by Peter Colt
It wasn’t the whole truth, the literal truth, but it was the kindest version of the truth I had for her.
“I knew about the gold and figured out that he had melted it down and recast it. He knew he couldn’t take it to the bank, and he couldn’t sell it all at once. He didn’t trust many people, so he decided to put it where he could see it every day. He made it into something that no one would look twice at in a Chinese restaurant. He recast it into a cat, with its paw up, by your register. Every Chinese restaurant has one. I vandalized your restaurant and took it. I knew that you guys wouldn’t know how to dispose of the gold.” I handed her the bank book in her name. “There is about two hundred fifty thousand dollars in there. Use it to take care of your family. That was all your dad wanted.” I didn’t tell her about the cashier’s check that I gave to Hieu’s widow that was financed by her father’s theft. The fifty thousand dollars would give them a chance after so much grief and loss.
“Why did you . . . ?” she trailed off.
“Your dad helped me in ways you can’t imagine. After they opened the Vietnam Memorial in Washington, I went to go see it, except that I couldn’t bring myself to go. I figured a drink would make it easier. One turned into fifty, and I lost track. I got stinking drunk. I wandered around Washington and got into fights and drank more. I figured that I would go to the wall, see my old buddies. There were more of my friends on that wall than there were alive. Then I was there, in front of my friend Tony’s name on the wall. If I had been faster, better, he would have lived. Tony, the others were all outstanding soldiers and men, and despite that, they were killed, and I lived.
“I decided that I would join them. I pulled out my .38 and put it to my temple and started to pull the trigger. Then out of nowhere, this mangy-looking vet starts talking to me. He was homeless, living in the park and guarding the monument. He was one of a handful of guys who did that. He told me I didn’t have to kill myself. He asked me to join them, live on the streets or in the park. Spend my nights protecting the Memorial. To me that was just a slower means of killing myself.”
“What happened?” She was concerned and horrified all at once.
“I realized that it was my fortune, my curse, to have survived. It was up to me to learn to deal with it. I met your dad a short time later and was impressed with the fact that he had lost so much. He lost friends, his home, his country, and yet your father seemed happy. He had a purpose, and he seemed to have put the war behind him. He came to terms with it. It made me think that maybe I could, too. He told me that he and I were like stray cats, no homes anymore. But what he didn’t say was that we had found each other, we were friends. For a couple of years, I didn’t feel like a stray anymore.” There wasn’t much more to say. I couldn’t figure out a way to tell her that my dream died in the family restaurant in Quincy. Linh leaned over and kissed me softly on the cheek.
“Good-bye, Andy.”
“Good-bye, Linh.”
I had almost had a family. I had a friend and then the ghosts of my long-ago war blew it all apart. I knew my fortune: I was destined to be alone. Not lonely. Alone. I was always going to be the only one left. I would carry my pain and loss on my shoulders, bear my burden until it was over. My friends would live only in my nightmares of our war. I would simply mark time, march until I could join them again. I had woken up from one more dream that wasn’t to be. I watched Linh walk away from me, becoming blurrier and blurrier through my tear-filled eyes.