After seeing that Levi had nothing to offer, Oma turned her attention back to Nick. She stood with one hand on her hip. The other hand held the spatula, which she slapped against her thigh. “I’m old, Nick.”
Although it went unstated, the implication was clear. She couldn’t hold on to the place forever. Nick could be giving up more than just school.
Nick stammered at first but managed to mumble off a semi-coherent speech about how this new war—this response to The Attacks—was the defining struggle of their time, and it was time for their generation—the young and bright men of the world—to step up and do their part. As he went on, he seemed to gain steam. Oma actually tilted her head to the side, like she was taking him seriously.
She turned around again and flipped two buns onto the grill. “Well,” she said, still looking away. “You’re both idiots. The war will be over by the time you get out of boot camp. You’ll end up shoveling shit in Louisiana for three years. Or you’ll polish tanks or count bullets or some other such nonsense.” She stood silent for a while. She brought a hand up to her face. “I suppose your Opa would be proud.” Even after she pulled the buns from the grill and adorned them with onions and ketchup and mustard, she remained facing away. “So would your parents.”
Levi looked over at Nick, but he didn’t look back. He stared down at the bar, conflict just beginning to take its toll on his rounded, boyish face.
“Anyway,” Nick said. It was barely a whisper.
“Anyway,” said Oma, sliding the burgers from the spatula to the buns. “And what do your parents think of this, Levi?”
“You’re the first person we’ve told,” said Levi.
“Isn’t that just special?” She slid their plates in front of them.
Nick began to speak, but his voice cracked. He cleared his throat and shook his head. Resigned, he held up his empty glass. “How about a refill?”
Oma put her palm under his chin and squeezed both of his cheeks with one hand. “Forget it. When you’re done here, get your butt to class.”
She made trips back and forth to the back room to get ice, lemons, and boxes of beer. Levi chewed and stuffed steak fries into his mouth, but he felt sick. He stared at the poster ahead of him and read Vince Lombardi’s “What It Takes to Be #1” for the millionth time. A flickering neon sign that said “Lousy Service” flickered just above that. After finishing half his sandwich to be polite, Levi pushed his plate away and inspected his chewed fingernails.
Nick stuffed the last of his fries in his mouth and asked, “Ready to do this?” but on account of the fries, it sounded like, “Weddy ta do vif?”
Levi nodded. They stood. They placed both hands flat on the bar like seasoned old barflies.
Oma walked out, wiping her hands on a towel. “Okay boys. Make sure you come say goodbye before you take the train to boot camp.”
Levi put his hands in his pockets and looked at his feet. “Oma,” he said. “If you could not tell my parents about the whole army thing just yet—”
She lit a cigarette and cackled. “I’m a barkeep, honey. People pay me to listen, not to talk.”
1.10 COURT-MARTIALED WITHIN A YEAR? (I SHOWED THEM, EH?)
They drove back to La Crosse with the windows of the Geo Prizm down. They pounded on the dash and steering wheel while they sang along with a mixed CD filled with NOFX, Pennywise, and Lagwagon songs. When they reached the campus, Nick passed Vine Street and kept going through town all the way to the south side. Levi stopped singing and sat back in his seat as he realized they were really going to do it. They were going to stand in line at the recruiter’s to sign their lives away.
The scene that greeted them inside the recruiter’s office was not what Levi expected. He wasn’t sure what it was supposed to look like, but in his mind he pictured sturdy steel desks, a tall blond soldier with a flattop or crew cut. He’d be sitting tall and erect behind the desk, dapper in his full-dress uniform, medals across his chest. He would give them gruff congratulations on being some of the few courageous boys left in the world. He’d give them a brief speech about how what they were about to do was not easy, no. But it was rewarding. And they would grow to be men. Walking through that door was the first brave step. And then he’d ask them one time, just to be sure they weren’t pansies, if they really wanted to do this. With full confidence, his voice already stronger and deeper, Levi could reply, “Where do I sign?” and the soldier would nod and pass the sign-up sheet across the desk, unsurprised, as if he knew all along these two fine young boys were made for his United States Army, and asking if they were sure was simply a matter of formalities and regulations.
Instead of what he imagined, what greeted him were cheap office furniture, the smell of moldy carpet, and an obvious air of apathy. One portly sergeant sat hunched over a computer monitor, which faced away from the doorway, while another robust-looking sergeant stood behind him. They were both laughing at whatever was on the screen, and when the door opened and the bell jangled, they didn’t bother to look up.
Nick and Levi stood there in awkward silence until the two men finished whispering. Then, flashing his most patronizing smile, the sergeant who had been standing said, “How can we help you men?”
“We want to join the army,” said Nick, stepping in front of Levi.
“Of course.” The sergeant put his hand on the shoulder of his colleague. “This here is Staff Sergeant Duffy. He’ll be more than happy to help answer any questions you have.” He patted the shoulder he had been grabbing, and he walked away to sit behind a computer in the back corner of the room.
Sergeant Duffy forced a smile, obviously put out, and in a southern drawl said, “Take a seat fellas.”
They sat in the oversized chairs in front of the desk. The vinyl upholstery squeaked as they sat, and both boys gripped the wooden armrests. There was no ceremony, no patriotic speeches, and no hard-sell. There were only clipboards, pens, questions, and a strange sense of wonder at how simple it was. The speed of execution was shocking.
Within thirty minutes they had each filled out paperwork, scheduled a pre-test for their urinalysis, and arranged a subsequent trip to the Military Entrance Processing Station in Minneapolis over Christmas break.
Before Levi even knew what happened, he stood to leave. He forced a smile, and shook the recruiter’s warm, squishy hand.
Despite the strange inertia that carried them along, Levi held the news of their enlistment close to his chest. Not until they had visited the recruiters several times, filled out more forms, and taken the Armed Services Vocational Aptitude Battery; not until Sergeant Duffy watched them holding their privates over a little plastic cup to pee clean, both Nick and Levi kidney-shy and ashamed; not until they had ridden a Greyhound bus to Fort Snelling in Minneapolis to duck-walk in their underwear, to pee in another cup, to swear they had only smoked pot twice and they didn’t even like it, to have their ears, throats, and anuses prodded by a creaking elderly doctor; not until they had signed their contracts and chosen 11B Infantryman as their Military Occupational Specialty; not until they had repeated the oath of enlistment in front of an air force major, who threatened to arrest them for desertion if they reneged and didn’t report for boot camp when the school year was over; not until he had told all his neighbors, friends, and drug dealers; not until he felt that it was a done deal and there was no turning back; and not until he felt confident that he could answer all his father’s pragmatic questions while alleviating his mother’s concerns did Levi finally feel comfortable telling his parents he had joined the United States Army.
He anticipated an argument with his father because he’d be leaving college. He anticipated a scene from his mother, who had already lost her oldest son to a law firm in DC and her daughter to a husband and the all-consuming nature of entrepreneurship. Levi chose a Sunday morning two days before Christmas to break the news. His sister Elizabeth, her husband Chris, their baby, and his older brother Paul were all at home for the holiday.
He
nearly broke the news while they all sat around drinking coffee before church, but then he envisioned his mother stoically walking to the front pew of the church with smeared mascara and eyes puffy from crying, too proud to skip church and too proud to be late just because makeup was cascading down her face. He pictured his father clenching his jaw as he gallantly and protectively ushered his wife into the pew. Meanwhile, Elizabeth’s baby would probably be shrieking from all the fighting and yelling, and his sister would keep sighing, rolling her eyes and flipping her silky blond hair, looking at him like it was all his fault. Chris would stuff his hands in his pockets, wondering how he ended up in the middle of such a mess. He’d repeatedly look at Levi and shrug like, “What can ya do?” and Paul would pat Levi on the back as he hung his head and shuffled into the sanctuary, wanting to die.
Instead of risking the brawl that the privacy of the Hartwig kitchen would enable, and instead of risking the scene he was sure would follow, he opted to wait until after church. He told them all over heaping plates of mashed potatoes, pot roast, and macaroni and cheese at an Old Country Buffet in Onalaska. Levi sat directly across from his father.
Levi began by clearing his throat. He banged his knife against his glass, hoping to signal everyone to quiet down, but because his glass wasn’t a glass at all and was instead a plastic amber tumbler made to look like glass, it made a dull ticking noise. It did not make the dramatic tinging for which he had hoped.
No one noticed except Paul, who looked at him smacking his plastic cup of pop. Paul said, “What are you doing, Bro? Get Tourette’s while I was gone?” He stuffed a carrot in his mouth and chewed, holding one eyebrow up like all the Hartwigs loved to do when they thought someone was acting like a moron.
Levi cleared his throat again.
“Need a glass of water?” his dad said.
“I have an announcement to make.” Levi’s voice quivered with nerves. “A pretty big one.”
Liz kept talking to their mom, but their dad wiped his mouth with a napkin, set it on the table, and folded his hands. “Oh?”
Levi nodded.
Paul nudged Chris. “Levi has an announcement. I think baby brother is about to come out of the closet.”
Liz reached across the table and smacked him with her napkin.
“Well, Son. What is it?” said his dad.
Everyone at the table had finally stopped eating to stare at Levi. I should have just sent them all an e-mail on my way out, Levi thought. “Um. Nick and I. We joined the army.” He glanced at everyone except his father to gauge their reactions. “We leave in May. After the school year? They’ve worked it out so we’ll be in the same unit. At least to start with?” He cleared his throat again and took a sip of Dr Pepper.
When he finally looked at his dad, he was surprised to see him almost smiling. “Sure you want to do this? Thought it through?”
Levi couldn’t find his voice right away. He nodded and hid behind his cup.
“It’s not just some rush job or impulse decision based on emotion, pride, fervor, and all that?”
“Yeah. We’ve actually, uh, been working with the recruiter for like, forever. Like, almost two months now.”
Levi’s dad leaned back and folded his arms. His cuffs popped from under his suit coat and the shoulder seams stretched. He looked over Levi’s head as if deciding how to react. Finally, he allowed himself a full smile. “That’s great, Son. I think that will be good for you.” He brought his eyes back down to Levi’s face. “Yeah,” he said. “I think that will be good.”
This was not what Levi expected. He looked over at his mom. She was crying, as he had expected, but not in the same manner. “Oh honey,” she said. “I’m so proud of you.”
Levi blushed, pleased with himself. Yet, he also felt confused and perturbed at their immediate acceptance of the news that he had joined the army smack dab in the middle of a war. Sure, Liz and Chris peppered him with questions between trips to the buffet to get their bread pudding and ice cream—Infantry? What will you do there? When do you leave? Are you scared? Will you go to Afghanistan right away?—but no one tried to keep him around. His dad had never looked more pleased. Levi tried to answer their questions with energy and excitement, but it gnawed at him that no one tried to talk him out of it.
Later that night at the Hartwig house, after the bottles of homemade wine from Liz’s catering company had been drunk, after the board games had been put away, and long after Levi had surrendered his keys to his dad, the married people went upstairs to bed. Paul stayed at the dining room table, his top shirt button undone and his tie loosened. He sat in front of his laptop answering e-mails and doing whatever work it was that young lawyers did when they were on vacation.
Levi sat at the end of the table and sipped on Glenlivet 18, the smooth scotch being the only liquor he could find in the house. He tried to keep his movements slow and small. Each time he set down his glass, he eased it onto a cork coaster, trying to refrain from making any noise that would disturb his brother, who was the definition of concentration, a fact that astounded Levi considering Paul had drunk as much as anyone that night.
The more he drank in silence, the more he grew annoyed that Paul hadn’t moved, hadn’t gotten up to go to the bathroom, hadn’t stretched, hadn’t even stopped typing. He started to make little noises to grab his attention. First, he coughed, as if something had gone down the wrong tube. When that didn’t work, he poured tiny sips into his glass and drank them like shots, slamming the tumbler onto the table after each one. He retrieved a bag of cheese curds and flopped into his seat, making sure to bump the table on his way down. Paul continued working, unfazed. Levi belched and threw a cheese curd into the air and tried to catch it in his mouth on the way down. He caught about one out of every three. He leaned over the table to catch one on the way down. It moved the table several inches and his elbow knocked the bottle of scotch on its side.
It was empty enough by now that only a few drops fell out, but the disturbance finally made Paul look up from his computer. He glanced at the tipped bottle as if to ensure that its contents wouldn’t flow in his direction and ruin his computer. When he was satisfied he was safe, he looked up at Levi, raised his why-are-you-a-moron eyebrow, and returned to his work.
Levi crossed his arms in a petulant huff. He stewed. The only sound in the house was the steady hum of the forced-air heater and the clicking of Paul’s keyboard. The silence was too much for Levi, and he grew dizzy with his drunkenness.
“Why didn’t you say anything at lunch when I told you I joined the army?”
Paul didn’t look up from his work. “What did you want me to say?”
“I don’t know.” Levi stood up. “Maybe that I shouldn’t do it. Maybe talk me out of it?”
“Okay. How about this? You’re an idiot for wanting to join the army.”
“Dad and Grandpa were both in the army. Are they idiots?”
“They were drafted, moron. They hated it. They’re both practically pacifists now. Well, Dad is anyway. Grandpa’s dead.”
“Thanks for the reminder, dick.” Levi sat back down.
Paul shrugged. “Okay, let me try again? You’re a total shrimp. Your life’s dream is to smoke weed and write books all day in your underwear. You play in a punk band and do exactly the opposite of whatever anyone in authority tells you to do. The first thing they’ll want to do is buzz your head and shave off that stupid soul patch, but you won’t let anyone touch your hair or those ridiculous sideburns. And you’re going to join the army and all of a sudden be GI Joe? You’ll be court-martialed within the year.”
“You’re such a dick.”
“It’s your life,” Paul said. “What do I know about it?”
Levi picked up the tipped bottle and sucked down the last few drops. “Yeah,” he said. “It is my life. And you don’t even care if I lose it in Afghanistan?”
Paul laughed and pushed his computer forward. “You haven’t even left yet and I’m supposed to be worried about
you dying?”
“Well, we’re in a war, aren’t we? And I’m your little brother, aren’t I?”
Paul spoke slowly, as if he were explaining something to a small child. “Let me take those points one at a time, starting with the latter.” He held out a thumb. “One. Yes, you’re my little brother. I care for you deeply. But I can’t pretend to know what’s best for you when I see you maybe once a year. The last time I really knew you? As in knew you, knew you? As in when we lived together? You were nine years old.” Paul added an index finger to his outstretched thumb. “And fighting a war? Do you want to know how many United States military personnel have died in Afghanistan from hostile fire since we invaded?”
“Probably a lot,” Levi said.
“Take a guess at how many.”
“I dunno. Nineteen.”
“Zero,” Paul said. “Zero military deaths from hostile fire. You’re more likely to die of dehydration in boot camp or a training accident on the grenade range than you are to die by hostile fire in Afghanistan right now. So no, I’m not going to try to talk you out of your grand adventure.”
Levi dropped his head to the table, and then remembering something, he popped back up. “That can’t be right. What about that helicopter?”
“Crashed. Not shot down. Accidents happen. Could have happened anywhere.”
“Wow,” Levi said slowly. “Well, that’s great though. Means we’re kicking their butts.”
[But, to be honest, which is what this letter is all about, this revelation saddened me, angered me even, because it seemed to diminish what we were doing. It made it feel like our war wasn’t big enough or bad enough to mean anything.]
“Yup,” Paul said. “And I’m sure it will be over by the time you even finish training, so if you think you’re going off to be some big war hero, you better think again.” Paul pulled his computer back toward him.
“Well, what about everyone else? Mom and Dad didn’t try talking me out of it. If Dad’s so anti-army, why didn’t he talk me out of it? They don’t care if I finish school? They don’t care if they lose me?”
A Hard and Heavy Thing Page 8