by Joe Cassilly
A troop of boy scouts and some men from the American Legion Post moved quietly among the rows of stones. They stopped at different graves and pushed a small metal holder in the earth and put a flag into it. The Walls drove up. Mr. and Mrs. Wall got out and moved slowly through the stones toward their son’s. Mr. Wall wore the brown uniform of a Marine major and he carried a small wreath of white flowers. Mrs. Wall was clutching his arm. It appeared that they were holding each other up. A few steps behind them walked a pretty young woman carrying a little girl. The little girl wore tiny white gloves and a black dress. I looked back at the grave and read, “John R. Wall, 1948-1968, Beloved son, husband and father.”
The little group stopped at the grave. The grief surged inside of them and fought to escape in quiet tears that streamed down their cheeks and lips that trembled with the strain. Mr. Wall stepped forward and tried to get the wreath to stand on the little tripod that was attached to it. Hank stepped around me and adjusted the legs so that the wreath stood there. When Mr. Wall straightened up, a boy scout asked, “Could I put a flag on the grave?” The man nodded his head. I looked around. The scouts and veterans had formed a circle around the little party at the grave. The boy placed the flag beside the stone and someone in the group called, “Attention.” A scout raised a bugle to his lips and played “Taps.” As the notes floated through the silence, Mr. Wall brought his shaking hand to his cap in a salute. I brought my hand to my beret and held the salute until the last note died away.
The Walls shook hands or embraced all of the scouts and veterans one by one. Mr. Wall walked to me and said, “Son…” but his voice faded in a hoarse croak and he was unable to go on. He patted my shoulder and walked away with his wife toward their car.
The young woman walked to me and stooped beside me. “Did you know my husband?”
“No, ma’am,” I said, taking her hand, “but I know your loss.” She stood and hugged me. I reached up and returned her hug. She turned and picked up her daughter and took her to the car. The others went back to their tasks. I sat there, staring at the wreath. Then, sobs burst out of me. I put my head between my knees and cried for a few minutes. Then, I wiped my eyes on my pants leg. I sat up. Hank was squatting, looking out at the river. He pushed me back to the car. Once we were loaded in the car, I turned to Hank.
“You asked me once what Vietnam was about. It was about contradictions; two ideologies who each claimed to be fighting for freedom—a small country, a big country—deceit, camaraderie—bravery, cowardice—determination and incompetence.” I pointed to the graves. “But someday, that is all we’ll remember it by.” I twirled a small flag one of the scouts had handed me. “The parents, widows, orphans, and cripples that it left us will do the remembering.”
As much as I had wanted to go home, I suddenly felt smothered by it. I needed to move on.
46
October 1987
Suzie walked into the cramped office and sat at her desk. She reached up and tried to work the tension from her neck by kneading the muscles with her palms. She looked at her watch. Damn, she should have been out of here an hour ago. Whatever the bug everyone had was playing havoc with her nurses’ schedules. Two more had called in sick. She had pulled one off another ward and had been able to call in one. She hated supervising and longed to get back to taking care of people.
“Suzie!” It was Dr. Ross, a resident who was always too full of energy. “Some of us are going out for a drink. You wanna come?”
“Thanks, but I’m beat. I’ve got to get home.” The doctor took off her lab coat and hung it on the rack behind the office door. She sat on the edge of the desk and crossed her long legs.—
“Come on,” she urged, “you need some social life. You’ve been working too hard.”
“I’d like to, Hannah, but my dad wants to go to a meeting at the base and I have to go home and take care of Mom.”
“How’s she doing?”
“No better, no worse. The tumors are pressing on her spine. She loses feeling in her legs and cannot walk.”
“Listen, if you want me to sit with her some night so you can chase a man, I’ll be glad to.”
“You’re a real pal, but she’s my mom.”
“Okay, see you tomorrow.” Dr. Ross was out of the office when she leaned back in. “Tell that new nurse if that kid we sent up to PICU comes back down, page me.”
“You work too hard,” said Suzie. The doctor stuck her tongue out and disappeared. Suzie rubbed her eyes and looked at the photo on her desk of her mom and her. It was taken in 1978, just before her second tour with the Peace Corps. She had taken a job in the States after her first tour, but she needed to go back to where people needed her. For them, she was the only medicine for a hundred miles or more. She remembered the day when the jeep came to the clinic to pick her up. The driver explained that she had to come back to the city. There was an emergency phone call from home.
She bounced in that jeep for three hours before they reached a phone. The message was to call her father. She could hear the strain in his voice. Her mother had passed out while driving and wrecked her car. The doctors had found a tumor restricting the flow of blood to her head. The flight home was a long one. Since then, she had lived with her parents, nursing during the day and caring for her mom at night when her dad went to work. His retirement had been short lived. The nest egg they had saved for the house in San Diego was needed, so they sold the house and got an apartment. He went back to work to get health insurance. Her mom had been through years of radiation, chemo, and surgery, but it only slowed the disease.
She thought her dad liked the work at the Navy base, partly for the escape it provided. Yet it was hard working a screwy shift until 4:00 a.m. and then catching bits of sleep all day.
She took a brush and mirror from her desk drawer. She looked at the few grey hairs in her short dark hair. She brushed her hair vigorously, looked to see if the grey hairs were still there, and then replaced the mirror and brush. She stood and took her coat from the rack, switched off the light, and walked to the door. She paused. She walked back and sat at her desk. She picked up a slip of paper, which she was able to read by the light from the hall.
She had been in the library last month and had seen a shelf of phone books, one was for Tucson. She needed a friend, maybe more than a friend. She needed someone to hold her; someone to help her with the dreams that had come back. She picked up the receiver and dialed the area code, then she paused, and then she dialed the number. There were beeps and clicks and then the buzzing of the phone ringing. It rang. It rang. It rang.
Then, there was an answering machine. A woman’s voice said, “Hi, this is Lisa Scott. Neither Jake nor I can come to the phone, but leave a message and we’ll call you back.” Suzie closed her eyes. She hadn’t expected a woman to answer, or maybe she hoped a woman would not answer. She felt very alone. A loud beep startled her. She had a problem seeing the phone to hang up. She dried her eyes with a Kleenex and walked into the hall. She needed to check on the new nurse before she went home.
47
The Reunion
It was the end of June 1992, a Friday morning. The temperature at Fort Benning, Georgia was already into the high eighties by mid-morning. Ever since she had gotten to work that morning, her curiosity had been driving her crazy. Would he be there on the fort, so close after all these years? She thought it would be the wildest of chances— going over to see would be a waste of time. But she thought if she did not go, she would spend the rest of her life wondering if he had been only a mile or so away.
She visited the last ward on her rounds and told the specialist in her office that she was going out for a few minutes of fresh air. “Too much anniversary party last night, ma’am?”
“It’s just such a beautiful day. I need some sunshine.” The specialist had been referring to a first anniversary party that her nurses had thrown for her the night before, one year since she had made full Colonel. Twenty-one years in the Army—it seemed like
only yesterday that she had taken the oath. She had behaved herself and was home at a reasonable time. Her children were waiting up for her. Her teenage sons were such worriers when she was out, it was a shame they didn’t understand it in reverse.
Her husband was in New Orleans at a conference and would not be back until Sunday. She kissed the boys goodnight and went to bed. She took a shower and was dressing in the bedroom watching the late news on television. The local Columbus station did a piece about the 277 anniversary of the modern Ranger being commemorated for the next few days at Fort Benning. There would be Rangers from World War II, Korea, Vietnam, Grenada, Panama, Desert Storm, and Somalia. She thought of Jake. Would he come from wherever he was for the reunion? She had a restless night.
She drove to the Ranger headquarters where the morning ceremonies were scheduled. An MP saluted her and then directed her to a parking space. She walked slowly toward the reviewing stand, looking through the crowds for a man in a wheelchair. The young sergeant marching a formation of Rangers in the opposite direction threw her a smart salute. She liked Rangers—they were so military and the young sergeant was definitely cute. She turned around to take another look at him, and found that he was marching backwards looking at her. He spun sharply around and continued to march.
“You still got it, honey,” she said with a huge smile. The ceremony began. She looked slowly around the crowd under the big trees. She would see someone in a wheelchair and move around for a better look, but it would not be him. She was a little surprised at how many veterans were in wheelchairs, on crutches, or on canes. It was a sobering reminder of the danger of their profession.
She walked behind the crowd, looking, occasionally remembering to return the salutes of the troops who saluted her. She saw another man in a wheelchair. It was difficult to get a look at him because a woman stood close beside him. She crossed behind him. He wore a black beret and a camouflage jacket. She caught sight of a scroll patch above the red and yellow of a 25th Division patch and her pulse quickened. If it wasn’t Jake, maybe it was someone who had been in his unit and would know where he was.
She waited for the ceremony to end before she went any closer. A few of the young Rangers came to him and he turned to speak with them. She caught her breath. It was him. He had hardly changed in twenty years. She felt a lump in her throat. She was impressed with the fraternity between the young and old Rangers, how interested they were in him. She looked at the young woman whose hand rested on his shoulder. That dirty old man, she thought, if she’s twenty, then I’m a goose. The young woman was deeply tanned with short brown hair that had bleached to an orange tint in the sun.
He glanced in her direction for a second and looked back at the men he was speaking to. She watched his face as the eyes widened and his mouth fell open and he looked back. He recognized her.
§ § § § § §
I stared at the tall woman in white coming toward me. “Cathy?!” It did not sound like my voice saying the word. “Oh my God.” She quickened her pace and came up and put her arms around me. I wrapped my arm around her and pulled her onto my lap. We kissed each other and hugged tightly and I felt tears on my face from me and from her, tears of joy and relief. A photographer from the local newspaper snapped our picture.
I looked at the surprised faces of the young people around us and explained, “This is a nurse who took care of me after Vietnam.” The young Rangers smiled and nodded. They wondered if they were supposed salute under the circumstances. They decided discretion was in order and they just wandered away.
“Hi, Jake,” said Cathy, getting up from my lap and straightening her uniform. She looked at the young woman. “If you introduce her as your wife, I’ll slap you silly.”
“She’s my daughter, Kara. Kara, this is Colonel Cathy,” I said, squinting to read her name tag, “Muir.”
“Hello, ma’am.” My daughter extended her hand. Cathy took it.
“Kara, it’s very nice to meet you.”
Just then, a teenage girl ran up. “Mr. Scott, my dad is taking us over to the jump tower for a ride. Could Kara come?”
“You want to go up a two hundred fifty foot tower?” I asked my daughter. At first, she grimaced, but then she batted her eyes and said yes. The two young women ran off through the crowd, followed by the eyes of several dozen Rangers.
“Jake, she’s gorgeous. How old is she?”
“Seventeen,” I said with a sigh, watching the young men watch my daughter. “I feel like I brought a lamb into a shark tank.”
“They’re probably no different than you were,” she tried to reassure me.
“That’s what worries me.”
“Jake, I’ve got to get back to work.”
“But we just got together after twenty years,” I said with exasperation. “I have so many questions.” I was pleading with her to stay.
“I was going to say, why don’t you come to my house for dinner.”
“How accessible is it for wheelchairs?”
“Well, it’s up a few steps.”
“And the bathroom doors are too narrow?”
“Maybe.”
“Let me take you and your family to dinner, please?”
“My husband is out of town, but I have two boys. One is your daughter’s age.”
“Great. We’re staying at the Hilton. Come by at six for drinks and we’ll decide where to go for dinner.”
She kissed my cheek and took a few steps away but she turned. “Jake?” I tilted my head and stuck out my jaw. “Is your wife going to be there?”
I smiled and shook my head. “We’re divorced.” She turned and started walking. I noticed a swish to her dress. “Still the same old Cathy.”
I drove to the jump tower to watch Kara. I got there just in time to see her and the other girl get strapped onto the bench. Then, the cable started to pull them up, up, and up. I could hear my daughter squealing all the way up. At the height of a ten-story building, the cable released and they fell for about thirty feet before the parachute above them filled with air and lowered them. The jump sergeant at the bottom asked who was next.
“Hey Jake, you wanna go up?” I turned to see who had called. Three of the guys from the unit came walking up.
“This wheelchair don’t climb steps real good.”
“Not a problem.” They scooped me out of the chair and carried me up the ten steps to a platform and sat me on the bench. Kara got back on the bench beside me. The sergeant put a strap across our laps. I watched as the ground dropped from under us. The sergeant flipped the platform of steps out of the way so we could bounce when we reached the end of the cable. I wrapped my arm tightly around the support cable, loving the thrill, the view, the memories. I had this sudden rush of terror that my legs would start spasming and shake me off the bench. My crippled hands could not grab anything if I started to slip, so I gripped with my arms that much tighter. I loved the drop and felt like yelling all the way down, but I was afraid to startle Kara.
After the ride, I drove to the firing range. Kara headed back to town with her friend to find a mall. Then, I drove around Fort Benning, just remembering. It was pig hot and humid when I got back to the hotel and I headed for my room to change and fall into the pool. At the pool, I had lunch and read some. Then, I performed a controlled fall into the deep end of the swimming pool. After an hour of laps and hanging on the side, I swam to the steps and lifted my butt from step to step until I reached the top.
A couple of guys with the reunion were sitting at a table and I asked them to get my chair and lift me back into it. I could feel the sunburn to the top of my head so I headed to my room. I fumbled with the key and got it into the lock and was holding it between my palms, wiggling it to get the latch open, when Kara’s voice asked from inside, “Daddy, is that you?”
“No, it’s the house detective.” I heard giggling. “We’re changing. You can’t come in.” I wondered who “we” was. In about a minute, the door opened and three other teenaged women in bikin
is and bathing suits filed out in front of my daughter.
“Okay, Daddy, you can go in.”
“Why does everybody have to change in our room?”
“Victoria didn’t have a bathing suit, so I lent her mine because I bought a new one.” She dropped the towel she had on. “You like it?” She spun around to model the suit.
“It looks like its all straps and no suit, your fanny is hanging out. You’re not going out in that?”
She gave me a kiss on the cheek and said, “Sorry.” Then, she disappeared into the elevator the other girls were holding open for her.
I remembered to call after her, “I want you to be back by five to change for dinner.” A hand waved through the closing elevator doors. I sat there wondering if “Sorry” was for the inconvenience of keeping me out of my room, or for buying an imaginary bathing suit or for ignoring me. “Her mother was right. She has me wrapped around her little finger,” I muttered.
We met Cathy and her sons in the lobby. The teenagers went to a pool table. Cathy and I got a table in the bar. The waitress came to the table. Cathy ordered a white wine and I ordered a glass of water with a scotch chaser. A couple of guys from my unit stopped by our table and I introduced Cathy. They sat down and asked her what kind of pain in the ass patient I had been. The drinks came to our table, followed closely by our three teenage offspring. I could tell by the looks on their faces that some plan had been hatched. My daughter opened her mouth to speak for the group and I cut her off. “Whatever it is young lady, the answer is no.”
“Daddy, how do you always know?” she said with a pout.
