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thedrifter
05-01-03, 02:06 PM
Together, 'just not in person'
By Kathy Boccella
Inquirer Staff Writer

The U.S. military has about 1.4 million active-duty troops, and thousands of reservists have been called up. This is one in a series of occasional articles on life at home without them.

The dress was drop-dead gorgeous, a strapless reddish-pink knock-off of the elegant number Jennifer Lopez wears in Maid in Manhattan.

The rhinestone necklace, bracelet and earrings lent grown-up sophistication.

The shoes were Cinderella beautiful.

The only thing missing was Prince Charming.

He was in Iraq.

"It's hard to realize someone you love so much is fighting a war," said Bonnie Jean Quiring, sitting in a bedroom she calls "my little tribute to America" - a Marine blanket covering the bed, Marine posters on the wall, an eagle hovering overhead, and American flags everywhere.

It's even harder to realize he won't make it to the prom.

There was no question that Matthew Litton, 21, would be Quiring's date for St. Hubert's senior prom Friday. They met last May at another prom both had attended with friends.

To say it was a cupid moment is an understatement.

"I saw him in his uniform, and I thought, 'Oh God, that's it for me,' " said Quiring, 18, who embodies teenage cuteness and was wearing camouflage shorts she had made herself and extra copies of Litton's and her brother's dog tags (he's also a Marine).

Without giving it a second thought, she'd walked up to Litton and asked how long he had been in the Marines. Quiring has been a fan of the Corps ever since her adored older brother, Ed, signed up three years ago.

They sat at each other's tables all night, and he promised to call the next day. They've been dating ever since, even though Litton was stationed at Camp Lejeune in North Carolina. Nearly every weekend, he would crank up the country music on his radio and drive 71/2 hours to see her.

They couldn't wait to go to the prom, even if they bickered over his attire. He wanted to wear his uniform, she wanted him to wear a tux so that "he wasn't the center of attention," she said, laughing.

Then the dreaded call came, shortly after Quiring and her parents, Bonnie and Ed, got back from visiting her brother in Japan, where he is stationed. Litton was shipping out Jan. 13.

Quiring went to North Carolina with his family to see him off. "It was very emotional," she said quietly.

If she was patriotic before, she became absolutely fanatical after he left. She draped the front of her home in flags and wrapped yellow ribbons around the flagpoles in her Northeast Philadelphia neighborhood. When kids tore them down, she used a ladder to tie them higher up.

Her school uniform is covered with American flag pins, and she's become a fan of country music: "It's so-o-o patriotic."

She also hopes to become a military nurse, even if her mother is dead-set against it. "I didn't want my son to join the military," Bonnie Quiring said Friday as she curled her daughter's long brown hair.

To keep her spirits up, Quiring, who plans to attend Philadelphia Community College next year, pretends Litton is not really overseas. She dials his cell phone and writes him letters as if he were still stateside.

"He's here," she said. "Just not in person."

If her bedroom is a tribute to the military, it's also a shrine to teenage love. Photographs on the wall chronicle their one-year relationship. On her dresser are the remains of flowers that Litton instructed his father to send her for Valentine's Day. His letters are stacked on her stereo.

Quiring thought about not going to the prom, even though she loves to dance and her best friend was going. But if you can't go with your true love, what's the point?

Then there was the problem of the theme song, "Always" by Bon Jovi, which just happened to be the very same song she and Litton danced to the night they met.

Still, when the school switched to the less romantic, though more annoying "A Moment Like This," Quiring decided to ask her 23-year-old cousin Andrew Bellerjeau - he's really not her cousin, but a close family friend - to be her date.

"I didn't want to go with another guy," she said out of Andrew's hearing range. "I needed somebody who was good enough for the pictures and who would make me have a good time. My cousin Andrew is the perfect person for that."

Or as her mother put it, "He's tall, dark and handsome, and he likes to have fun."

So Friday, all hands were on deck to help Quiring get ready for the big ball. Friends and cousins poured into the family rowhouse to swoon over her dress, her hair, her shoes.

Her room was crowded with girls of all ages, from toddlers to grandmoms, snapping pictures, adjusting straps, voting yes or no to body glitter.

Even Litton's mother and sisters came to pay homage. It was almost as emotional as his send-off. When his mother gave Quiring a red-and-white corsage, the two women hugged and cried.

"These are from Matthew, really," Margaret Litton said, sniffling. She was so choked up, she said, because "Matthew's not here" for her.

As for Quiring, "she's a good girl. She's sweet. She brought me flowers at Easter," Litton said.

In his letters, her son always asks about his girl. " 'Did Bonnie come over, did Bonnie call?' He likes her a lot," said Litton, a mother of six who has another Marine son in Arizona.

Matthew Litton, a corporal and squad leader, plans to make a career of the military. What his plans are for him and Quiring, "he'll decide when he gets home," his mother said.

No one is sure when that will be. In his most recent letter, dated March 29, Litton wrote that his company had seen a lot of fighting but he was currently in the rear. He also said he was fighting a cold.

But on the day that Saddam Hussein's statue was torn down in Baghdad, Quiring's mother was watching television when she spotted a Marine in the background who looked exactly like him. She took a tape of it to Margaret Litton, who confirmed it was her son.

While Quiring primped, her escort slipped into his black tux. Without an entourage. But proms have always been easier for boys than girls.

At last, she was ready, looking slinky and sexy and radiant in her pink frock. Bellerjeau walked into her bedroom and nodded admiringly, then asked for his boutonniere.

Her lovely, smiling face drooped. She had forgotten a flower for his lapel.

Then she brightened as she thought of the perfect replacement.

"Andrew," she asked, "how about an American flag pin?"


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Contact staff writer Kathy Boccella at kboccella@phillynews.com or 215-854-2677.


Sempers,

Roger