peasant blouse, gently enlarging the neckline until it cleared her shoulders and he was able to enjoy the fullness of her naked breasts. He was surprisingly gentle as he ran his hands up under her rib cage, cupping her with his palms, stroking her with his thumbs.

"Sarah...you're so beautiful." he whispered, as his mouth sought her turgid nipple, enflaming its pebbled surface with his tongue. "You make me so hot, Darlin', I think I'm losing my mind."

The prominent bulge at the apex of Chris' chaps had grown alarmingly, pressing, rock-hard against her outer thigh. Her breath quickened. He seemed so huge...the thought frightened her, and yet something inside felt drawn to the physical presence of him.

Sensuously, Chris trailed his fingers down her midriff, his hand descending to the front of her cut-offs. Her breath caught in her throat as she felt him gently "pop" the snap at her waist, slowly lowering the zipper downward toward the juncture of her thighs.

"You're not wearing any underwear, Darlin'...I like that. I like that a lot." he gasped, as his fingers dipped between her thighs and explored the downy triangle between her legs.

His touch was electric. Invasively, he inserted a finger between her moist folds, seeking access to the hot, moist inner recesses of her body.

But something was wrong.

"Sarah...?" He looked puzzled...unsure. "Sarah? Are you...I mean, have you ever had sex with a man before?" he questioned intimately.

Fearful that her answer might displease him, Sarah hesitantly shook her head. "No...not yet, Chris. You'll be the first."

Slowly he got to his knees beside her, and stared at her well-endowed form laying prone in the silvery moonlight. She was untried...and she wanted him. She was his for the taking. No matter what else happened, she would remember this night for the rest of her life.

Wordlessly, he bent and pulled her blouse off over her head. "Darlin', I don't know how much I can take. I...I'll try to take it easy, but..." He was unable to finish the thought.

Caressing her leg, he silently removed her soft leather boots and reached for the waistband of her brief denims. His hands trembled as he peeled them down her naked thighs and dropped them on the sand at her feet.

He inhaled deeply, closing his eyes, praying for control. Then Chris stood above her, tearing at his own clothing until, finally, he stood naked before her anxious gaze.

Unseen in the pale moonlight, she felt a flush creep upward, engulfing her face. He was enormous!

Sarah had heard stories from other girls about their "first time", and she felt the initial stirring of apprehension begin to grow and build within the in the pit of her stomach. What if he was too big? What if she was too small? Should she ask him to stop? Should she run?

Shakily, Chris knelt on the blanket between legs, his hands slowly caressing the silken flesh of her inner thighs, working their way upward toward her moist, quivering epicenter. Breathing heavily, he once again paused to regain control over his burgeoning member, then inserted his thumbs between her nether lips and opened her fully to his heated gaze.

She was wet...so very wet. Chris inhaled sharply at the thought of burying himself in her moist, molten center. How long could he hold off? Already his body was screaming for release.

Determined to make her transition to womanhood as painless as possible, Chris hungrily lowered his head and began to taste the sweet moisture which flowed freely and unbidden from the wellspring of her soul.

Sarah gasped as a silken knot began to form in the pit of her stomach, growing, consuming, radiating throughout her body. Her heartbeat quickened, and she pressed her thighs uncontrollably around his face, capturing the object of her pleasure. Then, fully under his spell, felt herself go rigid and a rush of moisture gushed from within her. In a state of shivering abandon, she began to arch her spine, grabbing his hair, pulling him upward, urging him to consummate their union. No longer did she worry about the size of his member, only that it fill her...and immediately.

Chris could wait no longer. Her muted pleas drove him over the edge, beyond the point of reason. Wiping his face on his lower arm, he leaned forward, resting his weight on his forearms, positioning himself to remove the last barrier to nirvana. "Are you sure, Sarah?" he gasped huskily, wondering if he still had enough control to back off.

"Yes" she breathed. "Now...do it!"

He gazed steadily into her eyes as though to gauge her readiness, her state of arousal... her pain. Then, readying his body for the quick, powerful thrust that he knew they both wanted, he paused. There was a better way.

He suddenly realized that it was within his power to keep from hurting her. Once more struggling desperately for control, Chris wrapped his arms around her, rolling on his back until she lay above him, her thighs straddling his hips. Then, sliding his hand between them, he again positioned his engorged member within the nest of her saturated curls.

"Go ahead, Darlin'...you call the shots." he said, praying that she would be quick.

The hand which had aligned their union, now began to pay homage to the feverish nub which strained insanely beneath his experienced touch. Maddeningly, Chris passed his finger across its distended surface, manipulating...arousing... bringing her once again to the very brink of ecstasy. His left hand, now free to roam, pressed insistently against her buttocks, drawing her against his straining manhood, frantically urging her to complete the joining of their bodies before he burst into a million pieces.

Sarah's dug her nails into her palms, her face contorting into something primeval. Moaning deeply, she began to shudder, her climax throwing any thought of hesitation to the wind. Then, hungrily, with a motion born of heated abandon, Sarah thrust herself against his powerful erection, feeling it penetrate her barrier, her body, and finally...her soul.

If there was pain, she didn't notice. Her only sensation was one of pure, untamed passion as he arched his pelvis, impaling her fully on his distended sex. She paused to adjust to his enormous presence, then thrusting her hips once more, she sought to take him ever deeper within her, feeling him fill her with his pulsating arousal. Feral moans erupted from her throat and were lost in the still desert air as she began to mimic a rhythm as old as time itself.

Finally, unable to control himself any longer, Chris once again flipped her over on her back and began to thrust mightily within her. She cried out...not in pain, but in an effort to urge him still further.

Chris complied, and as he once again felt her heated juices flood around him, he gave a final, powerful lunge, burying himself ever deeper within her, inundating her very being with his essence.

Chris collapsed at her side, his breath coming in deep, labored gasps as he sought to regain his composure.

"Darlin', if that was your first time, I can't wait to see what you're like with a little experience under your belt!

She smiled weakly. The night was young, They had lots of time to find out.

Fall, 1987
Yuma, Arizona


Chris proved to be both an exciting and demanding lover, and it was at his insistence that Sarah left her home with MacKenzie and took up residence in his rented trailer on the outskirts of town. There, in their little hideaway, the alcohol she'd abhorred in her former home, ironically became a frequent visitor in her own.

Eventually, her father grudgingly resigned himself to Chris' dominance in Sarah's life, and began to separate himself from her altogether.

Chris, himself a drop out, offered little or no support when it came to Sarah's education. It was to Sarah's credit alone that she remained in school, although the influence of his demands, and the alcohol, which he readily supplied her, took a decided toll on her grades.

Life with Chris was not the idyllic existence Sarah had longed for. The fact that he considered her his property went without question. His irresponsibility and domineering nature, however, became a burden she had not expected. If not for the alcohol dependence he had fostered within her, and the terrible fear of retribution, Sarah would have packed a knapsack and vanished, like her mother, on the next Greyhound.

Fall, 1988
Las Vegas, Nevada


Then, on her 18th birthday, Chris drove Sarah north along the interstate to the bright lights of Las Vegas. There, at Chris' insistence, and "high" on tequila "shooters", they became man and wife, forever removing her from any illusion of control that Joe MacKenzie might still harbor.

Their honeymoon was a brief affair, intensely sensual, but dimmed by the alcoholic haze which surrounded it.

Chris had blown the budget and rented a honeymoon suite at the Tropicana on the famed Las Vegas Strip. Sarah was amazed...never in her life had she seen a room so decadently appointed.

It was a vision in red and white. White silk curtains opened onto a private balcony overlooking the bright lights of "the strip" below. The pale carpet was thick enough to lose yourself in, and the large, round bed came equipped with an array of built-in remotes that stimulated the imagination. But the focal point of the suite, was the private hot tub for two that sat invitingly in a red- tiled room beyond the bed.

Sarah crossed the scarlet enclosure and dipped her hand into the bubbling water, smelling the aroma of fresh strawberries rising from its depths. It was then she felt Chris close behind her, his hands on her hips, preventing her from turning to face him.

"Do you like it, Darlin'?" he whispered, his tone husky and seductive. "I planned this just for you."

Dropping his shirt to the floor, Chris reached his arms around and cupped her breasts with his hands. "You've got too many clothes on." he rasped, his fingers pulling her sweater up and over her head.

She felt his hair-roughened chest press intimately against her back, pinning her body between his and the raised edge of the hot tub. Slowly, he brought his hands behind her and released the catch of her bra, dropping it to the floor at his feet. His lips explored the bare expanse of her back, and he once more reached around to squeeze her hardened nipples. Sarah flushed, a rash of "goose flesh" spreading across her upper torso.

Remaining behind her, he silently kneaded her breast with one hand while he insinuated the other beneath the waistband of her skirt and panties, thrusting his fingers into the dampening crevice below.

Aroused, but confused, Sarah attempted to turn and face her husband, but with silken control, he held her fast.

"Not yet." he whispered huskily. "Please...not yet."

Sarah felt his lips descend her spine as he lowered himself to the floor behind her. Then, pressing his lips to the small of her back, he raised her skirt and began to gently tug her panties down her thighs, covering each inch with his tongue as they slowly sank to her ankles.

Trying to conventionalize their actions, Sarah tried a second time to turn and face her husband, but again his pleas held her firmly in place, his hands positioning her naked posterior before him. He had only just begun.

Gently, he lifted her foot, and bypassing her shoe, removed her left ankle from its silken restraint. Waves of passion washed over her, her knees began to tremble. Once more she reached out to support herself on the edge of the hot tub.

Chris pressed his hands between her legs and urged them apart, stroking the silken texture of her inner thighs, again plunging his fingers into her dripping core. She was incredibly wet, aroused beyond belief at his unconventional approach.

Chris gently nudged her upper torso, causing her to lean forward, and project her creamy globes closer to his questing lips. It was then that Chris slid between her legs on his knees, and positioned himself between her trembling thighs.

Sarah's eyes widened as she felt his warm breath waft across the dark curls between her legs. Then, reaching upward with both hands, he plunged his questing fingers into the heated recesses of her body, causing her to gasp raggedly and press against him.

Gently opening her delicate folds with his thumbs, he inserted his probing tongue into her vagina, feasting hungrily on the abundant moisture within.

"Chris!" she exclaimed, her voice high and uneven. "W...what are you doing? Oh..." she bit her lip, stifling a moan of passion. "Chris!" she tried to speak, but the words died in her throat.

Thrusting his tongue maddeningly in and out of her quivering core, Chris began to stimulate the hardened nub before him with the tip of his finger.

Sarah's knees began to buckle, and a ragged cry tore from her lips. "Chris...Chris...Oh my god..."

She began to sink to the floor beside him, but he stabilized her body with his hands until she once again found support from the hot tub. Then, as her climax rocked the room, he quickly stood up and opened his zipper, plunging his enormous erection deep into her wet and quivering flesh.

Sarah was beside herself. She grabbed the hot tub for support as her senses fled, leaving only animal passion in their wake...an untamed hunger that only his body could satisfy.

Grasping her hips beneath the bundled vestige of her skirt , he pulled her roughly against him, thrusting wildly into her dripping sex as her vaginal muscles greedily sucked his engorged organ. He was hard...he was hot...he was ready.

She felt his lips press hungrily against the side of her throat, his body covering hers... bending her forward... plunging harder...deeper...faster. And then she felt the hot rush of him flood her inner being, carrying her once again in its wake.

Afterward, they lay exhausted, in each other's arms as the warm, scented water swirled around them. Let tomorrow take care of itself, she thought. Tonight is made for love.

Fall, 1988
Yuma, Arizona


As with all good things, honeymoons too come to an end.

When they returned home Chris' possessiveness took on manic proportions. She was his wife now, to him that meant he owned her body and soul. Sarah became more and more unhappy with each passing day.

With a year yet to go in school, Chris grudgingly continued to rent the small trailer on the edge of town, and Sarah attempted to complete her studies. She tried valiantly to create the home she had always wanted, but by now her alcohol abuse was absent only during the six hours each day that she spent in class. At home, Chris' supply seemed to be never ending, and Sarah felt her physical and emotional dependence growing with each passing day.

Occasionally, she would ask Chris how he'd earned the money that paid their growing expenses, but his response was always the same. "Here and there." he'd repeat evasively, his look silencing any further query. Sarah's tumultuous life with Joe MacKenzie had taught her to leave well enough alone, and so she accepted his avoidance in the interests of peace, and self-preservation.

Then, one day the police showed up at the entrance to the small trailer the Ragles shared on N. Sitgrieves Avenue. In their hands they carried a warrant for Chris' arrest...the charge: armed robbery. And Sarah's world once again came crumbling down around her.

Chris was charged with the armed hold-up of a convenience store in the Tucson area, a few hours drive to the east. The evidence against him was conclusive, and the respective lawyers involved soon plea bargained the inevitable charge to a span of three to five years in a state prison. Then, on the day before her 19th birthday, almost as though their lives together had never existed, Chris was gone.

Spring, 1989
Near Yuma, Arizona


It was hard moving back to the bungalow in which she'd been raised, but by then, her father was serving a stiff brig sentence for drunkenly assaulting a female acquaintance, and was no longer present. Sarah found herself truly alone.

The townspeople treated her with contempt. "Chris Ragle's little bitch," they whispered as she passed down the street, "Joe MacKenzies drunken kid!" Then one day a tall, square jawed Marine Colonel had turned up on her doorstep"

"Uncle Matt" Sarah squealed, throwing her arms around her visitor. It was Matt O'Hara, her mother's favorite brother, home from his latest tour on the farthest reaches of some mysterious shore.

" I can't believe that you're really here!"

"I had to come, Sarah. I heard some of the scuttlebutt coming from this one-horse town, and it wasn't good."

Sarah was momentarily subdued. Her neighbors hadn't wasted any time.

"It's not too bad." she lied. "I'm getting along okay." Then her voice brightened. "Uncle Matt! I'll be graduating in two weeks...can you stay?" she asked hopefully.

"Absolutely!" he replied. "I wouldn't miss it for anything.

The next two weeks were the most pleasant that she could remember. Uncle Matt became more than her mother's brother, he became her friend. Even her drinking problem, which had reached astronomical proportions, became more manageable. For the first time in her life, Sarah felt truly connected...genuinely cared for.

It was then that she began to worry about what her world would be like after Uncle Matt resumed his duties, and she was once again alone. Could she bear to revisit the alienation and loneliness that had become the calling cards of her life? Uncle Matt was sure that she was stronger than she gave herself credit for, but in her heart she knew he was wrong.

Then, three days before her graduation, her insecurities won out. Taking a bottle of vodka from her former "stash", Sarah crept out into the desert behind her home and attempted to dim the still, small voice that so plagued her.

She drank until the world became a gray, painless blur, and all of the pieces seemed to fit once again. Then, too compromised to rise to her feet, she closed her eyes and drifted into a deep, dreamless sleep.

That was how Uncle Matt found her the next morning,

"Sarah...Sarah? Wake up. Have you been out here all night?"

Sarah looked guiltily around her. Her clothing was disheveled, her hair was matted with sand, and the half- empty vodka bottle lay, like a dying soldier at her side.

Remembering her father, Sarah looked warily at Matt O'Hara, and waited for the invectives to assail her senses. But Uncle Matt was nothing like Joseph MacKenzie. Far from the reproach she had expected, his regard was for her welfare alone.

Crouching by her side, his voice was soft and calmative. "Sarah? Are you alright?" he asked, his face masked in concern. "...think maybe you'd like to come inside now?"

It was then that the tears began to flow down her ravaged, dirt-streaked face. "Oh...Uncle Matt. I'm so ashamed. I let you down...you must hate me."

Gently he brushed the tears from her cheeks, turning the tiny rivulets into wide, muddy swaths. "I could never hate you, Sarah. You should know that. As for letting me down...you're the one who's feeling guilty and ashamed right now...maybe the one you really let down is a lot closer to home."

Then, regaining his feet, Matt O'Hara turned back toward the bungalow, attempting to leave his niece some shred of dignity. "Come on in when you're ready, Sarah. I'll put on some coffee and get a little breakfast started." And then he was gone.

Sarah raised her hand to the ravages of her hair, and tried desperately to salvage her clothing. She was amazed. Even at her worst, Uncle Matt still loved her. The knowledge filled her with a warmth she had never known, and with a dread she could not control. What would she do when he was gone?

The incident in the desert should have helped Sarah gain at least temporary control over her drinking problem, but alcohol had been her comfort and salvation for far too long to abandon it now in her time of insecurity. Instead of fostering moderation, her apprehension over his departure became an excuse to intensify her indulgence.

Soon, she and her old "drinking buddy" Eddie were once again sipping contraband in the desert, only now they had both graduated to a much higher level of abuse.

Graduation Day
June 25, 1989
Coronado High School


Sarah was drunk when they handed her the diploma she had worked for thirteen years to earn.

She'd been drunk for days. Even the solicitous presence of her Uncle Matt did nothing to diminish her frequent trysts with a vodka bottle. She felt lost and unredemptive, and it was in this physical and emotional state that she and Eddie attended the prom at the school gymnasium that night.

The chaperones, her teachers, had been aware of Sarah's condition for days. It was only because they'd taken pity on her, and because the end was so near, that Sarah had not been expelled. But now, at the dance, they were forced to draw the line.

Quietly separating Sarah and Eddie from the crowd of jubilant seniors, one of Sarah's former teachers escorted the inebriated teenagers outside.

"Sarah...Eddie" Mr. Cummings had begun. "You stay here. I'm going to get my car and take you home. You're in no condition to stay here tonight, and I'm not going to turn you loose on the streets." And with that, he turned and was soon lost among the sea of cars in the parking lot.

Eddie, both drunk and defiant, lost no time in hurrying Sarah from the scene. "Come on!" he'd shouted. "Lets go! My car's just down the street. By the time old Cummings gets back, we'll be long gone. He's not taking THIS dude home!"

Confused and disoriented, Sarah wove erratically down the road on Eddie's arm. They were soon in his battered old Chevy, "burning rubber" down the main street of town.

The speed was exhilarating, and the young couple thrived on the sensations it evoked. Then, just ahead, the light began to turn from green to amber. Eddie, beyond reason and filled with a sense of his own invincibility, decided that he could "make it", and stepped hard on the gas.

It was a mistake.

The cross street was a busy one, and the driver entering the intersection from the left had no chance at all to avoid plowing into the aging vehicle.

Shattering glass...grinding metal...the cool touch of the windshield upon her face...the hard surface of the pavement beneath her...and then darkness.

When she awoke the next day, Eddie was gone. He had been killed instantly. She herself was in the hospital, swathed from stem to stern with bandages, over 70 stitches holding her ravaged body together, her head pounding unmercifully.

In spite of it all, there sat Uncle Matt, holding her hand, coaxing her back to the world of consciousness.

Groggy and confused, she tried to speak. "Uncle Matt...Eddie is he ..."

"I'm afraid so, Sarah. He didn't stand a chance. The bystanders said you two were going probably 100 miles per hour when you hit that intersection. It's just a miracle that even you made it through the crash alive."

Overcome with grief and pain, Sarah began to sob uncontrollably. "What do I do now, Uncle Matt? There's nothing left. I should have died with Eddie. I don't want to be here."

Matt O'Hara looked sternly at his niece for the first time. "Well, you didn't die, and now you have an even harder task to deal with...you've got to find a way to turn this around and get on with your life."

She tried to turn away, but he refused to be put off. Taking her hand in his, he continued. "Listen to me, Sarah. Maybe there's a reason that you didn't die out there on Main Street with your friend, maybe not. But the fact remains, you're here, and you're going to have to deal with it!

"I've already called my C.O. and asked for some time off. You'll be out of here in a week, and then we're going to cope with this issue together. I promise you, Sarah...you're not alone. You're stronger than you think. You're going to make it."

August 1, 1989
Red Rock Mesa
Somewhere in northeast Arizona


She and Uncle Matt had been in seclusion for a month, just the two of them, far from civilization in the high desert country near the "four corners" area. They'd "packed in" and set up camp in a large cave near the pinnacle of an escarpment known as "Red Rock Mesa".

It had been a month of recuperation and discovery for Sarah. Uncle Matt was good for her. For the first time in her life she truly had someone to respect...to want to emulate. Uncle Matt was all of that, and more.

Her mother, Matt's sister, had been weak, but Uncle Matt was a "rock". It was from him, during this period of "rebirth" that Sarah learned to take control of her life, and responsibility for her actions. She learned that "intestinal fortitude" is a survivor's creed, and that the pride of accomplishment can mend a damaged spirit. But most importantly, she learned that personal integrity and self-respect are gifts that you give yourself, and are not to be considered lightly.

Matt O'Hara's leave of absence was rapidly drawing to a close. It was their last night on Red Rock Mesa, and both of them dreaded the separation the next day would bring.

As Sarah sat silently contemplating the twinkling stars in the clear night sky, she heard Uncle Matt approach from the mouth of the cave. Wordlessly, he sank down beside her and shared her inner space for one last time.

"You know, Sarah, there's one thing I haven't told you this month, something that I think you ought to know."

"What's that, Uncle Matt?" she questioned, amazed that they still had any secrets to share after their time together.

"Well...I get the feeling that you've sort of got me on a pedestal right now. I just wanted you to know that I don't belong there." he paused. "Sarah...twenty years ago, I was pretty much in the same boat that you were in last month. My life was a wreck, I was drinking more than I should, and my self-esteem was in the toilet. If I hadn't gotten my act together, I know I wouldn't be here talking to you now."

He turned to gauge her reaction, a multitude of stars reflected in the dark pools of her eyes. "Why are you telling me this now, Uncle Matt?"

"I'm telling you this so you'll know that you're never alone. We're the same, you and I, and I know that you're going to come through this, just like I did."

Sarah sat deep in thought, contemplating the incredible man sitting beside her. "Uncle Matt?' she began. "Was someone there for you back then too...back when you hit bottom?"

He smiled, the answer bringing a low chuckle to his lips. "Yeah...I guess you might say that. The Corps got me on my feet, and gave me what I needed to become someone I could live with, someone I could learn to respect. I guess that's why I've stayed all these years...it's been my family."

Sarah digested this information, an idea forming in her mind. "Think those 'few good men' could use a 'few good women' too?" she asked.

"I don't see why not." He smiled again. "But just be sure that if you do decide to join up, you're doing it for yourself...not me. You need to find your own path in life now, Sarah. I don't want you letting me, or anyone else push you in a direction not of your own choosing."

Sarah paused. "I'm going to give it some serious thought, Uncle Matt. Think I'd make a good Marine?" she asked, the question echoing in the stillness.

"Sarah," he replied, sincerity resonating in his voice. "The Marines would be lucky to get you."

They left Red Rock Mesa the next morning, each shouldering their own load as they descended the steep cliffs to the valley floor. Sarah left the insecure girl of her youth behind, like the ashes of their campfire. Instead, a woman of substance and determination accompanied Uncle Matt to the base of the mesa that day, and a new life began.

She owed it all to Matthew O'Hara, and for the first time in her life, she knew that she would never be alone again.


THE END