Keep Forever

by Alexa Kingaard

  She snatched Paul’s button-down shirt that had landed on the floor during the night, suddenly feeling shy and embarrassed. She didn’t want to admit to herself that she had enjoyed it, savored the afterglow, and any preconceived ideas she had about lovemaking had vanished. Covering her bare breasts, she handed the phone to Paul. “You better call work.”

  Elizabeth cast her eyes downward. She was feeling awkward and didn’t want to look at him, unsure if her timing would ruin everything. “Can I ask you something?”

  “Sure, anything.” Paul prepared himself for a probe that might delve deeper than where he was willing to go and reached for his Levi’s, suddenly feeling vulnerable.

  Elizabeth brought her eyes level with his. “Where were you four years ago—when we went dancing in Westwood? How come there was never another date?” She tried to phrase her query as delicately as possible, but she needed to know. The rest of her life hinged on his reply.

  Paul didn’t hesitate to respond, relieved that he had analyzed his motives for years and was primed for Elizabeth’s question. “I was scared. I wasn’t ready—and neither were you.” As he reached for Elizabeth’s hand, Paul released the phone from his grip and let it fall to the floor.

  “You’re right. This is the right moment,” murmured Elizabeth. They leaned into one another and their lips met briefly, an unspoken promise sealed with a kiss. Their lives—together—were ready to unfold.

  Chapter 19

  Saturday mornings, particularly in the summer, were perfect for listening to records and doing a whole lot of nothing. After Sam and Linda rented a place of their own, it took some getting used to for Paul to feel comfortable living alone. But the past few months, weekends, and moments he shared with Elizabeth filled the empty spaces.

  Elizabeth slowly let her fingers glide along the neatly alphabetized collection of Paul’s albums. The cheap particleboard, floor-to-ceiling shelf unit was beginning to sag from the weight. Most of his furnishings were the same ones he’d acquired upon return from Vietnam—thrift shop items, castoffs, too old for anyone else to keep, but quite comfortable for Paul.

  Nothing had changed since she’d shared this apartment with her brother and him, and though she didn’t quite feel at home like when she was younger, she didn’t mind spending the weekends in the old neighborhood with Paul. The drive between them was too long on the congested LA freeways to see each other more often. Elizabeth loved her little space in Santa Monica. The rents were almost twice as high, but it felt good to be on the West Side, a young teacher who could afford a small one bedroom just two miles from the beach. She pulled a Simon & Garfunkel album from the crammed record assortment and started to remove it from the paper sleeve. It looked as though it had never been played.

  “Wow, you weren’t lying.” It was an off-handed comment and she wasn’t even certain Paul had heard.

  “Be careful, Elizabeth.” Paul cringed as she tugged on the precious vinyl to free it from the protective cover.

  “That’s not how you handle a record.” He sounded irritated.

  “Don’t put your fingers on the vinyl. It’ll scratch the surface and ruin the sound. You have to hold it with both hands, on the edge.” Not entirely trusting she would sense he was serious, he walked over to her.

  “Like this.” He removed the record from her grip, demonstrated the proper way to hold a record, and asked, “Lying about what?”

  “Oh, I flashed back to one of the letters I got from Sam when you two were in Vietnam. He had just met you, and you told him you had a collection of four hundred albums and 45s. He wasn’t sure if he believed it. That’s a lot of records.”

  “Now why would I lie about something like that?” Paul looked hurt. “It’s true.”

  “Well, I can see that. I noticed your collection as soon as Sam and I stepped foot into this apartment, but it made me think of his letter, that’s all. We never knew anyone who had that many.”

  Elizabeth was trying to repair any damage she may have caused and hoped Paul didn’t think she was calling him a liar. He seemed overly sensitive to certain subjects, but maybe it was because he was even more protective of his values than his records, and wanted Elizabeth to know he always told the truth. She observed Paul’s heartfelt instruction on how vinyl should be handled, and as she lowered the record on the turntable, looked to him for approval. “Paul, do you ever think about Vietnam?”

  “All the time. All day, every day. I left Vietnam. It didn’t leave me.” His eyes watered and Elizabeth could tell he was getting nervous. Paul felt his head begin to pound, like a tourniquet had been tightened around his forehead, cutting off all blood supply. Dr. Shapiro warned him this would be a lifelong effect from the shrapnel. Some days there was no evidence of the residual damage, no headaches, but most of the time he silenced the pain with the stoic response every combat veteran memorizes—don’t complain, be quiet, don’t share, stay strong.

  Elizabeth changed the subject. “Sam called me yesterday and wanted to know if we would like to join them for Fourth of July.”

  “Sounds okay to me. Sure, tell him we’ll be there. Must be fun to play house, under the same roof.” He winked at Elizabeth and she pretended she didn’t hear what he’d said. Instead, she kept right on talking, turning the volume up slightly, as the room filled with the warm harmony of Simon & Garfunkel.

  “You know, they live a lot closer to me than you. Why don’t you plan on staying over instead of getting back on the freeway so late at night? You can sleep on the floor.” It was Elizabeth’s turn to wink.

  “Seen worse, and I accept your invitation. Whatever happened to boy asks a girl?”

  “Please.” Elizabeth feigned a shocked response. “It’s the Seventies.”

  “I’m surprised you’re so liberated. A sweet little girl from Boston, under the protective umbrella of her big brother.”

  “Maybe I’ve been in LA too long. And I told you, you’re sleeping on the floor,” Elizabeth teased.

  “Whatever you say. Although I don’t believe you for a moment,” Paul shot back. He retreated to the kitchen to make breakfast, happy they were under one roof together again, even if it was only on the weekends.

  )

  Sam and Linda had rented a small, older house not far from Elizabeth’s apartment and what it lacked in square footage, it made up for with the large backyard. It was only a short drive to the UCLA campus where Sam had been accepted to finish his studies in Global Studies, his goal of becoming a college History professor finally realized.

  Houses were decorated for the Fourth of July, with miniature American flags that pierced every lawn. Dozens of larger ones were attached to pillars and posts, waving proudly in the breeze. As Paul and Elizabeth turned onto the street, there was no parking in sight. “Quite a party. Sam didn’t tell me the whole neighborhood was invited.” Elizabeth was excited, but Paul looked uncertain.

  “Are you sure this is a good idea?” Paul circled the block three times, looking for an opening, but hoped Elizabeth would suggest they give up and go back home to celebrate by themselves.

  “What are you so nervous about? There’s probably going to be a lot of families, kids, and people our age. I think it’s great everyone is taking the time to enjoy the long weekend.” Elizabeth spotted a gap. “There, Paul. Grab it!”

  Volkswagen Beetles were good for one thing. They could squeeze into small spaces. Paul maneuvered into an opening barely large enough to fit even his small car, and added one last thought, hoping Elizabeth might change her mind. “There are a lot of people in our country who are not in favor of the war, and your brother and I certainly didn’t come home heroes. There’s still plenty of leftover rage, Elizabeth. What if someone gets drunk, finds out we were in Vietnam, and wants to start a fight. I just don’t want any trouble.”

  “You’re totally over-thinking this. Did you forget Sam’s hand? How do you think he explained it to his neighbors? I’m sure they’re well aware he was wo
unded in Vietnam. It’s a big neighborhood barbecue, that’s all. Relax, Paul. It’ll be fun.” Elizabeth couldn’t understand why Paul was so concerned, and Paul was having a hard time figuring out what Elizabeth didn’t understand, but hand in hand, they approached Sam and Linda’s house.

  “Hey, Man. I’m glad you two could make it—and find a place to park.” Sam handed each of them a beer and motioned to the backyard that was already filled with friends and neighbors.

  “I don’t think you had this many people at your wedding, Sam.” Elizabeth was only half joking as she quickly surveyed the patriotic decorations in the yard and drew in the aroma of the barbecue, which was already laden with hamburgers and hot dogs. Linda joined them.

  “We had no idea it was going to be a block party, but when we found out we were all planning the same thing, it just sort of grew. We didn’t think you’d mind.” Sam’s new bride beamed as she excused herself to retrieve more food and drinks. Her new bob, just above her shoulders, and neatly trimmed bangs defined her child-like features. She clearly made Sam very happy, and Elizabeth smiled as she followed her inside.

  “Anything I can do to help?”

  “Just hold the door open. I’ve been planning this for days and I think I have everything I need.”

  “I feel like an idiot. We didn’t bring anything. We could have at least brought a six-pack. I feel pretty silly.”

  “Don’t worry, Elizabeth. We have so much food already, and I know how busy both of you are with work. Besides, your turn will come. You and Paul look cute together. Getting serious?”

  “I don’t think about it. We have a great time together and that’s all I care about right now. We go to lots of concerts, almost every Friday or Saturday. He lives for music and rock concerts. The distance between our houses keeps our visits to weekends only, but he’s spending the night with me tonight. Too much to ask him to take me home in the opposite direction of where he lives, then drive home so late. He’ll be sleeping on the floor, of course.”

  “Whatever you say.” Linda knew that Elizabeth was joking, and she nodded in her direction as she squeezed through the open door, arms full, with Elizabeth right behind.

  “Big fireworks display tonight from the Santa Monica Pier,” Sam said as he and Paul joined the girls, taking the precarious hot dog buns and chips from Linda. “The neighbors said you can see them from here, as long as it’s a clear night.”

  “Looks like it will be.” Elizabeth glanced at the bright sky just to be sure.

  “How are you doing?” She took Paul’s hand and led him to one of the many comfortable chairs their hosts had provided. “I’m getting hungry. I’ve never seen so much food, and that aroma of charcoal and meat. My mouth’s watering.”

  “I’m hungry, too,” said Paul. “I’ll go get a couple of burgers. I know how you like yours. Don’t go anywhere. I’ll be right back.”

  “I’ll save your place.” Elizabeth looked into the crowd while she waited for Paul to return, silently sizing up the mixture of guests. She wondered if each young adult male at the party had been in Vietnam, dodged the draft, or was a fortunate son, lucky enough to have wealthy parents who could pay their way into a four-year university, hoping the war would simmer down before their sons would have to serve. She turned her eyes to Sam, standing over the grill with a big smile on his face, no longer embarrassed by the hook that was now his right hand. He teased that if a marshmallow ever fell into a bonfire, he would be the only one who could fish it out and not feel a thing. “Funny,” was all she could ever say in reply.

  )

  The sun set, and darkness crept in. The children dashed about with pent up energy, and consumed the remainder of ice cream sandwiches and watermelon. The adults fished around the coolers for one last beer in the frigid water baths that had once been mountains of ice.

  “Take your seats, ladies and gentlemen. The fireworks are about to begin.” Sam urged everyone to get comfortable, as he dragged two chairs in the direction of Elizabeth and Paul.

  “You don’t seem to have any trouble with your new hand.” Paul made an effort to assist.

  “Not anymore. It was so hectic today, I barely had a chance to talk to you guys. How are you doing, friend?”

  “Good, really good.” Paul put his arm around Elizabeth as the first set of fireworks started their colorful dance in the sky.

  The children clamored to make it to the highest steps on the porch and fearlessly teetered on railings, while parents cautioned them to be careful. Fathers hoisted toddlers onto their shoulders to provide a panoramic view of the sight that was about to begin, and a hush fell over the gathering as the long-awaited spectacle gained momentum.

  Elizabeth glanced at Sam, who seemed to be enjoying every new explosion, caught up in the celebration. The neighbors had been right. You could see everything from their backyard, and the clear night created a perfect backdrop, each eruption more spectacular than the one before. Elizabeth wished she could relax and not worry so much about Paul. Loud noises and sudden movements made him jump, whether they were in a crowd or alone. Every episode was different. Some were fleeting, others lasted for hours.

  With barely seconds in between each set of explosions, the anticipation of the crowd grew. The ever-increasing display of light and echoing din in the distance beckoned the climactic ending. Teeth clenched and hands balled into fists, it took every ounce of restraint Paul could muster not to jump out of his chair and run for cover. Elizabeth grounded him with a gentle stroke on his tense shoulders and whispered in his ear, “We can get out of here as soon as they’re over. It’s okay, Paul.” She glanced once more at her brother, grinning from ear to ear. They’re so different, she thought. Not all wounds are visible. At that moment, the National Anthem came to mind: And the rockets’ red glare, the bombs bursting in air . . . That must be what Paul is thinking. It made her very sad for the man sitting next to her. The man she loved.

  )

  “Quite a party,” Elizabeth said as she turned the key in her apartment door. She felt it would be best not to say anything to Paul about what she had observed, what she knew. At least not tonight. Whenever she broached the subject with him about his anxiety, his apprehension in crowded places or the loud noises that made him edgy, he skillfully diverted the subject and made it clear that there was nothing to talk about

  “Were you serious about me sleeping on the floor? Should I get a blanket and pillow from the closet? Paul was too polite to assume spending the night was an invitation to something more and he was in no mood for cute conversation, even if Elizabeth had been in a playful mood. What he wanted to do was jump in his car and go back to his own apartment alone, but he knew that would hurt Elizabeth’s feelings, and at this moment, she was more important to him than his demons.

  “Follow me.” Elizabeth grabbed his hand and led him into the bedroom. Paul didn’t resist.

  Chapter 20

  Except for weekends, the congested LA freeways and the distance between them was making it too difficult to be together. After securing a job transfer with his company to the Santa Monica location, Paul moved in with Elizabeth. She was getting used to the music that played all day, every day, even when they were both at work.

  “The radio keeps the four walls warm,” Paul would tell her, and they were greeted with a low decibel of noise whenever they entered the apartment.

  “What do you want to do tonight?” Paul asked Elizabeth for the second time. Dragging for most of the day, she didn’t want to leave the house, fight the crowds, drive the dangerous, rain-slicked freeways at night, or listen to loud music. Paul, never one to push, knew exactly what he wanted to do, and had the tickets in hand. If he could only get some enthusiasm from Elizabeth.

  “I have two tickets to a rock concert at the Rose Palace. It’s a pillow concert—bring your own, open seating, first come first serve, free parking. I know you’re tired, but please, please, forget that we’ll get wet. Let’s just go.” The rai
n had been relentless for the last week, pounding the pavement, causing accidents in record numbers, and flooding intersections around the city.

  “Why would you want to go out on a night like this? It’s horrible outside. Can’t we just curl up with a cup of hot chocolate and watch TV?” Elizabeth sounded like a whiny teenager.

  “Really, TV? Over a rock concert?” Paul laughed out loud, amused by the sincerity of Elizabeth’s plea. “I just feel like going out.” He smiled, but meant it when he said, “This could be historic and we’ll be glad we went. Please, I promise I won’t ask you to do anything like this again.” Paul took Elizabeth in his arms and moved in for a kiss.

  Elizabeth couldn’t resist his advance, leaned in and savored the moment. The sensation of his warm mouth against hers and the familiar scent of Old Spice lingering in the air reminded her how much she loved this man. She gently pulled away from his embrace. “Okay. I’ll go. Maybe we can tell our children about the time we saw this amazing concert, sat on a pillow in the middle of a warehouse, and got a contact high from the marijuana smoke swirling around our heads.”

  “They probably wouldn’t believe you,” said Paul. “But sure, a contact high. Sounds like a good story.” A look of contentment swept across his face as he imagined himself a father. “Grab the umbrella, I’ll get the pillows and a blanket. Let’s get ’outa here.”

  Elizabeth never liked rain. It made her hair frizz and she was concerned that she didn’t exactly fit into the nice, tight little package of what Southern California girls were supposed to be or look like. She thought she stood out, and not in a good way. She yearned to be blonde like her sisters, and although she received compliments on her auburn curls from family and friends, it was obvious to her that a thick head of almost-red hair, was not a West Coast fashion statement. Yet Paul always told her how beautiful she was, frizz or no frizz. He never could understand why she used gels and slept with beer cans in her hair so it would be straight and perfect, just to look like every other girl in the room. The curls that Elizabeth always hated suited Paul just fine, and the fact that she was different is what drew him to her in the first place.