by Tom Reilly
“Now you understand. He’s not pushing you away as much as he is pushing away all of us. That’s why he’s close to the other veterans. They don’t have to say a word to each other. They look at each other and understand in their souls what the other feels. Most of them are closer than blood brothers,” Hoffen said.
“You’re right. That’s how I feel about Timothy and Scoot, and I must admit I’m jealous of it at times.”
“Don’t be ashamed of how you feel. You’re learning how to understand, and it takes time.”
“Thank you again, Hoffen. I think I know what to do,” she said.
“Good. And don’t worry. We can help him come home.”
Hoffen watched Cheryl drive off. He turned and saw Dez looking at him.
“Well, well, old man. Do you really think you’re that good? You’ve got to be tired of this. Why don’t you give up and move on?”
“One of us should, Dez. How about you? Why don’t you give up and move on?” Hoffen walked away.
Hoffen saw Timothy at the fire barrel as the crowds thinned. He knew Timothy wanted to talk—he had been staring at Hoffen since he returned from the parking lot.
“I saw you and Cheryl talking in the lot. I bet she gave you an earful, didn’t she?” Timothy said.
“She’s concerned about you. She really loves you,” Hoffen said.
“I know. I know. This doesn’t seem to be getting any better.”
“What isn’t getting any better?” Hoffen asked.
“Life,” Timothy said.
“Is it that bad?” Hoffen asked.
“Yes. The way Dez looks at things is beginning to make sense. On some level, I know how insidious his thinking is, but on another level it connects.”
“How so?”
“I’ve got all these ambitions and no way to make them happen. Every time I think I’m getting ahead—you know, gaining traction—I find out I’m spinning my wheels.”
Hoffen nodded. “Most people feel that way from time to time.”
“Yeah, but for me it seems that way all the time. Dez is right. Guys like me and him shouldn’t even think in these terms.”
“What terms? What are you talking about?” Hoffen asked.
“You know, dreams, ambitions, that stuff. Most of that stuff is out of my league.”
“He told you that you shouldn’t have any dreams and you believed him?”
“He didn’t tell me that exactly. He pointed out how messed up my life is and told me to make practical choices,” Timothy said.
“Like coming to work for him?”
“Yes.”
“What about school? What about Cheryl?” Hoffen asked.
“School can wait, and Cheryl can do better than me.”
“Says who?”
“Me!”
Hoffen raised his eyebrows. “Don’t you think she has something to say about this?”
“Yes, I guess.”
“Tim, we’ve talked about this before. You’re going to regret the things you didn’t do more than the things you did do. You have a right to dream. You have a right to hope. There is none of this ‘guys like us shouldn’t think in these terms.’ That’s lousy advice. Do you want Dez to be your career counselor?”
“No.”
“Do you want to end up like him?”
“Hell no!”
“Exactly. Look, you have two voices whispering in your ears. One is the voice of hope, and the other is the voice of despair. You get to choose which one to turn down the volume on.”
“Are you’re saying Dez is the wrong voice?”
“I’m saying it’s your choice.”
They stared at the fire.
“Having this conversation and staring at this blaze reminds me of something I once read,” Hoffen said.
“What’s that?”
“A passage from Dante’s Inferno, ‘All hope abandon, ye who enter here.’ Do you know what that means?”
“I’m familiar with the passage,” Timothy said. “We studied it in a literature class.”
“It was the sign hanging outside of hell. You see, hell is the absence of hope. When you’re there, you figure there is no way out. You’re stuck in your despair. You’ve stood at the door, haven’t you, Tim?”
“Yes, and peeked in,” Timothy said.
“I know you have. But you didn’t walk through the door. Something inside of you told you to hang back. That was hope, the voice you never want to silence. That’s the voice you must listen to.”
“I guess I haven’t thought about it in those terms. Thanks, Hoffen.”
“My pleasure, Tim, and treat that young lady well. She is a big part of all that is good in your life.”
“You’re right. I hope to be a big part of what’s right in her life.”
“You already are, Tim. That’s the point I’m trying to make.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
AFTER A FULL day of study on Monday, Timothy decided to show up at Cheryl’s home unannounced to surprise her. When he arrived, he sat in his car and considered what to say about his behavior at the Christmas tree lot. Once he collected his thoughts, he rang the doorbell.
“Wow, this is a surprise,” Cheryl said as she opened the front door.
“Yeah, I got to thinking about yesterday and what a jerk I was at the lot. I mean you brought me lunch and I . . . you know,” Timothy said.
“Well, my mother taught me never to disagree with a man when he’s trying to apologize. I accept your apology.” She followed this with a hug and a peck on the cheek. “Come on in.”
They sat in the living room. The rest of the family watched television in the den.
“I think the pressure is getting to me. The thing is, I have this attitude I should be able to handle anything life throws at me, but life seems to be winning this round. I’ve got all this stuff going on around me while I’m churning on the inside. It’s weird. My bones itch, and I can’t scratch them. I’m restless to get moving, but something is holding me back. I don’t know. I’m rambling. I’m sorry.” Timothy took a breath.
Cheryl smiled. “You’re fine. I’m glad you’re telling me this. I’m thrilled you’re letting me in. You’re too tough on yourself. You’ve created this sort of character for yourself that is unrealistic. Knowing and understanding that is a move in the right direction.” Cheryl sounded like a counselor.
Timothy grinned. “I’ll work it out with the help of a special person.”
“I’ll be here for you at every step along the way. Hoffen told me you’re trying to come home. I want to help you make it all the way, Tim.”
Timothy’s eyes watered. He knew she understood. He felt uncomfortable talking about it with other people, but not tonight. He wanted to get home, and Cheryl could help. She played a role wives and girlfriends had lived since the first soldiers returned from battle.
“I know you will. You’re good for me,” he said. “The problem is that I’m not home yet—not all the way.”
“What do you mean?”
“Everything around me reminds me of where I’ve been and what I’ve done. It rains, and I smell the monsoons. A tractor trailer passes, and the diesel smell reminds me of guys on a shit-burning detail. The neighborhood kids’ fireworks send me diving for cover. When I can’t sleep at night I hear every noise in the house. I look at the other students and feel like an outsider. It’s like I’m out of my element, like I don’t belong.”
He paused and she hugged him. “That’s the most you’ve opened up to me about this.”
“Yeah, and I’m sorry. You had no idea what you were getting with me. You are good for me. Hell, you’re great for me. I just wish I were great for you.”
“You are.” Cheryl smiled. “And another lesson my mother taught me is a woman should never interrupt a man when he’s paying her a compliment.”
Timothy laughed. “This should be a good week for me. I’ve got a few days of downtime. I’m going to use this week to take a break from everything that
’s pushing on me—work, money, classes—and study for exams. I feel like it’s all up to me right now. I’d like to ace all of those exams, especially Leibert’s. If I ace his, he has to give me a B for the semester, and I need that to get my 3.8 GPA.”
“That would be wonderful. You deserve a break.”
“Hey, let’s go get a pizza and beer.”
“My treat,” Cheryl said.
“Okay, big spender let’s go.”
They drove to Shakey’s Pizza & Ye Public House, where they ordered a large pie smothered in pepperoni, sausage, salami, ground beef, mushrooms, and black olives. They washed it down with two pitchers of beer—all for less than ten bucks. Families and college kids packed the place. The banjo and piano players served up live Dixieland jazz. Children stood on the riser in front of the kitchen window to watch cooks toss the pizzas. Timothy loosened up even more. Alcohol often lubricated his mind. Tonight, it seemed to soothe his restless spirit. He smiled, made silly faces, and attempted to sing along with the music with a voice more suitable for a sporting event. This was the man Cheryl had fallen in love with. They needed this night the way a sick patient needed medicine.
After dinner, Timothy took Cheryl home and made it a point to avoid any talk of work, money, or Nam. It took them twenty minutes to say good night. When he left, he drove on side streets, avoiding the main streets and police. He knew the better part of two pitchers of beer would be hard to explain to a cop looking to write tickets.
This was a great night. It felt good to open up to Cheryl. We needed this. It’s the first time in a while I felt I could relax and be me. No pressure, just Cheryl and me. I know I’ve been acting like a jerk lately, and I’m glad she forgave me. I think I could use some sisterly advice.
Timothy hoped Ike and Leslie would still be up and headed to their house, carefully navigating side streets and intersections. Leslie answered the door.
“Hey, Sis,” Timothy said.
“Well, look who it is. You smell like a brewery, little brother.”
“I’ve been working on it.”
“Ike, come here and see this.”
“Hey, runt. Tying one on?” Ike said.
Ike gave Timothy this nickname when Ike dated Leslie and Timothy was not yet ten years old. He only used the nickname these days when he wanted to gig Timothy.
“Didn’t think I was, but seems I got a start on it. Got a cold one for me?” Timothy said.
“Yeah, I think I can scare up a couple brews,” Ike said as he walked to the kitchen.
Leslie motioned to Timothy to sit in the living room.
“So what’s the occasion?” she asked.
“Do I need an occasion to take my girl for a couple of beers and pizza?”
“Tim, you seem looser tonight than I’ve seen you in a while. Must be the alcohol,” she said.
“Must be. Ahh, here comes the rocket fuel.”
Ike returned with two “Blue Cans,” their code for Busch Bavarian, a local favorite.
“Here ya go, partner. Drink up.”
“Cheers,” Timothy said as he held up his can in a mock toast. “Tonight was the first normal night we’ve had in a while. I was beginning to worry there were no more of these in my life.”
“Tim, you’ve got a great gal in Cheryl. Don’t blow this,” Leslie said in the way older sisters talked to younger brothers.
“Here, here,” Ike said and held up his beer.
For the next hour, they sat in the living room and talked about Cheryl and school and work. Ike made a couple more trips to the fridge. Even Leslie commented that they didn’t get many of these spontaneous nights since Timothy returned home. Life seemed to get in the way of living.
“Okay, boys. Time to wrap it up. Ike, you’ve got to go to work tomorrow, and I’ve got carpool in the morning early. And you, baby brother, if you’re spending the week getting ready for exams, you need a clear head for that. Besides, you’re staying here tonight. I already called Mom and told her.”
“Hey, I’m not a kid who needs his mother’s permission to stay out late.”
“I didn’t do this for you. I did it for us. Every time you stay out all night, she calls us at two in the morning to tell us she’s worried. I want to sleep tonight,” Leslie said.
“Okay, how about I park it here on the sofa?” Timothy said.
“Right. Ike, get a pillow and a blanket,” Leslie said. “And Tim, if you feel sick, not in here. I just got the carpets cleaned.”
Leslie made a vague reference to the time Ike and Timothy drank too much and Timothy puked all over the bathroom.
“All right, thanks,” Timothy said.
Ike returned with the pillow and blanket, and Leslie came over to give Timothy a hug.
“Good night, baby brother,” said Leslie.
The next morning, Timothy dragged himself into Leslie and Ike’s kitchen, shaking the fog of a night of beer and conversation.
“Hey there, sleepy head. I was beginning to think you might sleep all morning,” Leslie said.
“Not likely. What time is it?” Timothy said.
“A few minutes after ten,” she said.
“What? I haven’t slept that long in years,” Timothy said.
“Last night you looked pretty tired and, uh—”
“Wasted?”
Leslie rocked her head. “That’s one way to say it. How often do you drink like that?”
“Not often enough,” he said.
“Not that often, really? How do you feel this morning?”
“Good. I think I needed that,” Timothy said.
“The beer?”
“The whole night. Beer. Pizza. Talking. Cheryl. Time with you and Ike. And a good night’s sleep.”
“You were in a good place last night when you showed up. I was glad to see it,” Leslie said.
“Me too. Is that coffee I smell?”
“Fresh. Made a few minutes ago. I stopped off at Rafferty’s on the way home from carpool and picked up an apple fritter. Interested?”
“Oh yeah. I haven’t had one of those since . . . I can’t remember when,” said Timothy.
“Cheryl was at the bakery when I got there, picking up doughnuts for some work function. We chatted a little while. She said last night was a great time for you guys. Like when you first met. She was relieved to hear you didn’t drive home. According to her, ‘My old Tim showed up at the doorstep last night.’ She’s a great gal, you know.”
“I know. I have been a bit of a jerk lately to her. I’m letting everything get to me.”
Leslie wasted no time weighing in on this. “Yes, you have and yes, you are. That girl is nuts for you. You’re lucky to have her, and she’s lucky to have you. A lot of people don’t have as much as you two have right this moment.”
“You’re right. I know.” We do have a good thing going if I don’t screw it up. “Man, this thing is still warm,” he said, cutting a piece of the fritter.
“Mrs. Rafferty had just taken it out of the oven when I got there. They don’t come any fresher than that,” she said.
Timothy took a big bite and washed it down with a gulp of coffee. He wiped his mouth and said, “The thing is, I was planning to get Cheryl a ring for Christmas. I managed to squirrel away some cash. This summer, we were at the mall, and she saw a ring that caught her eye. It was a long, narrow diamond. I think it’s called a marquise. Show’s what I know. Eight hundred dollars but it might as well be eight thousand now; the furnace burned up that money.”
“It must have been beautiful,” Leslie said.
“It was. I had it all planned out, but you know . . . life,” he said.
“Tim, I wish we could have done something to help out on the furnace, but you know how tight things are around here.”
“Oh, I didn’t tell you this to ask for help. I was telling you what I had planned. I guess I’ll have to wait.”
Leslie looked disappointed knowing she couldn’t help financially. Ike had a decent job at the post office,
but with four kids and bills, they were strapped.
“Tim, Cheryl cares for you. She’ll wait. I know she will. She understands,” Leslie said.
“Waiting. I’ve been down that path before, and that didn’t turn out too good, did it?”
“Are you talking about Connie?” Leslie asked.
“Yes. I mean, that’s over. Has been ever since that letter, but it never really got started. That’s what I mean. I don’t want Cheryl to end up being one more piece of unfinished business in my life. Every one of these pieces of unfinished business in my life is like an open sore that never heals.”
“She’s in this for the long haul. I know. She’s told me,” Leslie said.
“This is why I must finish school. I don’t want to add that to my list of things I started and didn’t finish. There’s too much of that already,” Timothy said.
Leslie let this pass and redirected the conversation. “So, what are your plans for today?”
“As soon as I’m done stuffing myself with this fritter, I’m headed to the library to do some research for an English paper, and home to study for my other classes. That’s my week. Lots of studying.”
“Sounds like you have it pretty well mapped out,” she said.
“Yep. As soon as I’m finished with exams and the holidays are over, I’ll make a decision about next semester. I need a couple of weeks of downtime.”
“You’ve earned some rest. That’s for sure. Have you given any more thought to Ike’s idea about you driving a truck on nights at the post office?” Leslie said.
“Yeah, I’ve thought about it. Here’s the thing. Those trucks are big and tough to handle. The drivers need all their limbs to move those things. They take one look at the way I walk, and it’s no deal. I don’t need to hear that.”
Leslie turned away. Her eyes watered. She bit her lip and then struggled to pick up the conversation. The whole family hurt for Timothy’s war wounds.
“Hey, it’s okay, Sis. No need to worry about me. That was a great offer, and I appreciated Ike thinking of me. Let it go. It’s no big deal.”
“Okay.”
She gave her brother a big hug.
“I’ve got to get moving here,” Timothy said. “Thanks for putting me up last night.”
