by Tom Reilly
“It was fine. The food was exceptional, and Cheryl is everything you described and then some. And your mother is like every other mother. I understand completely,” Hoffen said.
They drove in silence to Hoffen’s house. It wasn’t much of a house—more like a shack on the edge of the Brentwood junkyard.
“Is this it?”
“Yes.”
“Wow. I have seen that shack—uh, house—for years but never knew anyone lived there,” Timothy said.
“Oh, sure. And it’s okay. It is a shack but perfect for me. I’ll see you tomorrow,” Hoffen said.
“Good night, Hoffen.”
Hoffen opened the door to his shack, turned on the light, and waved. Boy, do I have some work to do.
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
“TIGER SIX, THIS is Papa Four. Be advised, LZ is hot. Victor Charlie’s echo side of LZ,” the team on the ground tells Timothy.
“Roger that, Four. Coming in hot. Tiger Five, you copy?”
“Tiger Six, copy that,” Tiger Five says. “Going in one-eight-zero. Hot on the echo side of LZ.” Tiger Five is Bobby.
“Popping smoke,” Papa Four shouts.
“I see purple smoke,” Timothy responds.
“Affirmative,” Papa Four says.
As they approach the landing zone, tracers streak by the helicopter. Timothy feels the thuds. He yells to his crew chief, “Scoot, we hit?”
“Yeah, couple through the tail, but we’re okay. Pretty nasty on this side.”
“Tell these guys to jump right, Scoot.”
“Got it.”
The troops jump off the helicopter at six feet.
“They’re off. Let’s get outta here,” Scoot says.
“We’re gone—” Timothy yells.
As Timothy pulls up on the collective and pushes forward on the cyclic, an RPG strikes the belly of his Huey.
“Papa Four, Six took an RPG in the gut,” Tiger Five screams.
“We see it, Five. We’re on it. Get outta here.”
Bobby lifts off and performs a quick 360.
“Tiger Five, get outta here unless you want to join him on the ground. This place is erupting. Get the rest of the troops out here. We need them.”
Papa Four is at the crash site.
“My friend, Six—”
“Copy, Five. We’re on it. Stay safe.”
“Roger that—” The radio goes silent.
“Tiger Five. Tiger Five. Do you read? Tiger Five, this is Papa Four.”
Radio silence.
“Tiger Five, hold tight. We’re on the way.”
Timothy listens on Papa Four’s radio. The impact tosses the gunner and crew chief away from the wreckage. The copilot, a Vietnamese trainee, dies on impact. The gunner dies from shrapnel. Scoot, cut and bleeding, gets to Timothy first, who fades in and out of consciousness. His leg has a gaping wound from the impact of the RPG.
“Tim, can you hear me? You okay?” Scoot says.
“I can’t feel my leg, Scoot.”
Scoot rips open Timothy’s pant leg to see the wound. “Yeah, it’s pretty beat up, but it’s still there. That chicken plate you sat on saved your ass.”
“Get down, Scoot.”
Timothy draws his .45 caliber pistol and shoots a charging VC.
“Shit, that was close,” Scoot says.
“Bobby—” Timothy says.
“Dust-Off Two, this is Papa Four, popping smoke.”
“Roger, Four, I see red smoke,” Dust-Off Two says.
“Confirmed. This place is fucking hot. Be quick,” Papa Four says.
“What are we picking up?” Dust-Off Two says.
“Two KIAs and two wounded. Again, be quick.”
“What happened to Bobby?” Timothy asks.
“They’re going for them, man. I’m going to stay and make sure we find them,” Scoot assures.
Dust-Off Two touches down to pick up two KIAs and Timothy. Scoot refuses to go. Timothy falls unconscious on the way to the field hospital in Saigon.
Timothy startled awake, sweating, shaking, and screaming. He knew this dream too well. He lived the nightmare. As he lay in his sweat-soaked bed, in the safety of his home in Saint Louis, he tried to calm himself.
Mom stood at the door to his room. “Timmy, are you okay?”
“Yeah, Mom. I’m okay.”
“I heard you screaming. Are you having those dreams again?”
“Yes,” he said.
“Are you sure you’re okay, Son?”
“I’ll be okay, Mom. I just want to lie here a few minutes before I go back to sleep.”
“Okay then, I’ll leave you alone,” she said along with other unintelligible utterances as she walked away.
Okay? How can I be okay? I’ll never be okay. I will always be broken. This thing never ends. I always wake before finding out what happened to Bobby. Maybe if I go back to sleep, I’ll find out what happened.
From the dozens of times he dreamed this sequence, he knew going back to sleep did not help him figure out what happened. He rolled over and closed his eyes anyway. He wanted to get up and walk around the house—one more perimeter check—but resisted the impulse. Eventually, he found sleep.
The sun in his eyes jarred him awake. Timothy looked at the clock radio, which read 9 AM. He slept longer than he planned. He had to be at Schoen’s at ten. He shook his head as if to shake off his nightmare. He rubbed his injured leg to see if all of this was real or one big nasty dream. The twelve-inch scar answered his question.
Damn, I’m going to miss Mass again.
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
TIMOTHY TOOK AN extra cup of Mom’s coffee with him to drink on his way to work. It was a security blanket of sorts. The bitter taste reminded him he was home. Sundays were busy days at the tree lot. Classes were over and Timothy welcomed the change of pace.
“Hey, Tim. How’s it going?” Hoffen said.
“I’ve been better.”
“Looks like you had a rough night.”
“That’s one way to look at it.”
“Anything you want to talk about?”
“Christmas trees,” Timothy grinned.
“Hey, soldier boy, the ol’ kike put up a sale sign. Wants us to work our butts off today,” Kenny taunted.
“Hi, Kenny,” Timothy said.
“Boy, you look worse than a wad of Red Man,” Kenny said.
“Feel like it, too.”
“Hey, I can help with that,” Kenny said as he rolled around a wad in his mouth.
“Not today, Kenny,” Timothy said.
“All right. Hey mister! That’s a real deal on that tree.” Kenny walked away.
“What’s new at the hospital?” Hoffen asked.
“They moved me to another floor. Med-Surg. You work from the moment you get there until you leave. Most of the time you eat on the run. A lot to do.”
“Why did they move you there?” Hoffen said.
“I call it hospital Siberia. The head nun is suspicious of me and the union.”
“What do you mean about the union?”
“The Service Workers Union is trying to organize at the hospital, and the administration saw me talking to them one day. They assume I’m a rabble rouser.”
“Are you involved in that?”
“No, of course not. With all I have going on, I have no time for any of that.”
“Then why give it a second thought?”
“I’m not. They are.”
“That’s tough.” Hoffen paused for a moment. “Hey, that was a great dinner last night. Your mom is a great cook and gracious hostess. And Cheryl, you hit the jackpot there.”
“Thanks, Hoffen. I’m not sure she could say the same about me. I don’t feel like a grand prize. More like a booby prize.”
“What are you saying? You’re a good man. An honorable man. You’re ambitious and want to make a good life for you two. Those are good things.”
Timothy grunted agreement.
“How did it go w
ith Father Schmitt last week?”
“Not well. There’s nothing they can do until I get my grades up. Maybe down the road.”
“That’s something to shoot for.”
“If I can hang on that long.”
“O’Rourke, it’s about time you got here,” Dez said.
“Hi, Dez. Nice suit,” Timothy said.
“Yeah, picked it out myself.”
The irony of Dez as Santa was not lost on Timothy. In Timothy’s crazy world, all of this somehow made sense—or at least wasn’t that bizarre.
“Hey, Dez, come here a minute. This guy has a question,” Kenny yelled.
“On the way,” he yelled back. “Simpleton. Can’t even answer a question about a tree. I told him to make up something if he didn’t know the answer.” He stared at Timothy and Hoffen. “You two, get to work.”
For the next couple of hours, the lot buzzed. It was getting close to Christmas and last-minute shoppers were out. The sale sign worked the way Dez wanted. Fathers held trees for mothers to evaluate. Children ran from one aisle to another, playing hide-and-seek. Kenny spun endless yarns about trees. He never let the facts get in the way of telling the customer what they wanted to hear. Timothy stood at the fire barrel warming his hands.
“O’Rourke, come over here,” Dez said.
“Coming, Dez.”
“So what have you decided? Are you gonna take me up on my offer or not? I need an answer.” Dez pushed like a siding salesman trying to close a deal.
“Dez, I’d like to give you an answer, but the problem is I’m busy with school, exams and all, I haven’t thought much about it.” That’s a load of crap. That’s all I’ve been thinking about. Shit, I’m obsessed.
“Look, stiff-leg, you’re going down the wrong path in life and I’m tryin’ to help you. You got your head filled with wild dreams that ain’t for guys like you and me. We ain’t cut out for that kind of life. We’re supposed to scratch out a livin’ any way we can. Me and the ol’ lady ain’t done bad by it either. You’re smart enough, but you ain’t got the resources to make it work. That’s the way it is for some folks, and you might as well get with the program. You is one of those folks and don’t never forget it.”
“A person has to have dreams, Dez.”
“Yeah, and some people’s dreams are nightmares.”
An offhand comment like this would normally pass Timothy easily, but not today. Not after last night.
“Some days, dreams seem like both,” Timothy said.
“That’s my point, boy. When dreams turn into nightmares, it’s time to wake up. That’s what you need to do. Wake up.”
“Maybe you’re right. My dreams seem more like bubbles, floating away and ready to burst.”
“Damn straight I’m right. You gotta deal with the realities in front of you. I’m givin’ it to you plain. You got bills and no money and no prospects other than the chance I’m giving you.”
“Maybe I should take the deal.”
“I know you should.”
“Can I wait until after exams? That’s the only thing I want to think about right now.”
“How long’s that?”
“I’m off this week to study and exams are the following week.”
“That’s it. I ain’t waitin’ no longer than that.”
“You’re right, Dez. I owe you that. I better get back to work.”
“Yeah, get over there and make sure the mole head doesn’t give away the lot.”
For the next couple of hours, Timothy mulled over Dez’s words. Maybe Dez is right. One man’s dream is another man’s nightmare.
Timothy lost himself in the pine scent, the smoke from the barrel, and the Christmas music playing over the PA system. He was beginning to feel like having an imagination and dreaming was more a curse than a blessing.
“Hey, stranger.” Cheryl’s words caught him off guard. “I thought you might come by last night after you dropped off Hoffen,” she said.
“Sorry, hon.” Timothy kissed and hugged her. “I was exhausted and had to get up early for today.”
“I understand. I was kidding you,” she said.
“And I’ll tell ya somethin’ else about these trees. Santa Claus delivered them himself. Don’t ya want your kids to have a real Santa tree?”
Cheryl and Timothy grinned as Kenny told another whopper to a family. The father winked at the mother, and the children lit up when they heard this.
“Maybe Kenny’s not as simple as Dez thinks he is,” Cheryl said.
“Maybe. So why did you stop by today?”
“I wanted to see my boyfriend. You know, a girl could get paranoid being your girlfriend.”
“Why?” Timothy said.
“I don’t feel you will really talk to me,” she said.
“I talk to you. What do you want me to say?”
Hoffen was working in the aisle next to the fire barrel within earshot of this conversation. He inched closer.
“No, you don’t talk. You speak. You utter words, syllables, but you don’t really talk. Timothy, I love you, and I want to be in your world, the good and the bad, the easy and the tough. You know, for better or worse.”
Better or worse. Great, now she wants to talk about getting married. Just what I need today. Timothy saw Cheryl was getting upset and decided he didn’t need to add to it.
“Cheryl, you’re in my world—for whatever it is.”
“No, I’m not. I’m on the outside of the fishbowl watching you swim and drown. I want to be in the fishbowl with you. Swimming. Helping you. Keeping you from drowning.”
“Outside the fishbowl seems like a good to place to be. You won’t get wet out there, and I can’t take you down with me.”
“Timothy, I want to get wet. I want to swim and struggle with you. I want to help.”
“You want to talk? Okay. Here it goes. Dez wants an answer soon. The hospital is messing with me. Father Schmitt can’t do anything for me. I’m broke. Hell, I’m broken—financially, physically and mentally. Do you want to hear about the ghosts that visit me in my dreams most nights or what it feels like to lose your best friend when he’s trying to rescue you? You want to go down with me? Hang around, it won’t take that long.”
Tears welled. Cheryl heard the words, she saw them coming from his mouth, but this was a stranger standing in front of her. As her tears flowed, Timothy continued.
“Is this what you want? Do you want to hop in this fishbowl with me? Well, come on in. The water’s fine. We can drown together.”
Hoffen moved closer.
“I brought you lunch today. I thought you might be hungry. Here.” She handed it to Timothy.
When he saw the impact of his words, he felt shame.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to jump down your throat. And thanks for this,” Timothy said as he held up the lunch bag.
“Okay, you’re forgiven.” She leaned forward, gave him a peck on the cheek, and wiped her eyes.
“And this tree was cut down by elves,” Kenny said, oblivious to the tension between Cheryl and Timothy just a few yards away.
They shared a smile.
“You better get back to work so Dez stays off your back.”
“Thanks. Call you tonight?”
“Yes. You better.”
Hoffen followed Cheryl to the parking lot.
“Cheryl, hold up,” Hoffen yelled after her.
“Oh, hi, Hoffen. I’m sorry, I didn’t see you,” she sniffled.
“Is everything okay? You look upset.”
“It’s Timothy. Sometimes he feels like a stranger to me. He builds this wall around himself to keep everyone else out. He won’t let me in, and he needs me in there with him. Sometimes, I feel like an intruder,” she said.
“That’s no good. I know he’s feeling a lot of pressure, and most of it comes from him. He’s trying to find answers but doesn’t know the questions,” Hoffen said.
“I guess. It’s frustrating and disappointing. Is this what love is
supposed to be about? How can something that is supposed to be this great thing feel so debilitating?”
Hoffen snickered. “I’m sorry, Cheryl. I don’t mean to laugh, but it sounds funny the way you describe it. And yes, it is supposed to be confusing. Don’t let yourself get discouraged. One discouraged person around here is enough, you know.”
She nodded. “You’re right. Sometimes I feel like I’m this weight around his neck.”
“Has he said this to you?”
“No. He doesn’t have to. When he shuts down, I don’t know how to reach him.”
“First things first. You’re not a weight around his neck. From what I see, you’re more like his anchor. You’re keeping him steady when he bobs in the rough waters. When waves slap against a boat, the boat pushes back against the anchor. That’s when it does most of its work, in stormy waters. That’s what you’re feeling right now. You’re steadying, and he’s pushing back.”
“Oh, yes.” She sniffled. “That’s exactly what it feels like. I’m trying to help him keep it all together, and it’s like he wants to rip it apart.”
“Yes, that’s a pretty good analysis on your part,” Hoffen said.
“Thank you, that makes me feel better.” She leaned forward and hugged Hoffen. She said, “Do you think you could have this talk with Timothy? It wouldn’t hurt for him to hear this.”
“I’ll see what I can do. You take care. He’s going to be okay. He’s not all home yet,” Hoffen said.
“What do you mean not all home yet?”
“This country does a good job of preparing men to go to war, but a lousy job of preparing them to return home and become good citizens. Some find their ways back by themselves and make mistakes along the way. Others, the lucky ones, have families and friends that welcome them home. They help them return and heal.”
“That’s a beautiful thought, Hoffen. We should welcome home these good soldiers, and ask them to become good citizens. I know Tim needs healing. Strangely enough, his injured leg is one of the healthiest parts of him. He can see the scars. He’s adjusted to them. He knows what to expect from his leg and lives with it. It’s the other wounds, the hidden ones, that cripple him,” she said.
