But my thoughts were interrupted by the sound of a car coming down the road. I turned to see a yellow Buick pulling up next to me, its brakes squeaking in the quiet of the morning.
David waved at me from the driver’s seat and made an attempt at rolling down his window. Finding it stuck, probably frozen shut, he opened his car door instead.
“Merry Christmas,” he said.
“Merry Christmas.” I put my hands in the pockets of my coat. “Where are you headed?”
“Lansing.” He stood, keeping his engine running. “I want to get there before my niece wakes up.”
“That’s sweet.”
“What are you doing? It’s pretty early to be up on your day off, isn’t it?”
“I couldn’t sleep.” I lifted one shoulder in a shrug. “It seemed like a nice morning for a walk.”
He rested his forearm on the top of his car door and looked at the Nativity. “And this is where you ended up, huh?”
“It seemed appropriate.”
“Right on,” he said, nodding and looking my way. “Can I give you a ride home?”
“I think I’ll stay here for a few more minutes,” I answered. “Thanks, though.”
“Anytime.” He put a foot into his car but then turned back toward me. Lifting one hand, he rubbed at his head. “I guess, uh, there’s a New Year’s Eve party. Over at the American Legion next Sunday. I didn’t know if you were planning on going or not, but I wondered if you’d like to, maybe, go with me.”
“Really?”
“Unless you already were going with somebody else.”
I shook my head. “You’re the only one to ask.”
“Oh.” He smiled and laughed. “Would you like to go with me?”
“Sure. Yes. I’d like that.” My voice went up at least an octave. I was glad that David was too polite to mention it. “Thanks for asking.”
“Thanks for saying yes.” He nodded. “I like being around you, Annie.”
“Me too,” I said. “Around you, I mean. Not around me. I’m around me all the time.”
He laughed again. “I dig it.”
Sitting down into his car, he looked up at me before closing his door.
“Merry Christmas, Annie.”
“Merry Christmas, David,” I said.
Somehow I managed to make my way home without remembering a single step I took. All I could think about was David’s smile and the light and swelling feeling in my chest.
Recorded on a reel-to-reel on December 25, 1967
Frank: Did you push the button?
Joel: I think so. It’s turning.
Frank: Good. Just talk into the microphone.
Joel: All right. (pause) Hey, Mike! Merry Christmas! Dad got us a reel-to-reel so we can record messages to you. Isn’t that swell? We just finished opening presents here at the house and, let me tell you, Mom outdid herself. She gave me Opa’s old guitar. So now I have two.
Gloria: Joel, let Annie say something.
Joel: Oh, all right.
Annie: Hi, Mike. Merry Christmas. I hope that you got the care package that Oma and I sent you. It was all I could do to hide the cookies so Joel wouldn’t eat them.
Joel: There were cookies?
Annie: She wanted me to tell you that she didn’t forget to send some Wilhelmina mints. She knows how you like them.
Oma: Tell him I sent three packages of them.
Annie: I’m sure you heard that. (pause) I guess Oma would like to have a turn.
Oma: I don’t need to. I wouldn’t know what to say.
Gloria: Just say “hello” to Michael. He’ll be glad to hear your voice.
Oma: Oh, fine then. Hello, Mike. Merry Christmas. (pause) Is that enough?
Gloria: I guess so. (pause) Michael, hi. It’s your mother. We miss you and wish you could be here with us today, son. It isn’t the same without you. But we’re so proud of you for serving our country over there in Vietnam. We’re looking forward to seeing you when you come home. And we’ll plan on having you here with us next year. We love you.
Frank: My turn? (pause) Hello, son. It’s your father. Frank Jacobson. Like your mother said, we’re sure proud of you. Stay safe. Oh. And Merry Christmas.
Joel: Grandma? Do you want a turn?
Grandma: Hello?
Joel: He isn’t going to talk back to you. It’s not a telephone.
Grandma: Oh, I know that. Michael, I want to make sure you’re still wearing that medallion. I didn’t see it on you in the picture you sent. Happy Christmas from your grandma. (pause) I’m done now. Do I have to do anything?
Joel: I’ll take it. I guess that’s all of us. Bernie was supposed to come, but he has the flu. Poor guy, huh? Anyway, Mom said she’d get this in the 375mail to you tomorrow. So, I guess by the time you get it, it’ll be 1968. Merry Christmas and Happy New Year, big brother. We all like you sort of a little.
Frank: Just push that button to turn it off.
56
I rode along with Frank and Grandma to the hotel, where I found that Mom had been correct. It was neither grand nor worth the cost of the stay. Grandma, though, didn’t mind in the least. I thought she thoroughly enjoyed spending Aunt Rose’s money.
Frank had kept the truck running, waiting for me to catch a quick look at the inn. I was glad when I climbed into the passenger’s seat and it was still warm.
“Ready?” he asked once I closed the door.
“Sure,” I answered.
He pulled away from the hotel, turning left to head back to Lewis Street.
“Has Mike been writing to you?” I asked.
“Yup. Every couple of weeks or so,” he answered. “Is that all right?”
“Of course.” I pulled off one of my mittens to pick at a ragged nail. “Does he ever tell you what’s going on?”
“Well, I guess he does.”
“I mean, does he tell you the bad things?”
Frank nodded. “He has a couple of times.”
“Me too.”
“Do they scare you?”
“A little.”
He pulled onto the main highway. “He asked me not to tell your mother about them.”
“He told me that too.”
“You haven’t told her, have you?”
“I wouldn’t. Joel either.”
“That’s good.”
After a few minutes he turned off onto a side street, taking the back way home.
“I don’t know what to do,” I said.
“About what?”
“The letters.” I put my mitten back on. “What am I supposed to do?”
“Well, I imagine you write back to him.”
“Yes.”
“That’s about all there is to do,” he said.
He slowed down, driving through a neighborhood a few blocks from home. My memory perked up, reminding me of how he’d take me for long rides to see the lights when I was little. How he’d point at them, not wanting me to miss a single one.
But in those days, I’d be nestled up under his arm to keep warm, not all the way to the other side of the bench seat.
I caught his eye and he gave me a half smile. “It’s all going to be okay.”
“Do you promise?” I asked.
“Nope,” he said. “But I sure hope I’m right.”
He pulled the truck into our driveway, not cutting the engine.
“Thanks,” I said.
“That’s all right.” He nodded. “Your grandmother and I have to leave in the morning. We’ll stop over before we go.”
“I’ll be at work early.”
“Then I guess we’ll have some breakfast at the diner.” He grinned at me.
That grin. It was the one that I remembered from his good days when I was a child. When he smiled at me that way it made me feel safe and it reminded me that no matter how many bad days he had, he loved me.
For the first time in twelve years, I felt the overwhelming urge to tell him that I loved him. Instead, I chewed on the inside of my cheek, afraid th
at he might not be able to say it back to me. So I reached across the divide between us, giving him a quick peck on the cheek.
I opened my door. “Merry Christmas, Dad.”
He waited for me to get inside and shut the door before he pulled away.
Cedar Falls, Iowa
Dear Annie,
Why, oh why do I have to be in Iowa while you’re there preparing for a real, actual, bona fide date with David? Visiting family here is all right, but I want to be there with you. I want to play the part of wallflower at the New Year’s Eve party. I promise I would look away if he tried to kiss you at midnight.
Do you think he’ll want a kiss? Would you give him one? Do you think it would be better than when Walt kissed you?
I do not understand why calling long distance has to cost so much money. But my grandmother would be none too pleased if I left her with a hefty telephone bill just so you could answer my kissing questions.
Oh goodness. Did I just write that?
Anyway, I don’t know that you’ll get this letter before the party. Just know that I’m dying to know how it goes. We’ll be home on the second, and then I take a bus back to college a few days after that.
Can we go somewhere for pie and french fries? I just want to sit across from you and listen to you talk for hours.
Your friend,
Jocelyn
57
My Christmas present from Mom was a mod trapeze dress in purple, blue, and gray paisley. When I’d tried it on the next day, I thought she’d have to return it for a bigger size. But when she saw me in it, she’d clapped her hands and declared it perfect, even if it was halfway up my thigh.
“You’ll wear tights with it,” she’d said. “It will be fine.”
“Are you sure?” I’d asked.
“Of course.” She’d motioned with her finger that she wanted me to twirl around. “That’s how all the girls wear them these days.”
“But I don’t have any place to wear it.” I spun for her. “It wouldn’t pass at church.”
“Well, you can wear it to the party,” she’d said. “Now, let’s figure out what we’re going to do with your hair.”
All week she paged through magazines, trying to decide how she would do my hair and what kind of makeup she’d need to best make the blue of my eyes stand out from behind my glasses. The way she went on, I feared I’d end up with Raquel Welch’s enormous hair, Twiggy’s buggy eyes, and perfectly drawn-on I Love Lucy lips.
“I don’t want to look like I’m wearing a costume,” I told her. “I want him to actually recognize me.”
“Of course he will,” Mom said. “You have to trust me.”
“Just please don’t give me a bouffant.”
She sighed and shook her head. “So picky.”
After making me wear cucumbers on my eyes for half an hour, sit under a hot dryer with rollers in my hair, and absolutely suffocating me with at least a can’s worth of hairspray, Mom declared me nearly ready for the party.
“Now we just need to do your makeup,” she said. “Sit here.”
She pulled the kitchen step stool so it was under the ceiling light.
“Don’t make it very heavy, please,” I said, sitting.
“Oh, shush.” She opened her case of rouge, lipstick, mascara, and such. “Take off your glasses and shut your eyes.”
“I don’t know why I let you talk me into this.” I put my glasses on the counter and tilted my face toward her, eyes closed. “I thought men didn’t care about makeup.”
“They don’t,” she said. “But if I do this right, he won’t even know you’re wearing any. Now stop fluttering your eyelids so I can get it even.”
Relieved that she wouldn’t go over the top, I relaxed. “Is it silly that I’m nervous?”
“Not at all.” She was so close to me I could feel her breath on my face when she talked. “He’s a nice young man.”
“You really think so?”
“I do.” She dabbed at the outside corner of my eye with her soft fingertip. “It would be a lie if I said I wasn’t worried about you being with him, though.”
“Why?” I opened my one eye that she wasn’t currently working on.
“Well, sweetie, it would be so difficult, him being black and you white. Even now with how some things have changed.” She looked in my open eye. “You aren’t making this easy for me, you know.”
“Sorry.” I shut my eye.
“When I was your age, there was a couple that got married.” She went back to brushing on eye shadow. “She was black and he was white. They had a few kids together and it was very hard on those children.”
“That was the forties, Mom.”
“You do know that wasn’t so long ago, don’t you?” she asked. “I always worried about those children. I worried that they didn’t know what they were. If they were black or white.”
“I’m just going to a party with David,” I said. “It doesn’t mean we’re going to get married.”
“I know that. And I want you to have a wonderful time.” She sighed. “I just want your life to be easy.”
I opened both of my eyes to see her digging through her makeup case, her lips pushed together tightly.
“Who said that life was supposed to be easy?” I asked.
“Well, then, I want your life to be easier than mine has been.”
“Mom, so far my life has been pretty great,” I said. “Mostly because you worked hard to make sure it was.”
“I really am a fantastic mother.” She winked at me. “I like David. He’s sweet to you and he’s got nice manners. And if I had to choose between him and Walt . . .”
“Mom, no,” I interrupted. “You know that was nothing.”
“Oh, all right.” She shook her head. “Just close your eyes so I can finish up.”
I didn’t argue with her and I tried to keep my face as still as possible so she could finish up. The powdery smell of the blush and the pasty texture of the lipstick made me think of the times when she’d let me play at her vanity when I was little.
“It’s so nice to have a daughter,” Mom said, as if reading the memory from my mind. “I always wanted a little girl. Did you know that?”
“No,” I answered.
“I can’t imagine God giving me a better one than you.” She touched my cheek with her cool hand. “Now, don’t you dare cry. You’ll put streaks in your foundation.”
58
The dance hall was full near to bursting with all the people of Fort Colson. Even as cold as it was outside, inside it was so warm and I worried I’d sweat through the underarms of my dress. But once the hired band started playing, I forgot all about that.
It had taken very little convincing for David to get me to dance with him. The lights were kept low and the floor was so crowded, I was certain no one was watching my sorry efforts at doing the twist or the swim.
But then the electric keyboard started a new song with a slow melody. I knew right away which song it was. “Never My Love.” A tune that earned more than a few eye rolls when Mom had heard it on the radio.
All of the dancers around us either paired up, moving close to each other, or left the floor for glasses of punch or to stand along the wall, wishing they had someone to dance with. David put out his hands and grinned at me.
“Can I have this dance?” he asked.
I nodded, putting my hands into his, feeling his fingers closing over them. He lifted my left to his shoulder before putting his right hand on the small of my back. My stomach flipped and fluttered, making me feel somewhere between excited and ill. Whatever it was, I hoped the song would last a long time.
“Have I told you how pretty you look tonight?” he asked.
“A few times,” I answered.
“I hope you don’t get sick of hearing it.”
“How could I?”
The singer didn’t have the smooth voice I’d expected for the song. He lent a harder edge to the lyrics, but it little mattered. They could
have played any song for all I cared in that moment. All of the band started in on the “duh-buh-duh” part of the song and David joined in, off-key and making me laugh.
“You can’t sing,” I said.
“That surprises you?”
“It’s a nice surprise.”
“How’s that?” he asked.
“I’m just glad that you aren’t perfect.”
“Not even close.”
When the song ended, we let go of one another, clapping along with everyone else. I hoped for another slow song and that David would want to dance to that one too. But no luck.
“Thank you,” the bandleader said. “Now it’s time for us to take five. But don’t worry, we asked a brand-new band to play a song or two to fill in for us. It’s their debut here in Fort Colson. Join me in welcoming the Bus Drivers!”
“That’s Joel’s band,” I said, looking up at David with eyes wide. “That’s my brother’s band.”
Sure enough, Joel took the stage, his Les Paul hanging around his neck and a big, silly grin on his face. The other boys joined him. John and Andy taking the microphones, Chris sitting at the drum kit. They wore their best suits, even if they didn’t match and the slacks were a few inches shorter than they’d been just a few months earlier.
Once set, Andy counted to four and Joel started on his guitar.
“Oh no,” I said, covering my mouth with my hands. “Why did they choose this song?”
Mom was no fan of the Rolling Stones and especially not of that song. When Joel had asked her why, she’d just said that she was little interested in “those British boys’ pursuit of satisfaction” and that it was “no surprise they couldn’t get a girl when they insisted on going on and on about it.”
The silly smile was gone from Joel’s face as he played, replaced instead by an expression of intensity, concentration. He looked grown up, and I thought it was good Mom hadn’t come and yet wished she could have seen him.
John and Andy sang into their microphones, their melody and harmony less rough-edged than Mick Jagger and Keith Richards. Chris hit the drums so hard, I feared they’d tip over.
They were good. As good as a bunch of fourteen-year-old boys could be. And when they finished, they took a bow, a spark in each of their eyes as if they had just realized that they’d gotten away with it.
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