I sat in the dance hall of the Rocker IV Club trying to explain a feature of my work for The Army Counter Intelligence Corps, to my buddy, without divulging security information. We were both restless, uneasy primarily because of the lack of progress of the war in Korea but also because we had been working long hours on security matters.
        Bob and I worked in different areas, but we were stationed in the same CIC location in Tokyo. I never knew what his work entailed and he never knew what I worked on.
        We had arrived at the club about 6:30 PM in time to have dinner, a few drinks and catch some dancing in the ballroom with WACS, all of whom knew how to jitterbug but very good.
        I continued to explain my problem to Bob and he half-paid attention.
        “Are you listening to me?” I asked.
        “Of course,” he said, taking another puff of his cigarette.
        “You don’t act like it. Actually listen to this one,” I said.
        “I’ am.”
        “Well, I mean it is really funny.”
        “Is it true?”
        “Sure. I finally got the answer today.”
        “Go ahead,” Bob said.
        The ballroom began to fill up as I explained my situation to Bob. He smiled while I continued with my story.
        “You were puzzled by the last name of LNU?” he asked finally. He tapped his cigarette then sipped his highball. “Drink up,” he said and pointed to my whiskey and Seven-Up.
        I was about to explain the meaning of LSU, a strange Japanese surname I had not heard before when a group of paratroopers strolled into the ballroom, walked slowly in single file toward the table where Bob and I sat. I glanced up at the four young men as they approached. WACS and soldiers gathered around the jukebox and began to drop coins. The music played was a slow number. Couples began to dance.
        I looked at Bob as the group of four paratroopers walked past. The last man in the line looked at me as I looked up him. He said, “Hi Dick!”
        I said, “Hi, Tom!”
        The group continued walking past me as I finished my story to Bob.
        “And I thought LSU was a Japanese or Korean last name. . .”
        “You’re joking?”
        “No. I really did.”
        “You’re tired Dick,” Bob said.
        “You got that one right,” I said.
        I was somewhat disappointed that Bob didn’t laugh. He was as tired as the rest of the CIC crew, but I was also put off by his leaning to one side, looking past me in the direction of the paratroopers.
        “You didn’t think the LSU story was funny?”
        “No. LSU only means Last Name Unknown, tiger,” Bob said. He added, “We learned that in school.” He paused and continued looking past me. “Who is that Tom fellow?”
        “What?” I asked, hardly keeping up with the pace of the change of subjects. I wanted Bob to laugh so that I could laugh. I was getting a headache. The music from the jukebox seemed loud.
        Bob took a deep breath and spoke over the music. “Who is Tom? That guy you spoke to. The one that called you Dick?”
        “I don’t know.”
        “What do you mean, you don’t know, Richard? You must know him. And, he must know you. He called you by your name and you apparently called him by his right name, Tom!”
        “I mean I can’t tell you where I know him from. But, I do know him.”
        “Oh, really?”
        “Yes, really,” I said sounding more sarcastic that I had intended.
        I watched some of the couples dance slowly and very close together. I enjoyed watching them.
        “Well, you better figure out where you know Tom from, because he just got up from their table and he’s coming this way. He’s smiling at me. Heck! Maybe he knows me too. I sure don’t know him.”
        I rubbed my forehead. Bob was like a terrier, not wanting to let go of the rag, but wanting anyone to pull on it. I took a deep drink as the young paratrooper stood next to our table, I looked up and smiled at the familiar face.
        “I don’t know you,” Tom said. “But I do know you. Does that make sense to you?” he asked.
        “Only if you’re as tired as we are,” I replied.         “Well, we’re tired. We’ve been training long hours for small drop zones. I can’t say where the drop zones are located. . .”
        “We understand. . .”
        “I know you,” he said to me.
        “Do you want a drink?”
        “Sure,” Tom said. “A Seven and Seven,”
        “I held up two hands for the Japanese waiter and punched the air twice with seven fingers.
        The waiter smiled and nodded and signaled if Bob and I wanted refills. I nodded.
        Tom turned to Bob. “But I don’t know you. What are you guys? I mean what units are you attached to? What is your collar brass?”
        “Unattached brass,” Bob said. He glanced at me. We couldn’t tell Tom that we were CIC. “Dick here took artillery training and I had infantry training. . .”
        “Oh,” Tom said, looking up Yoshi as he set three full tumblers on the small round table. The music changed to boogie. More couples began to dance.
        “Thanks, Yoshi,” I said.
        “Yoshi?” Tom asked.
        “Do you know Yoshi, too?” Bob asked Tom.
        “No, but I like his name.”
        “Thank you, sir,” Yoshi said.
        “Yoshi’s our abbreviated version of his full name with is Yoshiyuki. . .”
        “I like that name too,” Tom said.
        For the first time I heard a hint of a Southern accent from Tom. “Do you still believe you know me?” I asked.
        “Yep!” Tom said. He held up his glass. “Here’s to you guys!”
        Bob rolled his eyes. Bob didn’t make friends quickly and I guessed he was not excited about Tom sitting with us. We were celebrating my twenty-first birthday. Bob’s expression told me that he sensed Tom had been drinking heavily. I agreed.
        Bob excused himself and started dancing with a WAC. Tom and I spent the next hour finding out where we were born, where we grew up, where we went to college, the place of induction, basic training camps, military schools, places where we were stationed and neither one of us had ever been in the same place at the same time.
        “I can’t believe it,” Tom said. “I know I know you!”
        “Well, I guess perhaps we look like other guys named Tom and Dick and it is just a coincidence that. . .”
        “Do you really believe that?”
        “Yeah. Well, I don’t know.” I looked at his empty glass. “Do you want another drink?”
        “No, thanks,” Tom said. He pushed his chair back and wrinkled his brow. “I don’t get it. I look at you and I know we’ve met in some place, somewhere. . .I don’t get it!”
        “Well anyway,” I said and finished my drink.         Bob and his WAC dance partners danced closed to the table. She waved. :”Hi Dick!” she said. “Bob told me today is your birthday! Happy birthday,” she called and blew me a kiss.
        “Boy is she gorgeous!” Tom said. “Do you guys know her?”
        “Only from the ballroom here. She and other pretty women in the Army come here to dance. There’s always a lot of guys here and gals too. . .”
        “Want to hear something funny?”
        “What?” I said as Tom looked at me.
        “Is today your birthday?”
        “Yes,” I said, “May 29th. . .”
        “You’re not going to believe this one.”
        “What?” I asked. I had no idea what Tom was about to say.
        “Today is my birthday, too.”
        “May 29th?” I asked.
        “Right,” he said.
        “Well we really should tie one on then. . .”
        “I wish I could but I’ve got to go now,” Tom said.
        “What do you mean, Tom?” I asked and turned to look at his three buddies. “They must be dancing,” I said.
        “No, they left,” Tom said.
        “What?” I said. “What do you mean? I didn’t see them leave.”
        “Some time ago,” he said.
        “You say that as though you’ve been here a long time,” I said.
        “Doesn’t it seem like a long time to you?” Tom asked.
        “No,” I said.
        “Hey, Dick,” Bob yelled from across the dance floor, “are you going to dance or what?”
        I heard Tom say from behind me, “Remember me, please. Remember me.”
        “Yeah. I’m going to dance,” I said waving back to Bob. I smiled at him as he his partner whirled rapidly in circles. “What did you say?” I asked Tom. “Remember you?” I asked as I turned to look at him. His chair was empty. He was gone.
        I turned to look at the table where his buddies sat. It was empty too.
        I looked at the aisle that ended at the entrance to the ballroom. Tom was not present. Remember me. Remember me. The words kept rolling over in mind. I was upset.
        Another fast number played on the jukebox as Bob returned to our table. “That’s enough for me for one night. I’m exhausted.” He plumped in his chair. “Where’s your buddy?”
        “I don’t know. He left, I guess.”
        “Did you ever determine where or how you knew him?”
        “No, not really.” I looked down at the off-white table cloth.
        “But you know him,” Bob said.
        “Yes, I know him. He wrote down his unit number here. He’s stationed in the North. Here’s his address.” I handed the small piece of paper to Bob. He nodded.
        “Strange event, huh?”
        “Strange, indeed,” I said and yawned.
        “What say we catch the early bed-check?” Bob said. “I’m tired too.”
        “Lets go,” I said.
                                


        Several times, in the days and weeks that followed my short-lived birthday party, Bob and I tried to initiate another possible location where Tom and I might have met. Finally, one day, Bob said to me. “You know, you two guys did resemble each other, not completely, but nevertheless. . .”
        “What’s your point?” I asked.
        “Maybe you’re related and your memories go back to a time when you were very young. You said his birth date was the same as yours. . .”
        “My mother was married twice. I never knew my father,” I said.
        “Well, there you have it. Write Tom and find out more about him. What could you know about someone with less than an hour’s time to talk. . .”
        “I will,” I said. “I’ll write him. Better still, I’ll teletype his camp commander.”
                                


        Several weeks later I received a telephone call from the duty officer, at my headquarters. He told me he had a response to a communique that I had sent some time ago.
        “Where it from?” I asked.
        “A training camp in the North,” he said.
        I rushed to the Charge of Quarters Office, walked inside and closed the door. A friend of mine sat at the teletype. He appeared sad. He looked up at me, handed the printout to me and pinched his lips together.
        What? I said to myself. It was addressed to me. I read: