Side Roads and Dandelions

by W.H. Harrod

  ~~ Chapter Twenty-Two

  “Turn left at the light,” said Allison as she recognized the name of the cross street from the map she had looked at earlier that morning. “Then get into the right lane and take a right at the second intersection. The house should be somewhere on that block unless I read the map wrong.”

  Ernest had moved back into the driver’s seat for the short trip to the Mendoza home, and he followed her directions to the letter.

  “Eight-forty-eight is the house number and it looks as if it’s going to be on the left side,” continued Allison as she scanned the numbers on the fronts of the older single-family homes populating the neighborhood. “Eight-twenty-four, eight-thirty-six, eight-forty, eight-forty-eight. There it is, pullover.”

  Ernest did as instructed. Once the bus came to a halt directly opposite the house listed as the residence of Rodrigo Mendoza, every passenger stared intently at the neat, well maintained, one story white bungalow. Probably built sometime in the ‘40s, it looked to be in perfect condition. The large covered front porch located in the center of the structure provided room for a swing and accompanying wicker chairs. The windows on each side of the porch were flanked by bright green shutters matching the color of the front door. A chain link fence on the side of the house drew the viewer’s attention to the landscaped back yard. Whoever lived there took pride in their home’s appearance. Possibly, the type of people who raised a son to take pride in all he did, including serving his country’s armed forces during a time of war.

  Allison remembered her earlier thoughts regarding Bobby speaking up first when they arrived at the Mendoza home, so she waited patiently for him to set things in motion. Bobby needed to take charge. This had to be his show. She and the others merely followed his instructions until the city limits of this community showed up in the rear view mirror.

  “You’re going in with me, Allison,” said Bobby in a tone of voice that left little room for discussion.

  “Wha…what?” stammered Allison, taken completely by surprise. “What do you expect me to do in there?”

  Bobby turned to Allison sitting in the back and made but a single statement. “You are the last person in the world I would expect to have to explain my reasoning to.”

  Bobby’s words had a sobering effect on Allison. She understood the meaning behind his statement. It was, I need your help. Don’t ask questions. Just get up and come with me.

  “You’re right, I’m sorry. I’ll be right behind you all the way.”

  Bobby opened the side door and exited the bus as did Allison. For a brief moment they looked at each other as if seeking confirmation to the correctness of their mission. Bobby smiled, took Allison’s hand, and walked towards the neatly trimmed sidewalk leading to the front door.

  They stood side by side on the front porch with Bobby still clasping Allison’s hand in his. The warmth his hand exuded told Allison he had control over his faculties. Nervous people have cold clammy hands. Bobby smiled one last time towards his partner then reached forward and pressed the doorbell. This time Allison tightened her grip in anticipation of what awaited them, but Bobby remained calm. No longer was the source of his fear distant and unknown. Often the anticipation caused more discomfort than the actual confrontation. The anticipation of going into battle was often worse than being in the battle. With one, you think about the possible negative outcomes, while with the actual event you are so busy doing what you have to do to stay alive and accomplish your mission that you don’t have time to be afraid. That’s how Bobby acted right then.

  A woman’s voice called out from inside the house as the two of them heard footsteps coming towards the front door. The front door opened to display a smallish woman of Hispanic descent standing before them. Her face appeared both old and young at the same time. Old if you only took into account the silver and black strands of hair pulled tightly into a bun along with skin that showed unmistakable signs of aging, perhaps due to excess exposure to the direct rays of the sun so common in this high desert climate. But if, instead, you fixated on the bright inquisitive eyes that welcomed you and took your full measure, you got an entirely different picture. Allison wondered if this pleasant looking woman who appeared to be in her seventies might not be PFC Mendoza’s mother.

  “Hola. May I help you?” the elderly woman asked politely.

  Bobby smiled and stood up straight. “Good day to you, ma’am. My name is Bobby Owens. Would this be the home of the parents of PFC Rodrigo Mendoza?”

  The lady in the doorway placed her hand on her chest as if to see if her heart still beat. “You are my Rodrigo’s Sergeant Bobby?” She crossed herself as she awaited Bobby’s reply.

  Bobby nodded his head in the affirmative.

  Once more the lady in the doorway made the sign of the cross, plus this time she bowed her head and mumbled a prayer. She yelled for Mr. Mendoza to hurry to the door. “Our Rodrigo’s Sergeant Bobby is here to see us as we were told he would be someday.”

  Looking past the excited woman standing in the open doorway, Allison made out an individual hurrying from the back of the house in their direction. Only he didn’t stop at the door to exchange pleasantries, but instead went through it and embraced Bobby as a long lost relative. Mrs. Mendoza witnessed her husband’s disregard for formality and did likewise, clinging to Bobby as if he were her long departed son finally come home from the war. Not another word was exchanged as the three stood together holding on to each other for dear life, crying freely, like the children they once were.

  Allison stood to the side witnessing this heart-warming event wondering if she should quietly leave these folks alone to talk. Bobby surely didn’t need her imagined help any longer. It seemed safe to assume that he had gotten his foot in the door. She might only be in the way. As she started moving in the direction of the porch steps, she heard Bobby’s voice. “Mr. and Mrs. Mendoza, I would like to introduce you to my special friend, Allison. Allison, Mr. and Mrs. Mendoza.” Each came to her and embraced her as one of their own and thanked her profusely for coming to see them.

  The Mendozas ushered both of them into the living room into comfortable, well-padded chairs. Mrs. Mendoza made no attempt to stop crying as she offered them refreshments. Allison reckoned she had been waiting for over thirty years for this cry, and she couldn’t blame her for holding on to it. Mr. Mendoza did try to compose himself so he could engage Bobby in the conversation about his son he had undoubtedly been waiting to have for so long. It took a couple of abortive attempts to begin the conversation before he succeeded.

  “We had faith that you would come to us someday when you were ready to tell us about our son. We received an official report from the government many years ago, but we always knew that some day you would come and tell us the whole story. We only pray that these years have not been unkind to you, that you have found some peace in your life.” Mr. Mendoza stopped talking to look at Bobby.

  “I can see by your expression that this may not have been the case. Our son told us you were a caring man and that you took the loss of any of your men very hard. He told us it was well known that you stayed in that violent place because you cared too much for your fellow soldiers to leave them there without your help. I only hope that your heart has not stayed there, far from your home and your loved ones, all these years. If it has, perhaps we can work together to bring it home. Tell me your story about my son.”

  Allison saw why Bobby wanted her to stay with him after the introductions. As if they were aware of each other’s thoughts, they both reached for the other’s hand at the same time. Holding on tightly, Bobby began the story.

  “I had a bad feeling about the mission from the start. Everyone knew they were getting ready to announce the end of the war pretty soon. What was the use of killing or getting killed when everybody knew we were going to end up leaving the place within the next year? Just our luck, we had a Pentagon desk jockey who somehow got assigned as our battalion commander and figured he needed some ribbons
and medals for his personal file before the fighting stopped.”

  “There were always rumors of enemy movement and weapons caches in our AO, and the good commanders simply took the information and filed it away for some other day or, hopefully, some other war. The good commanders didn’t want to see their men get hurt chasing Charley or even NVA regulars that were reported to be infiltrating into our AO, especially, if we were going to turn around and hand it over to the RVNs anyway. All that talk of Vietnamization was mostly a bunch of bull. Everybody knew the RVNs couldn’t do this by themselves. Most of their commanders were crooks, and their men weren’t going to give up their lives to see some generals get rich. We knew that when we left, the whole mess wouldn’t last more than a couple of years.”

  Without having been asked, Mrs. Mendoza brought two big glasses of ice water for Bobby and Allison. Bobby took a long drink before he resumed telling his story.

  “As I said, I had a bad feeling from the start about the mission, so I told my crew to be sharp and if we got into something heavy to keep their heads down and don’t try to be heroes. I told them our main job was to come back alive, period.”

  Bobby hesitated, and Allison knew why. This is where the official version differed from Bobby’s. He was preparing to tell them the truth about how their son died. A couple of times Bobby opened his mouth to begin the story but nothing came out.

  Mr. Mendoza spoke then as if he recognized this was the part of the story that had held Bobby captive for all these years.

  “Please continue, Sergeant Bobby. You have traveled far, and you have waited many years to tell us what happened to our son.”

  Bobby told them everything -- about being ambushed, about their track vehicle being hit, about him being trapped inside and afraid he was going to burn to death. Then he told them about the brave young man who saved his life. It was Rodrigo who had come back inside the burning track and pulled him to safety only to return to the track to continue firing the machine gun until he had destroyed the enemy position and how finally, after what seemed an eternity, Rodrigo had fallen by his side mortally wounded.

  During the final part of Bobby’s story, Mr. and Mrs. Mendoza came together in an embrace as they heard the true story as to how their son conducted himself so heroically on that fateful day so long ago in a faraway place. They didn’t know it, but Bobby had more to tell them.

  As Bobby commenced speaking once more, the Mendozas watched him reach inside his shirt and take a gold chain necklace from around his neck. Bobby held the necklace before him revealing a single Silver Star Medal hanging from it.

  “I only found out about Rodrigo’s death sometime later while I was in the hospital recovering from the wounds I received in the ambush. It was a very personal loss for me; I grieved over his death. Your son gave up his life to save mine that day. He didn’t have to come back into that burning vehicle. He could have stayed outside and lived and no one would have thought worse of him for it. That’s why I want you to accept this Silver Star Medal that they wrongly awarded to me thinking it was me and not your son who went back into the burning track to save a fellow soldier’s life. I tried to make them understand that they were wrong, and it was your son who was the hero that day, but they wouldn’t listen to me. This medal belongs to your son, not to me. I’ve worn this around my neck every day for thirty-four years in his memory knowing one day I would come here and tell you about your son’s heroism. I’m sorry I didn’t have the courage to come sooner.”

  When Bobby finished his story, Mr. Mendoza arose from his seat, walked over to Bobby, and took him by the arm, motioning for him to come with him into the adjacent room. Bobby did so willingly with Allison following, and as soon as they passed through the doorway, Bobby caught his breath at the sight before him. An entire wall devoted to their son’s life appeared, and right in the center of it was a section devoted to his military service. There were numerous medals presented to the family posthumously and photos of Rodrigo in his dress uniform prior to leaving for Vietnam. There were letters from generals, politicians, and the government of the United States expressing their deepest sorrow over the loss of their brave son. Displayed prominently along with the other items was something that caught Bobby’s attention, a blown up photo of Rodrigo and a young Bobby posing together wearing their flak jackets and their camouflaged helmets standing alongside a track vehicle. As Allison and Mrs. Mendoza followed behind, Bobby and Rodrigo’s proud father stood before the wall looking at the photo of the two young soldiers together.

  “With your permission, I will display yours and Rodrigo’s Silver Star Medal by hanging it from this day forward on the picture of you together,” said Mr. Mendoza with great pride as he turned around to reveal the newest addition to the shrine to Mrs. Mendoza. She, too, beamed with the special pride only a mother can feel.

  “There is but one additional wall I hope Rodrigo’s mother and I will visit before we die to honor my son and all those other brave soldiers who died along with our son in Vietnam. That wall is in our nation’s great capital, Washington, D.C. God willing, we will do that soon, especially now that you have fulfilled our son’s promise that someday you would come to see us if he was killed in Vietnam. Our son was a good judge of people. He told us you were an honorable man. He said you were the finest soldier he ever knew, and it was an honor for you to have selected him to drive the armored personnel carrier. You have lightened our burden, Sergeant Owens.”

  There was no way for the Mendozas to know it, realized Allison, but they had saved a Vietnam veteran’s life by their act of kindness. As Allison stood there appreciating this moment, she had no doubt that Bobby would go forward full of renewed purpose to do something good with his life. When this journey ended, Bobby would not be returning to Oklahoma, he would be heading to Dallas, Texas.

  “Mr. and Mrs. Mendoza,” said Bobby as soon as he could talk, “I, too, plan on making my first trip to our nation’s capital to visit the wall for the first time. It would be an honor if you would allow me to make arrangements for us all to make a pilgrimage to that great monument. May I impose upon your company one more time?”

  They excitedly agreed to accept Bobby’s generous offer, and Allison expected that this particular stop was about to come to a happy conclusion. She erred. Not only did Mr. and Mrs. Mendoza await Bobby’s visit for all these years, there was the small matter of at least a hundred nearby relatives who also awaited this day, and with but a single phone call, Mrs. Mendoza let them all know Sergeant Bobby had arrived.

  Relatives arrived in droves. Allison bowed to the inevitable and brought Sam and Ernest inside to enjoy the festivities and the tons of food that amazingly materialized from out of nowhere. Nine hours remained to get to San Francisco, but if they didn’t make it, maybe those visionaries presently in charge of the country would simply have to start their war without them. Make no mistake, though, they would eventually get to San Francisco, and their voices would be heard.