“Please, Mama. You don’t have to stay with him. When Ron gets home, we can all live free from Dad. In peace! Ron and I can start a band, and we’ll make money to support you. I’ve realized how important music is to me. I’ll never go without it again. Never.”
She took another pause before asking, “Are you still at that jamboree?”
Pressing a hand to my forehead, I took a step backward. “How did you know? Never mind.” I rolled my eyes, devastated to learn the truth. “Livy’s parents called you.”
“They didn’t want me to worry.”
“Please don’t tell Dad!”
“I wouldn’t dare. Ron will—”
The operator cut Mama off mid-sentence. “Deposit seventy-five more cents.”
Frantically, I dug around in the bottom of my sopping-wet purse. “I don’t have seventy-five cents, ma’am. Please give me more—”
The line went dead.
“Time.” Depressing the hook with my forehead, I banged the handset against the pay phone, reeling from the unfortunate fact that Livy’s mom had ratted me out. Another person I had thought I could trust.
Instead of placing the handset back on the hook, I handed it to the girl behind me. The only thing clean on her body were the whites of her eyes. She looked like a fudgesicle.
Staring at my tearstained face, the girl pouted her bottom lip. “I guess you heard about the kid who died yesterday morning.”
My heart lurched. “No. Was it from the brown acid?”
The girl shook her head. “He was wrapped up in a sleeping bag, fast asleep. A sewage truck ran over him. The driver must have thought he was garbage.”
The driver thought he was garbage. What a horrific way to die. The boy wasn’t even fighting in Vietnam. He was at a peaceful, love-filled music festival, trying to get some sleep.
And now he’s dead.
I stepped away from the phone bank with an ache in the pit of my stomach and no clearer answer about my future than I’d had before calling home. Where would I go? Memphis? Union? Or should I move to Kentucky or Arkansas so I could live on my own as a legal adult?
There was so much to think about. So many choices to be made. When I had arrived on Friday, I hadn’t considered two days later I’d be making life-changing decisions. I’d rushed pell-mell out of Memphis, turning a blind eye to my future until I had to. And now I had to. More than anything, I longed to discover who in the heck I really was. TherealSuzannah.
What would Ron tell me to do? Thinking about what he would say reminded me of his letters. I pulled one out the stack and saw that the ink had run on the envelopes, bleeding onto the lining of my purse.No!
After noticing a line of trees in the distance, I sloshed over and sat down underneath the canopy of a large maple, then opened the first envelope I touched. My heart throbbed as soon as the letter was in my hands. The ink had run all over the paper. Ron’s words were barely legible. I opened another. Same thing: unreadable.
Not my letters!I lifted my chin skyward, screaming at God. “They are all I have left of him!”
Frantic, I tried another. The ink had run, but I could still make out his words. It was the most disturbing letter he’d ever sent. But I still wanted to read it. Just to be close to him. Just to hear him talking to me.
November 6, 1968
Long Binh, South Vietnam
Dear SuSu,
On purpose I have not written to you about the worst horrors of war. I wanted to protect you and keep you from worry. But now I need your prayers. I’m having a really hard time.
Yesterday, we saw Vietnamese soldiers standing near the road in a straight line. We had a feeling they wereSVA (South Vietnamese Army—our allies) but when they opened fire on us, we got our answer. They were the Viet Cong. We lost two of my platoon brothers, Philip and Mason. Their bodies will be sent home tomorrow. Billy G lost an eye, and Damon had both legs blown off. After they recover, they’ll be sent home to live with their families, minus an eye and two legs. We are all in grief. My gun jammed in the middle of our firefight. I have never been so scared in my life. Freddy C is the one who fixed it. I don’t know what would have happened if he hadn’t. Guns jam all the time, my CO says.
I have intense fatigue. I can’t make a decision, even about dumb things like which boot to put on first. The worst part is I can’t get the flashbacks out of my head. And the nightmares are so real, SuSu. CSR, they call it in the military, Combat Stress Reaction. Shell shocked is a better term if you ask me but they don’t call it that anymore. I asked my CO yesterday if I get a discharge because of my CSR. No way, he said. Everyone has it.
The longer I’m here I realize war kills all soldiers, whether they live or die. Some just handle it better. Like Dad. Part of me wishes I’d lost my leg. At least I’d be free to get the hell out of here. I sometimes wonder why I’ve been spared. I also wonder if I’ll have to die to get home. I know that scares you. But I’ve got to get it out.
I don’t believe in this war. And I’m not alone. Most of us feel the same way.America Should Not Be Here. It’s not our problem!
