—
I took a roll of Barlow’s film. He doesn’t know it, so I guess it’s stealing, but I am enclosing it with this letter. I want you to get the pictures developed and hang on to them for me. I don’t know if anything will be done about this massacre—you can’t call it anything else—or if even anybody cares, but I want proof in case there is. I don’t think I can do anything about it myself, at least not while I’m here, because it would be easy for somebody to “accidentally” shoot me, and I am not ready to take on the whole platoon, plus the brass, assuming the brass really did order it. But these pictures need to be seen, if for nothing else than to let the world know what this war has done to the kids they sent over here—what it has turned them into.
I hate to lay all this on you, Carlene, but I have to. Don’t say anything to anybody about it. Not now. When I get home around Christmastime, we can figure out then if there is anything to be done. I am ready to take my punishment, too, if it comes to that.
—
We just got word that the VC 48thwasn’t anywhere near Pinkville. They were forty miles away. I need to go to bed, but I don’t know if I will ever be able to sleep again. We are not all that far from My Lai, and I can hear the sound of an old woman keening; a high-pitched wail that cuts through the night and slices your brain. She is mourning for her lost loved ones, I guess. She has been doing it for two days straight. Or maybe it is not an old woman at all; maybe it is the ghosts of all those people still screaming in my head. I don’t know anymore.
I love you, Carlene. It almost seems obscene to use that word right now, but I do.
Jerry
49.Cherry
Leaving Woody’s, I felt sleepy, and it seemed like I was having a hard time focusing on the road. A time or two, my wheels went off the pavement. My head was feeling a little buzzy. I didn’t think one beer would get you drunk like that.
I rolled down the window and stuck my head out for some air, to wake myself up. The only good thing I had found so far about my haircut was that the wind didn’t blow the hair into my eyes.
There is a hill on Route 66 that is really a booger, because you can’t see what’s coming over it until you are right on top. There had been more than a few head-on collisions there from ignorant daredevil people passing over the double yellow line. I was just topping that hill when a dog came out of the brush and ran right out in front of me. Hot on his heels was another dog, and another one, and one more. Four dogs strung out across the highway, and the only choice I had was which dog to hit, or which ditch. I figured the smallest dog would cause the least damage, and swerved to the right to avoid the others. Fortunately, the little guy managed to jump out of the way, but I skidded into the ditch, went for twenty feet or so, and then bumped back up onto the highway. My guardian angel must have grabbed the steering wheel, because I don’t know how it happened that I didn’t wreck.
I was pretty shaken up, and driving slow, when a car pulled up right on my bumper with his brights on. I slowed on down to twenty miles an hour, hoping he would pass me. I just hate tailgaters. He didn’t pass, but slowed down, too, and the lights in the rearview mirror were killing my eyes, so I tapped my brake a couple of times to show that I didn’t like him being so close, and when I did, a set of red lights went off. My heart sank into my shoes. I could figure out who it was. I pulled over and cut the motor.
“Good evening, Highpockets. That was some fancy driving you did just now. Are you all right?”
“Ricky Don, why did you scare the life out of me riding my tail like that? You knew it was me. Why didn’t you just throw on the red lights when you saw me?”
“I thought it was either you or Baby, but I couldn’t be sure. I didn’t recognize you without your hair. Sorry.” He leaned his arms on the top of the car and looked down at me. “I saw those dogs. You’re just lucky you didn’t crash.”
“I know I am. Thanks for stopping, but I’m all right, so I better get on home.”
He leaned in close to me, like he was going to kiss me. I pulled my head back.
“If I didn’t know better, I’d say you had been drinking beer. Here, let me smell your breath.”
“I will not! And what if I do have a little beer on my breath? I’m not drunk. I only had one. I’m legal age, you know.”
“Get out of the car.”
“I will not! Stop acting like a cop, Ricky Don! Who do you think you’re talking to?”
By this time, if I had ever been a little drunk, the adrenaline had sobered me up.
“I don’t care how well you know me, Cherry. My first duty is to my job. Now, I want to see if you are driving drunk. Get out.”
I opened the door and got out, boiling mad. I threw my arms up in the air. “All right. I’m out. Want to frisk me?”
“Hold your arms straight out to the side and close your eyes.”
I did.
“Now, touch your nose with your right hand.”
I did.
“Now the left one.”
“See, I’m not drunk!”
“Fine. Now, walk that white line, one foot in front of the other, heel to toe.”
I walked it without wobbling too much. A little.
“You know how uncoordinated I am, Ricky Don. I couldn’t walk that line straight even if I had been drinking milk all night.”
“All right. You’re not drunk. But what were you doing at Woody’s?”
“Have you been following me all night? I went to hear Bean sing. It’s not against the law to go to Woody’s, you know. It’s in a wet county, in case you forgot.”
“Don’t get smart. I go there sometimes myself. They have the best pizza around. But knowing how you are, and how your folks are, I just thought . . .”
“Stop right there. I’m not the same girl you used to know in high school. I’m a grown-up now, not a little girl who has to report her every move to her daddy, and sure not to her ex-boyfriend. It’s a free country.”
“All right, all right. Cool out. I’m sorry. I really am.”
He leaned back on the hood of the cruiser, took his hat off, and threw it in through the open window; ran his hands through his hair. It didn’t seem like he had as much Wildroot in it as he usually did.
“Can I go now?”
“If you want to. I’m not stopping you.”
There was hardly any traffic on Route 66 this time of night. The sky was overcast and the only light was from the cruiser’s red lights, still circling on top of the car. One of the pack of dogs across the road howled, and a couple of the others joined in barking, chasing after a coon, probably. Nehi Mountain loomed up solid and black off to the right. The leaves on the trees were beginning to turn, and they rustled like paper in the breeze. It was a lonesome stretch of road.
“Could you at least kill the lights, please? They make me nervous.”
He reached in the window and flipped them off.
“Do you want to sit and talk for a minute?” he asked.
“Are you allowed to? Aren’t you working?”
“I’m allowed to do anything I want to do. Like you said, it’s a free country.”
“Well . . . okay. I’ll sit for a minute.”
I took the keys out of the VW, and we got into the cruiser.
“Wow. Look at all this radio stuff. I guess you’re plugged into the whole state, huh?”
The radio crackled with voices, speaking a code language I only half understood.
“Can you turn it down?” I would go crazy with that racket if I had to drive around and listen to it all night. He turned it down, but you could still hear it.
Sitting next to him was so familiar—the way he scooted his body down in the seat of the car, the heat that radiated out from him, his smell. He still wore English Leather. I didn’t know what I was doing there. I couldn’t think of anything to say.
“I like your haircut, Highpockets. It makes you look . . . I don’t know . . . really cute.”
“Not ugly like before, huh?”
“You know I always thought you were the most beautiful girl in the class.”
“Oh? So who was more beautiful than me in the class ahead of us?”
“Let me try that again: the most beautiful girl in the world. Always was. Always will be.”
Then he leaned over and kissed me, and by golly the old familiar hot streak went through me and I kissed him back. More than kissed him back. I put my arms around his neck, he pulled me to him, and we lay down on the seat, just like the old days. It didn’t seem to matter that we were in a police cruiser and he had a gun on his hip, or that I was madly in love with Tripp Barlow. In that moment, we were the old Cherry and Ricky Don, and it was 1965, not 1969.
The radio crackled and he tried to ignore it, but they were clearly calling him.
“Dang.” He straightened up and picked up the handset.
I opened the door and got out. I didn’t want to sit there while he talked, and I didn’t want to keep on with what we were doing. It was crazy. What was the matter with me?
I had never needed to pee so badly in my life. Since I had on a denim miniskirt, all it would take would be to pull down my panties, squat, and do it. But not close to the cars or the highway. As best I could remember, the field next to the road was a potato patch. I’d just go out there a little ways and get it over with quick.
It was hard to see in the dark, and I bumped right into the fence and scraped my leg. I spread apart the barb wire and crawled through—ripping a big hole in the sleeve of my shirt—went several rows out, and did my business. It sounded really loud, like a cow peeing on a flat rock. I hoped Ricky Don couldn’t hear it.
By this time, he was yelling my name, but understandably, I didn’t want him to find me. I couldn’t squat in the potato patch all night until I dripped dry, though. I was getting a cramp in my thigh and finally had to stand up. Thank goodness I wear cotton panties, because I didn’t have any paper.
When I stood up he saw me, since I had on a white blouse and practically glow in the dark anyhow. He came out across the field. I guess I got scared at the feelings that were coming back or something, but I ran from him, and when I did, he chased me, both of us hopping and stumbling over the plants until I fell, and then he was on top of me.
I’m not proud of what happened next, but let’s just say his equipment had not been permanently disabled in the freak accident of our last date. We threw ourselves hard at each other, scratching and clawing, buttons popping, zippers ripping. It was frantic and deep; unfinished business that apparently had been smoldering down inside us for three years and finally caught fire. It was nothing like what Tripp and I had, but more like two hogs squealing and rutting in a wallow. We tore up half a row of potatoes, both of us covered in loamy black earth before we’d had enough and it was all over. We flung ourselves apart and lay back panting.
“I’m sorry, Ricky Don. I didn’t mean for that to happen. I don’t know what got into me.”
“Me neither. It was kind of a surprise.”
“You know I’m not that kind of girl.” I gulped air, trying to catch my breath. “And before this goes any further . . .”
“How much further do you think it can go?”
“Ricky Don, I’m trying to tell you that I’m in love with Tripp Barlow.”
“Are you, now?” he gasped, trying to catch his breath. “Is he in love with you?”
“Of course he is.”
“You’re sure?”
“I’d stake my life on it.”
“That’s something I never do, Cherry, stake my life on anything. Not even as a figure of speech. It’s bad luck.”
“You’re right. I take it back. But I’m sure he is.” We were both breathing a little easier.
“Are you okay?”
“Oh yeah. I think so. Are you?”
“What do you think?”
We finally calmed down and just lay there, not knowing what to say. I couldn’t quite believe what had just happened, but it had to be the capper on this long, crazy day. It seemed like three days ago since I got up and ate breakfast.
I leaned up on my elbow and tried to see Ricky Don’s face. It was too dark to see, but it felt like he was thinking really hard.
“What are you thinking right now?”
“Whether to tell you something or not.”
“Tell me what?”
“I did follow you to Woody’s. I saw your car go by on the highway and pull in, and I kept driving by and checking until you left. I was going to stop you anyhow, for another reason.”
“Ricky Don, you just love to torture me. What are you talking about?”
“We got a call today from somebody looking for Barlow. The person who called the sheriff knew Barlow was in town here but didn’t know how to get in touch with him.”
He paused, like he was trying to figure out how to tell me something.
“Is he in trouble? Ricky Don? What is this all about? Who called him?”
“I don’t know if he’s in trouble or not. As far as I know, he’s not. I told them I needed to know what it was all about before I spent a lot of valuable time trying to find him. They said a Colonel Wilson in the army has been calling them and trying to track Barlow down to talk about some things that happened while he was in Vietnam; they wouldn’t say what. The person who called said that they didn’t want to tell the colonel where he was until they talked to him.”
“Well, who was calling? One of his soldier buddies?”
“No. It was a woman. She was his . . .”
“What? His aunt? His cousin?”
“His wife. Faye Barlow.”
It felt like somebody had punched me in the stomach.
“Cherry? Are you all right?”
“Yeah. I’m fine. Faye Barlow. Is that what you said?”
“Did you know he was married?”
“No.”
We lay there, not saying anything for a really long time, not touching.
“Have you talked to him?” I couldn’t believe how normal my voice was.
“Not yet. I couldn’t find him today.”
“Will you wait until I get a chance to see him?”
“Do you think you’ll see him tomorrow?”
“I’ll make a point of it. But right now I need to go home.”
“I’ll follow you to make sure you make it, okay?”
“Sure. Fine.”
“You sure you’re all right?”
“Oh yeah. I’m fine.”
We brushed ourselves off and walked across the field. He held the wire up for me and I ducked under. I was calm, almost floating over the ground. Was this what shock was like?
I started the VW and headed toward home. Ricky Don pulled out behind me and followed, but not too close. In the quiet of the car, it hit me. All of it. I started to yell, big loud screams, and pound the steering wheel. I’m surprised Ricky Don didn’t hear me and pull me over again. How could Tripp have done this to me? How could I have just had a roll in the potato patch with Ricky Don? I was disgusted at myself, and furious at Tripp. It took nearly fifteen minutes to get home, me screaming at the top of my lungs all the way, but it sure felt good to let out all that steam. When I did, I was feeling better—washed out, but better, even though my throat hurt. All I wanted to do was to take a shower and crawl into bed and worry about the whole mess some other time.
—
Ricky Don flashed his brights to say good-bye, and I slipped upstairs and took a quick shower. My whole rear end was black with dirt, and my white shirt was completely ruined. I’d have to sneak out and burn it in the trash barrel before Mama saw it.
As the hot water stung my skin, I thought about Tripp and the weird, spooky Faye business. I should have been bawling my eyes out, but for some reason I didn’t. It was like I had always known it was inevitable that something like this was going to happen with him. Sooner or later, I knew in my heart, it was going to fall apart. It was just too much too soon. I had been flirting with the Devil, and I kn
ew it.
I got out and dried off and felt the fatigue that comes over you after a tornado has passed by and you are still alive.
I put on my pajamas, and heard somebody downstairs. Daddy was in the kitchen. When he can’t sleep, he gets up and pours milk over the cornbread left over from supper and eats it like a soppy cereal. It looks kind of unappetizing, but he says it makes him sleepy. I went into the kitchen, and there he was at the table in his maroon robe, his hair standing up in all directions.
“Hi, Daddy. You can’t sleep?”
“Hi, punkin. Naw, I guess I couldn’t. Can I fix you some milk and bread?”
“Sure. That would be nice.” I didn’t really want it, but I needed to be near somebody normal and safe.
“Where you been, out this late?”
“I was at the shop, then I went out to Baby’s. I ate out there.” At least it wasn’t a total lie.
“You’re spending a lot of time at Baby’s.”
“I guess so.”
“It won’t be long before you’ll be out of school and on your own, away from us for good.”
“No. It won’t be long.”
“I just want you to know you don’t have to move out when you graduate. You can live here as long as you want to. This will always be your home.”
“Thank you, Daddy. I don’t know what’s going to happen yet. I might have to get a job in some other town if they don’t need an art teacher here at the school.”
“I’d hate for you to move off. All our kids would be leaving us at once.”
“You should have had ten. Then there’d still be nine left.”
“You’re all the girl I need. I couldn’t have had a better one if I’d hand-picked you.” I got a little lump in my throat; swallowed it down.
Windchill Summer Page 37