the Hill (1995)

by Scott, Leonard B

  The drill sergeant stood behind the barracks and smiled, hearing his dummies holler and scream that they were “Crazy.” The dummies were crazy. Johnson was good. He was a natural leader who knew how to motivate men to perform above their capabilities. The dummies were gonna need it. Johnson had done what none of the other trainee leaders and other drill sergeants had: he’d made his platoon a team. He had found the key that would unlock the door to success for the platoon, teamwork. As individuals, they’d fall on their ass, but as a team, they’d be unbeatable.

  He chuckled to himself and headed for the orderly room. It was standard practice to bet a few bucks with the other Drills on who would have the honor platoon. Today was the day to put down his twenty greenbacks. Tomorrow the highly motivated Crazy Third Herd would be a sure thing.

  Becky picked up her pen and stared at the light blue stationery. It was hard to know what to say. Over the past few days, it had become more and more difficult to write and be positive. Her friends felt sorry for her. Jason’s stupid pride had ruined everything. She’d known he couldn’t change his mind once he’d signed up, so she hadn’t made a scene when he left, but the consequences of his joining the Army were all too clear. She’d be going to college without a boyfriend to take her to parties and to help her enjoy campus life as she had planned. Instead, she would have to be lonely for three years. Three years! She’d be a junior before he got home!

  She tossed the pen down and lay on her pillow. All her plans for the future were gone. Jason had said he’d be an officer within the year and be making enough money for them to live comfortably, but she didn’t want to get married next year. Nor did she want to follow him to some godforsaken Army post. She’d promised herself she wouldn’t be like the other girls that married after school. She wouldn’t do it!

  She looked at Jason’s picture on the nightstand and lowered her eyes. Tears trickled down her face as she rose and picked up the pen. She’d tell him now … no, next month when he came home. Yes, she could wait a month. One month more and her girlfriends wouldn’t think badly of her. They would understand.

  12

  Becky leaned back in her chair, tired of the history teacher’s rambling. She looked across the aisle at Ty, who seemed to be genuinely interested in Nazi Germany of 1939. She tried to get his attention and show him her acceptance letter from Central State College, but he was totally engrossed. Minutes later, the bell rang and she followed him into the crowded hallway. She was about to speak when she saw Mr. Summers standing at the end of the hall, pointing his finger toward Ty. “Mr. Nance, come here!”

  The milling students hushed and made a path for Ty as he walked toward the principal. Becky moved closer. Ty stopped in front of him and spoke clearly. “Yes, sir?”

  Summers jerked his other hand up, which was holding a wrench. “You recognize this, Mr. Nance? You should; it’s the wrench you stole from the school auto shop!”

  Ty glanced at the wrench, then shifted his eyes back to Summers. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, sir.”

  Summers leaned closer. “You’re lying. I found this wrench in the front seat of your car just minutes ago. There was a theft at the shop last night, and I got a tip from someone who said they saw your car there.”

  Ty backed up to get away from the principal’s foul breath and snarled a warning. “Don’t call me a liar. I didn’t do it.”

  Summers’s face turned red and he was about to retort when he saw Sheriff Hamby walking toward them. Summers pointed at Ty. “Here he is, Cliff; get him out of here.”

  Hamby took one look at the other students in the hallway and spoke firmly. “Ain’t you all supposed to be in class? Move along.” His eyes narrowed on seeing Ty, and he shook his head.

  Summers realized he’d lost control and waved his hand. “Go to class. The law will take care of this.” He led Hamby and Ty to his office and shut the door. Hamby sighed, and reopened the door, and motioned Ty out. “Sit out here and don’t be goin’ anywhere, boy.”

  Hamby closed the door again and spun around. “What the hell ya doin’?” he whispered angrily. “I told ya when ya called me not ta do anything until I got here.”

  “But I found a wrench.…”

  Hamby shook his head as if dealing with a naughty child. “Ya didn’t ask permission to search the car, did ya? Ernie, ya messed this all up by taking the wrench out of the car. Ya moved the evidence and put your hands all over it. I can’t prove a damn thing unless someone saw the kid doin’ it. All I got is circumstantial evidence that won’t get no conviction.”

  Summers’s pudgy jaw went slack. “There must be something we can do.”

  Hamby frowned and grasped the doorknob. “Just keep your mouth shut and we’ll see what happens.” He opened the door and approached Ty. “Boy, I want permission to check your car.”

  Ty shrugged his shoulders. “Sure.”

  He led Hamby and Summers to the parking lot, while Hamby questioned him. “Where were you last night? Did anyone see you?”

  Ty didn’t show any discomfort as he spoke. “I was on Red Hill, working on the cabin I’m building. Nobody was there but me.”

  They stopped at the Black Widow. Hamby held out his hand. “Give me the key to your trunk.”

  Ty smiled. “It’s open; the lock doesn’t work.”

  Hamby opened the trunk. Ty’s legs suddenly felt weak. Sitting on top of the spare tire was a toolbox he recognized immediately. It was from the auto shop.

  Summers tapped Hamby’s shoulder with a grin. “You got yourself a thief.”

  Billy Ray Stevens backed away from the window in the men’s room. He stopped in front of a sink and leaned forward looking in the mirror above the sinks. The scar above his lip had healed, but his nose would be forever crooked. He smiled, exposing his new porcelain front teeth, and ran his tongue over the scar tissue on the roof of his mouth. He winked at himself and walked out.

  Jason stood stiffly at attention as the brigade commander and sergeant major marched directly toward him. They halted two paces in front of him as the master of ceremonies spoke into the microphone. “Ladies and gentlemen, receiving the distinguished honor graduate award of the Third Basic Training Battalion is Private Jason Johnson. Private Johnson is a member of Bravo Company, Third Platoon, and his hometown is Meyers, Oklahoma. He received the highest composite training scores in the battalion. Colonel John Davis will now present the Distinguished Honor Graduate Trophy and special diploma to Private Johnson.”

  Colonel Davis took the bronze statue of a soldier standing at attention from the sergeant major and handed it to Jason. “Young man, you can be very proud of this accomplishment. There are over six hundred men behind you who would like to be standing where you are.”

  Jason took the trophy in one hand and shook hands with the other. “Thank you, sir. I wish my platoon was up here with me; they deserve it, too.”

  The colonel smiled and handed him his diploma. “Son, today you are the top dog. Enjoy it.”

  The two men exchanged salutes. “Private Johnson also received the company leadership award, and his platoon received the company honor platoon streamer. Private Johnson will next be attending Advanced Individual Training at Fort Benning, then attend Officer Candidate School.… The recipient of the marksmanship trophy is Private Lloyd Simms, a member of …”

  The drill sergeant waited until the platoon returned from the graduation ceremony before calling Jason over. He smirked. “You keep grinning at me like that and I’m gonna think you’re queer, dummy.”

  Jason came to attention as the sergeant, rocking back on his heels, continued. “Johnson, you will not be going on leave, I canceled it. You will be boarding a bus in three hours for Fort Benning to start an AIT course in two days. I found out this morning your OCS class that was to start in July was delayed for a month. Knowing the Army the way I do, you might get sidetracked in that time and not ever get in. I pulled some strings and fixed it so you could attend the earlier AIT course and start the
June OCS class.” The sergeant’s scowl dissolved and his voice softened. “The Army needs leaders like you, Johnson. God knows we got a bunch of managers, but we need leaders. You did a hell’va job, dummy. The best of luck to you. I’d be proud to serve with you anywhere.”

  Jason’s eyes moistened, knowing he was receiving the highest compliment he could ever receive from the sergeant, whom he respected more than any man he’d known.

  Jason began to speak, but the sergeant squared his shoulders and barked, “Move out, dummy! You got a bus to catch!”

  Jason spun around, conditioned to the sergeant’s commands, and began to run but stopped and turned. He knew he was supposed to salute only officers, but there was one way to transmit his respect toward the sergeant. He snapped to attention and raised a rigid hand to his cap. “Thank you … for everything.”

  The sergeant brought his hand up in a perfect salute. “Good-bye … Crazy.”

  Jason looked out the bus window into the darkness, unable to sleep. On his lap was the box of inexpensive stationery he’d picked up at the El Paso bus station. The box was still unopened. He turned from the window, knowing he had to write the letter. He had to release her. Becky had written only three letters that second month, and they’d been considerably different from the others. He knew after the first time he walked away empty-handed from a mail call that he’d asked too much of her. Those last mail calls were the most painful times he’d experienced in his life. The sergeant would hold a handful of letters and call off the lucky soldiers’ names. There was no rhyme or reason to the process, and the entire platoon would stay compressed together, each man hoping and sometimes praying he would be called. The last letter was the worst. The sergeant would hold the letter up and every man would hold his breath until the name was read. For those whose letter didn’t come there was an moment of incredible loneliness, a quiet time that everybody respected until, finally, hope returned—there was always tomorrow.

  Finally, after a week, the sergeant held up the light blue envelope that made Jason’s heart skip a beat. The familiar writing on the envelope was like a miracle drug to a dying man. He savored opening the letter slowly. He read the lines, searching. Then he read them again. Something was missing. Where were the words of love and commitment? Gone, replaced by others that he didn’t understand, that were vague, like a mist over their future. He knew. It was over.

  From that day on he didn’t want any more pain. Her letters only hurt. The unwritten words between the lines were like red-hot knives twisting in his stomach. His dreams were gone, as were hers. He couldn’t hold on to the sky or stars and he couldn’t hold on to her.

  Jason called for strength from within and opened the box. He would tell her of his love and because of that love he would free her. He had to be the one to write the letter because he couldn’t take such a letter from her. All he had left was pride. She’d taken everything else.

  Ty and Mea stood in the aisle by the replacement light bulbs and anti-freeze. Sheriff Hamby stood beside the part-time justice of the peace for Meyers and the owner of the hardware and car parts store, Fred Tate, who pulled on his long nose as he read the charge sheet and statements. He squinted and looked up. “Well, Mea, I’m glad Duane has been off ta that sales conference this week. He sure wouldn’t be none too happy reading this. Ty here is charged with larceny of school property. The tools are estimated to be worth a hundred dollars new, but used they wouldn’t be worth forty, which ain’t enough ta take ta court. The charge stands as petty theft and is a misdemeanor that I can handle.”

  He shifted his eyes to Ty and shook his head. “Ty, ya oughta be ashamed of yo’self. I been knowing your folks for twenty years … sure not fittin’ you makin’ all this trouble for ’em. Mr. Summers don’t want you back in school, and he wants ya in jail.”

  Leaning on the desk, he held out the statements. “Only because I know your folks so well am I gonna be light on ya. I’m finin’ ya fifty dollars and ya gotta work for the city as a trash collector for two months. You’re on probation, and if anything else happens, you’ll go ta court. Mr. Summers don’t like it none, but ya can go back ta school but can’t be takin’ part in any activities up till ya graduate. You’re lucky I didn’t do more.” He lowered his head and looked up at Mea. “Mea, I’m surely sorry ’bout all this. I know it upsets ya.”

  Mea kept her head held high during the entire proceedings and only nodded at her old friend while Ty had stared blankly at the rows of fan belts feeling like he was caught in a whirlpool. No matter how hard he fought and screamed, he was still hopelessly being sucked down.

  Mea took Ty’s arm and walked toward the door without showing any emotion. She would not show weakness to her son’s false accusers. He was innocent, she knew it in her heart; no matter what they said she believed her son. His eyes would have told her if he’d been guilty.

  Ty stopped outside and Ty put his arm around her thin shoulders. “What’s gonna happen when Duane comes home?”

  Mea looked at her son with adoration. “He’ll be angry, but he will have to understand. Don’t worry about it, honey, go on to school. I’ll talk to him when he gets back this afternoon.”

  Ty kissed his mother and hugged her for her belief in him. He got into the Widow and backed up before the tears finally broke free. He loved her so much and hated himself for what he was putting her through.

  Ty went to English class amidst the whispers and stares of the other students. He sat at his desk, feeling like a paroled criminal, when Mr. Summers appeared in the doorway and strode straight toward him. Mrs. Alberton stopped reading and rose to meet him. Summers waved her back and stopped in front of Ty. “Mr. Nance, take off that letter jacket. You might be able to attend this school, but you sure aren’t going to shame Meyers High School by wearing our school jacket.”

  Ty glared but spoke quietly. “Mr. Summers, I paid for this jacket. The only thing the school gave me is the letter.” He stood up, took off the jacket, and pulled out his pocketknife. He cut the corner free and ripped off the letter. He handed it to Summers and sat down.

  Summers’s face turned red. He spun around and waddled to the door, throwing the cloth letter in the trash can as he walked out.

  Mrs. Alberton composed herself and tapped her desk for attention.“Now, if you all will turn to page twenty-three we’ll discuss the …”

  Ty stared at his jacket, wanting to scream. The son of a bitch almost pushed him too far. He should have cut the bastard’s heart out and handed it to him instead.

  He tried to relax, but it was impossible. Loathing was running through his veins, needing release. He crossed his arms and dug his fingernails into his arms, wanting the pain.

  Classes ended at three and Ty walked out to parking lot but stopped in his tracks, seeing Duane leaning on the hood of his car. The big man stood erect and stared coldly. Ty took a deep breath and headed straight for him.

  Duane clenched his fists. “You really did it this time, didn’t you?”

  Ty spoke evenly. “I didn’t do it.”

  Duane rolled a stone over with his shoe. “You can cut the shit, I’m not your mother. Oh yeah, she did talk to me, but you and I are going to have it out right now. People are staring at me when I walk down the street, and I don’t like it. And I don’t like what you’ve done to your mother and this family.”

  Ty shrugged his shoulders. “I didn’t do it. You can believe what you want, but it’s the truth.”

  Duane smiled as if Ty had told a flat joke. “You’re lying again, just like last time.” He jerked his hand up, pointing his finger at Ty’s face. “You’ve hated me since the day I first walked into that damn house. You and George resented me. I know it and you know it. Well, let me tell you something, I didn’t like you either, yeah, there it is, the truth. I hated you an’ George, AND that damn hill. I hated it always throwing its shadow over me and everything I ever tried to do. You and your wonderful hill! You hide behind it like your mother’s skirt. It ain’t nothin’! It
ain’t nothin’ but dirt that should have been sold a long time ago!”

  Ty lowered his eyes and closed his mind to his stepfather’s angry words. He couldn’t say or do anything to change Duane’s mind about him. His mind was made up years ago.

  Duane stepped closer, his eyes widening. “Look at me, damnit! I want you to know I’m glad you’re moving your lying ass into that shack. Maybe now you’ll pay your own bills for a change.” He snickered. “But there’s a catch. Ya see, you’re going to be drafted within a year unless you start farming that hill of yours. I checked with the draft board, and unless you’re farming a minimum of a hundred and sixty acres, you don’t get a farmer’s deferment. You’re gonna have to cut down trees and plow up that buffalo grass and work your ass off. You won’t be able to swing a hammer now and then and lay around like George did. You’re gonna have to be like the rest of us and work for a living.”

  He grabbed Ty’s jacket and pulled him within a few inches from his face. “Live in the cabin, but don’t you ever come around asking for handouts from your mother … and don’t screw up again and shame me, or I’ll burn the damn thing to the ground and let ’em throw your lying ass in jail until you rot! You got it?”

  Ty stared coldly into his eyes. “Get your hands off me and don’t ever touch me again.”