Ty sat alone and watched the first half, fighting a sickening feeling of frustration at not playing. During halftime he walked into the crowded cafeteria and bought a Coke. Taking a sip, he was about to go back to get away from the stares but noticed Clifton, Becky’s younger brother, standing in a corner of the cafeteria in what looked like a heated argument with Billy Ray Stevens.
Ty walked up behind Billy Ray as he snickered, “Come outside, you little shit, let’s see if you’re as tough as your mouth.”
Ty brushed past Billy Ray and leaned against the wall beside Clifton. “Howdy, Cliff. Ya enjoying the game?”
Clifton pointed with contempt at Billy Ray. “He’s drunk and saying nasty things about Sis!”
“Billy Ray has a bad habit of talking like that. He didn’t mean nothin’ by it.” Ty’s eyes narrowed and shifted to Billy Ray. “Did ya?”
Billy Ray met Ty’s stare. “This ain’t your concern, asshole.”
Ty took a sip of his Coke, ignoring the senior’s foul alcohol-laden breath, and looked up at the ceiling. “Well, ya see, it is my business. Clifton here is a friend of mine, and so is his sister.”
“Bullshit, Nance. That big-titted bitch will drop your brother’s sorry ass!”
Clifton pushed off the wall toward Billy Ray, but Ty put his hand out, stopping him. “Relax, Cliff, he’s half-drunk and pissed ’cause Becky laughs at him when he asks her out. He’s lookin’ for trouble. Let’s go and let him find some grade schoolers to pick on.” Ty took Clifton’s arm and began to lead him toward the gym door.
Seething, Billy Ray snarled at Ty’s back, “She ain’t worth fuckin’. I’ll bet it ain’t just your brother. I’ll bet your filthy Indian cock’s been in her, too.”
Ty spun around, but Billy Ray was already swinging and landed a blow that glanced off the side of Ty’s forehead. Ty went down to one knee with the punch but savagely jabbed a fist into Billy Ray’s groin, doubling him over. With teeth bared, Ty rose and viciously jerked his knee up, smashing Billy Ray’s nose and face. Billy Ray tumbled back onto a table, with Ty following. Then, grabbing his hair and jerking his head up, Ty ruthlessly slugged him in the jaw, knocking him to the floor, and fell on his chest, grabbing for his throat.
“STOP IT! STOP IT, TY! You’re killing him!” screamed Clifton, grabbing Ty’s shoulders. Ty heard nothing. He applied more pressure, wanting to rip out Billy Ray’s windpipe. Several more people tried to pull him off, when suddenly everything went hazy.
Sheriff Hamby shook his hand in pain and threw his other arm up. “Back up, people, it’s all over. Back up!”
The crowd backed up, avoiding stepping in the expanding pool of blood coming from Billy Ray’s broken nose and busted mouth. Hamby lifted Ty up, but his legs were still wobbly and he sunk to his knees. The sheriff knelt beside Billy Ray, who was gasping for air in panicked desperation. Hamby spoke calmly. “Easy, kid, take a deep breath … easy now … breathe in … now out. Good, do it again.” Hamby looked up and spoke quickly to one of the onlookers. “Virgil, go call Doc Riddle.”
Mr. Summers waded through the crowd and raised his hands. “Folks, we need your cooperation. Please clear the cafeteria and go back to your seats. Please, folks, we need the cafeteria cleared!”
Ty shook his head, still feeling dizzy, and got up with the help of Clifton. Blood trickled down his face from the cut above his eye as he looked at the faces in the crowd. They stared at him and his blood-covered hands with fear and shock as if he were a crazed animal. He turned away from their stares and looked at Billy Ray lying on the bloody floor. He’d hurt Billy Ray worse than he’d intended. He couldn’t help it. He didn’t remember a single blow or punch he’d thrown. It was just a blur in his memory, except for the loathing hate he’d felt.
* * *
Miss Applegate, the home economics teacher, dabbed Ty’s cut with a cotton ball as the sheriff questioned him. “… so Billy Ray says what to you?”
Ty looked at the teacher with embarrassment and turned his eyes to the sheriff. “I don’t think Miss Applegate would appreciate what he said.”
She glared at Ty, then at Hamby. “I was a nurse before I was a teacher. I’m sure I’ve heard worse than you two can imagine. Tell him, Ty. Don’t mind me. You’ve got a nasty cut that needs cleaning.”
Ty exchanged glances with Hamby, but the sheriff nodded. Ty told him what was said and all he could remember about the fight up until the moment he blacked out.
Hamby raised his bruised hand after Ty had concluded. “It was me that hit ya that last time. Sorry, I guess my ring caused the cut, but damn, you was killin’ that kid. Sure glad I stopped by to see how the game was goin’. You messed him up pretty bad, but your story checks with Clifton, so there won’t be any charges pressed against you.”
Hamby sighed and tossed his hat to the table. “But you sure went beyond shuttin’ his mouth for insultin’ you and the girl. Jesus, you was killin’ that boy. You can go home tonight, but come by the office tomorrow and write me a statement for the record. I’m having Billy Ray write his statement at Doc Riddle’s office tonight so his folks won’t have no lawyers sniffin’ around. Far as I’m concerned, it’s history, but you’d better watch your p’s and q’s. You’re gettin’ a bad rep, kid.”
Mr. Summers followed Ty outside and tapped his shoulder roughly. Ty turned around.
“Mr. Nance, your conduct was uncalled for,” Summers said, scowling. “Violence is never the answer to life’s problems. You are on probation, and you are forbidden to attend any school extracurricular activities for a month. I cannot condone your or Billy Ray’s actions, and I must make an example of both of you. Do you have anything you want to say for yourself?”
Ty looked at him with contempt, knowing he’d practiced his little speech and was waiting for a retort so he could slap him with another month of probation.
Ty wanted to grab Summers’s tie and jerk him over his shoulder, but instead he shook his head in brooding silence.
Summers wasn’t satisfied with the wordless answer and pushed his luck by extending his hand. “As gentlemen, I want you to promise me you’ll shake hands with Billy Ray.”
Ty ignored him. He turned around and headed for his car.
Summers lowered his hand and puffed out his chest. “Two months’ probation, Mr. Nance.”
10
Ty gave Sa Tonkee a bucket of oats for his Christmas present and left the warmth of the small barn. The biting wind tore through his flannel shirt, chilling him to the bone before he reached the backdoor steps. The smell of the cedar Christmas tree welcomed him into the quiet house. The family had gone that afternoon to visit Duane’s parents in Oklahoma City and would be back tomorrow.
Ty walked into the darkened living room and sat down in the rocking chair. The blinking Christmas tree lights reflected off his face as he stared at the tree he and Jason had cut down on the hill. He wasn’t in the Christmas spirit, knowing his brother would soon be telling his mother about leaving for the Army. The TV news had been reporting heavy fighting, and the recent toll of American deaths had gone over a thousand men. A huge peace rally in Washington was still making the news, and many were claiming the war was a mistake. A young Quaker had gone so far as to pour gasoline on himself in front of the Pentagon and burn himself to death in protest against the war. Hardly a season of love and peace, he thought.
Jason adjusted the throw pillow and tried to get comfortable on the lumpy sofa. He hated staying the night at his grandparents’ house. They were wonderful people, but there was nothing to do but sit around and talk about the old days. Becky had been a good trouper and had looked at all the family photo albums with the appropriate laughs and giggles, but he’d known she was bored. She had been the lucky one. She had gotten a bed in the den. His dad and mom were staying in the guest room upstairs and he’d gotten the couch. Great, he’d never get any sleep.
Jason shut his eyes but felt strange, as if someone were watching him. He raised up and saw Becky standing in t
he doorway. The light in the stairway was on, silhouetting her. She was wearing a light cotton sleeping gown that revealed every sensual cleft and mound. He gasped, thinking it was a dream, but she walked toward him whispering, “I’m cold.”
He swung his legs off the sofa just as she sat down and pulled the blanket around her. “It’s no wonder, Beck. That thing is too thin. Didn’t you bring anything else to wear?” She snuggled next to him shivering. “I have you. Hug me, I’m freezing.”
Jason nervously looked toward the hallway but knew they couldn’t be heard. Becky raised up and kissed him passionately and pushed him back on the sofa. She whispered huskily, “Get me really warm, like you do.”
She maneuvered her hips between his legs. His body responded immediately as she began rubbing against him.
Jason groaned in pain; his pajama bottoms and underwear were binding in the wrong place. Her rubbing was like sandpaper against his sensitive skin. He grabbed her in a death grip, stopping her gyrating.
Becky raised up, looking at him in astonishment. “That was quick. What about me?”
He laughed and lifted her off him, then stood up and smoothed down the bunched-up material around his groin. “I know I haven’t got much control, but this time my underwear got me.”
Becky giggled as he sat down and ran her hand down the waist of his pajamas while pulling up her gown. “I like this just as much. Touch me, I need to …”
Jason lifted her hand up to his face. “Beck, let’s get married.”
Her eyes widened, seeing that he was serious. She leaned over and kissed his chin. “We can’t. We have to plan for the future. We …”
“T’hell with plans,” Jason said, pulling back. “Let’s get married.”
Becky didn’t like his tone of voice. He was talking crazy and meaning every word. She pushed down her gown, suddenly feeling self-conscious. “Jay, we can’t get married now, we’re too young. We have years to have fun and …”
Jason picked up the blanket from the floor and lay back on the sofa. Becky had returned to the den after kissing him good night. She’d left, believing her wonderful plans were back on track. He shut his eyes, knowing he would have to tell her, but not until after the new year began. He needed the time, time to figure out how to tell her that the Army had plans, too.
11
Ya think your elbow is gonna be okay?” asked Ty, lifting the suitcase to his lap.
Jason extended his arm and flexed like a bodybuilder. “Strong as ever; I’ve been doing push-ups every night.”
Ty nodded with a weak smile and looked around the small bus station. There was only one other passenger sitting in the waiting area, an older woman behind them who was staring blankly at the wall clock. Ty was glad Jason had insisted the good-byes be given at the house. It had been worse than a funeral. His mother and Becky had cried the whole time. Even Duane had broken down before they left. Jason had remained dry-eyed throughout the ordeal and reassured them all that he’d be fine and be back on leave in four months. Mea had loaded him down with boxes of food, and Duane had slipped him twenty dollars. Becky smothered him in kisses and gave him an expensive watch. Whatever Mea might think, one thing about Becky was for sure in Ty’s eyes—the girl had style.
Ty squirmed in his seat. Like Mea, he hated his brother going to the Army. The news was getting worse: 1,643 Americans killed and 8,000 wounded. The North Vietnamese Army was reported to have two hundred thousand men in the south. President Johnson had said in his State of the Union address that the U.S. would stay in Vietnam until the aggression stopped, and he would continue to build a great society here at home. Ty couldn’t help but wonder who was going to do the building if all the young men were fighting in Vietnam.
Jason glanced at his new watch; there wasn’t much time. “Ty, I’m sorry about you and Dad. I wish there was something I could do.”
Ty shrugged his shoulders. “Don’t worry about it. Things are gonna get better.”
“I’m worried about you,” Jason said.
“Heck, don’t worry about me. I’m gonna move into the cabin in the spring and start work helpin’ ol’ man Randall on his farm. He’s gonna pay two-fifty an hour. Things are lookin’ up.”
Jason wasn’t convinced. He had seen the way his father looked at Ty. Coach Duggin had looked at him in the same way. It was a test of wills, and Ty was winning by feigning indifference. The frustration in his father was building and turning more bitter. His dad had become so short-tempered he couldn’t stay in the same room with Ty. Perhaps Ty’s moving out of the house and being on his own would be best, but it would be terrible for Mea. The sun rose and set on her son. She would be the real loser in the conflict.
The big Trailways bus pulled to the curb and its door swung open. Jason remained seated and hugged Ty to him. “Ty, I didn’t tell you this too many times, but I love ya. Take care of yourself and promise me one thing, will ya?”
“Sure.”
Jason stood and looked into his eyes. “Promise me you’ll finish school. No matter what happens between you and Dad, you hang tough in school and finish. Don’t drop out to pay bills, ’cause I’m going to send some money to you. Just keep that temper of yours under control.”
Ty held out his hand. “No sweat … and keep your money, I’m not gonna need it. Now promise me somethin’ … don’t get your butt shot off, huh?”
Jason smiled and took Ty’s hand, pulling him to his feet. “It’s a deal.”
Ty watched the bus pull away, feeling like a piece of him was missing. He had only shaken Jason’s hand and hadn’t told him how he felt … he loved him, too.
“Down people! Get on down and knock out ten!” barked the drill sergeant, his hands on his hips. Private Jason Johnson was the first to complete the push-ups and snapped back to attention. The sergeant noted Johnson was first again, but that wasn’t anything new. Johnson was a model soldier, and the sergeant had selected him to be his platoon guide.
The stiff-backed noncom eyed his recruits from beneath his wide-brimmed campaign hat and began pacing again. “Dummies, either you listen or you gonna push up Texas higher than the grrreat state of Colorado. If I see anybody sleepin’ in my class again, you gonna paaay.”
Jason looked around to make sure his men were paying attention. He’d found basic training nothing more than an extended college football practice. It was all the same except that the hours were much longer. The intent was to weed out those who were weak and build a team of winners. The hollering and screaming were at times unnerving, but he’d learned quickly enough that if you did well, you were rewarded for your efforts. The training was a mental game that he saw through the first couple of days. The sergeants wanted and demanded blind discipline. If he gave them what they wanted and listened to their every word, it wasn’t too difficult. The soldiers having the hardest time were those who rebelled against being told what to do. The classes were mostly a matter of staying awake. Nothing was complicated, only repetitive to the point of boredom. Marching, drill and ceremonies, manual of arms, guard duty, and weapons training were all new to him, but easy to pick up, though physically demanding in the extreme. The physical training part was where he excelled. Surprisingly, most of the young men were in poor condition and were always behind the power curve. They were so sore and miserable from PT that they didn’t listen to instructions and instead concentrated on their own aches and pains. They paid for being out of shape by having to do more PT, starting the vicious circle over again. The benefits of being platoon guide included not having to pull KP or guard duty. Both duties meant the victim would lose some of the most valuable commodity in basic training—sleep.
The last month had passed by in a blur. The only bright spot in training was mail call. Becky had been writing almost every day, keeping him up on events in Meyers. Her letters made him feel like he was back home for a while.
The sergeant finished his class and motioned Jason to him. “Johnson, the company commander inspected your platoon barracks this
morning. You did good. Your people will get a forty-eight-hour pass this weekend. You made it happen, so you get to tell them.” The sergeant began to turn around but stopped. “Johnson, I’ve seen a lot of dummies go through this zoo, but you’re one of the better ones I’ve had. If you don’t get a big head or get lazy on me, you’ll be this company’s honor graduate. ’Course, it won’t buy you a cup of coffee, but it’ll make me look good.” The sergeant smiled and spoke with pride. “I’ve had the last two honor grads, so I know what I’m talkin’ about. You’re doin’ good, Johnson, real good. I’m proud of you.”
Jason also felt pride and knew he’d made the right decision in joining. The Army liked him and he liked the Army. It was a marriage of understanding. He knew what they wanted, and he was willing to give it.
He formed the platoon and told them about the pass. Their smiles started goose bumps running up his back, and he stood a little taller. A month before, his men had been civilians from every part of the country and from every conceivable background. The past weeks, they’d become leaner and tougher as they struggled to become soldiers. They were slowly being shaped and molded to fit into the green machine, but Jason knew every one of them by name and where they were from. To him, these men were not numbers or cogs in the green machine’s grinding wheel. They were his people, and he cared about them. They responded to him, confided to him their hopes, dreams, and fears. Some cried at night in loneliness and others still wet the bed, but they were becoming soldiers, young men he was chosen to lead.
Jason smiled with pride, knowing he was partly responsible for their success, but he also knew they still had a long way to go. He gathered the platoon around him, feeling confident. It was time for Crazy Chuck’s spirit to get them over the top. “Third Herd, we’re half through and you know what we’ve put up with so far … well, it ain’t gonna get any better. They’re gonna keep pushin’ us, screamin’ at us, and tryin to get rid of some of us, but we ain’t losin’ another man! They can’t get rid of anybody in the Third Herd. You know why? ’CAUSE WE LOVE THIS SHIT! What can they do to us if we love it?… NOTHIN’! The Third Herd is gonna be the craziest bastards in this company ’cause WE LOVE IT!”
the Hill (1995) Page 8