by Tom Corbett
“Wait, you didn’t love her.”
“Oh, don’t be such a romantic. I liked her a lot. And I respected her. She was honest. That is what counted. But I could never tell her how I felt. I suspected even at the time she was waiting for me to open up, say how I felt. She was waiting for an opportunity to respond. I suspect she might have dumped this other guy. But I never told her how I felt, didn’t want to go there. I hid behind her so-called engagement. The big wound I endured, my open sore, was not in telling Eleni about possibly leaving, not giving her a choice. I did love her, the whole nine yards. There were times the words were right there, on my lips. But I could never do it. In the end, I could never say those words. In fact, I cannot recall ever using the word love with any woman. I did not use the magic words even to get laid.”
“Magic words?” Rachel knew but wanted to make sure.
“The keys to a woman’s magic kingdom…I love you. I would rather pay money than lie to get what I wanted. Still, not to say it when it was true, that was something I regret. But maybe it was for the best. What good would it have done to say, ‘Eleni, I love you, and by the way, I’m running away from everything tomorrow.’”
“Josh, you could have given her that choice as you say. Everyone deserves that.”
“No, that would have been too cruel.” Before she had a chance to respond, he leaned over and kissed her on the forehead. “Thanks for listening.” Then he stood up and started toward his room. “Morris,” he yelled back, “come on.”
Morris didn’t move, his legs straight up in the air, his belly open for more scratching.
As Josh disappeared into his room, he yelled back, “Dog, you better learn how to use the toilet on your own.”
CHAPTER 7
DAY 4 MORNING
Josh sprang out of bed the next morning. It was light. Why hadn’t Morris gotten him up at the usual time? That’s right, he remembered now, Morris had abandoned him for his sister the night before. He must consider some suitable revenge, maybe bringing a kitten into the house. He smiled at his wicked thought as he quickly got ready. Then he ran out to look for his pup, hoping not to find a pile of poop on the living room rug. But there was Rachel sitting at the breakfast table, Morris at her feet looking quite satisfied with himself.
“Would you like some breakfast?” she asked. “Most important meal of the day.”
He grimaced. “Food in the morning, how gross.”
“Ah,” she responded, “I see that you’re one of those who works hard at shortening his life expectancy.”
“Been trying but failed at that too. Is Morris set?”
“Yup, we went for his walk, he ate, and we had a long talk.”
“This is definitely treason. Only name, breed, and dog license number.” He scowled, looking down at the dog cuddled next to Rachel’s foot.
Josh walked toward campus on a brisk morning. The sun bounced off the campus buildings as he approached. But his mind was not on the pleasant weather, but on thoughts of Sarah and Eleni. Funny, he thought, the early relationships are the most profound. He wondered if that was true of everyone. But it was true for him; everything felt common after college. Perhaps it was simply because the feelings and emotions were fresh and new during those early years. If he had met these women later in life, they would not have stood out. But this was a counterfactual beyond testing. An opaque sense of raw emotions remained along with specific vignettes that were oddly vivid, if not indelible. He stopped before reaching his building, enjoying the rising sun. With the spring semester over and summer school yet to begin, things were quiet. The morning rays bathed his face.
He recalled looking up at the same sun many, many years ago. Sarah and he were arriving at the scene of the planned antiwar march. They would become routine in future years as the war became unpopular, but this was early on, when any sign of protest was viewed with suspicion at the least, most likely outright hate. They were joined by a group of coconspirators including Morris Greenstein, Carla Shapiro, Jim Dailey, Peter Favulli, and Bob Wilson. There were many others in those days, drawn from the liberal element on campus and the community. Many were still conflicted and frankly confused. It proved quite difficult to admit that their country was wrong. They had grown up in the aftermath of World War II when we wore white hats and the Soviets defined evil. Even Josh had been a relatively recent convert to a firm antiwar position. For months, imaginary conversations had raged within his head punctuated by real conversations with his peers. The group would dissect every argument from several perspectives and, in the end, came away convinced that their country was engaged in an evil and indefensible conflict. It was not a matter of the United States being evil but engaging in evil. This was a critical difference in Josh’s mind. The country was confused, not ethically bankrupt. The bankruptcy identification was a conclusion he would arrive at much later, after hope was gone. Back on that day, the moral high ground could once again be retrieved.
As Josh looked around that morning, he grew concerned. Yes, he saw many familiar faces that he knew would join them. But he also saw many more faces that were unknown and, quite frankly, hostile. Many a good citizen had turned out to defend America from a bunch of Communist sympathizers who had no right to tarnish the American flag. He saw a lot of working-class types, many of whom might well have fought in WWII or Korea. He saw business types who worried that this new generation was out to undermine the greatest economic engine the world had ever seen. And worst of all, he saw too many delinquent types wearing biker jackets who looked upon him as fresh meat to pummel and torture. Oh well, he thought, time to put his principles on the line.
As they started to walk in a big circle, Josh pulled Sarah close to him. He whispered to her that things might get ugly and not to get separated if at all possible. She was incredulous; this was America. They were just exercising their rights as citizens to express their opinion. And that opinion, on that day, would be expressed in the politest terms. There were no chants of “Hey, hey, LBJ, how many kids did you kill today.” That would come much later. No, today there were calls for “giving peace a chance” and calls for more understanding and less violence. The appeal that day was to the “better nature of their angels.”
Josh, however, had grown up in the very kind of working-class neighborhood that spawned uncritical devotion to flag and country. He knew that many of the folks surrounding them would not engage in nuanced thinking, would not look at both sides of any issue. Their world was given, black and white, right and wrong. You were not permitted to become mired in complex analysis. In bars throughout his childhood neighborhood, statements were punctuated with that ever-present ending of “am I right or wrong” with an affirmation of the correctness of their thinking expected. Beliefs were not debated but continuously reinforced. Josh had drifted far away from that world, but he remembered it well. It was a world toward which fond, if increasingly opaque, sentiments remained in his own heart.
They moved well at first. There were a few calls of “go back to Moscow” and “love your country or leave it,” but soon, references to Commie fags were heard. It was not long before things became ugly in a noticeable way. First, Josh saw something flying in his direction. He ducked instinctively, but the egg struck a gal well beyond him. Then another and another. Several marchers were struck with eggs that burst upon contact. Okay, a wash job. It could be worse.
Then he saw something different, a beer can. It must be empty, but he heard a sharp cry go up when it struck someone ahead of him. Oh shit, he thought, this is going to get ugly. Now things went into slow motion. His mind raced, what to do. Out of the confusion, he could hear a voice: “Let’s get the tall one in the glasses.” Josh didn’t have any doubts. He was the tall one, and he wore glasses, which he quickly took off. He started looking around for an exit if what he thought might transpire next came to pass. There was none; the protesters were surrounded.
His thought process was terminated by a mostly empty beer can hitting him in the shoulder,
the remaining liquid spraying up on his face. A moment later, an unopened can smashed into his forehead just above his eye. The world spun as Sarah grabbed for him. Next, he felt a punch to the back of his head. Peaceful protest, the expression of civil dissent, had evaporated into unreasoned rage, a blind rage against the other side.
“Sarah, down,” he uttered in a weak voice. He grabbed her and managed to place his body over hers as kicks found their way to his sides and head. Just as consciousness was floating away, he felt arms pulling him to his feet. His rescuers were wearing blue. He tried to thank them but was pulled to a nearby squad car and spread-eagled to its side as handcuffs were snapped on his wrists that had roughly been pulled around to his back.
“What the fuck, they were the ones trying to kill me. Arrest them!” He could hardly see through the blood seeping into his eyes. “What are you doing?”
An angry voice came back at him. “Should have thought of that before you attacked this country, buddy. We can’t protect you from red- blooded patriots.”
Josh could not believe it; now rage replaced fear, and his head cleared slightly. “You morons, I was exercising my first amendment rights. Do you bastards have the first clue what this country stands for?” Then it hit him that was probably an argument that would carry exactly zero weight in this situation.
They shoved him into a squad car with a warning. “Better not bleed on the goddamn seat, asshole.”
He felt someone slide in beside him. “I’m going with him.” It was Sarah’s voice.
“Girlie, out!”
“Your call, buddy, but my dad is a federal appeals court judge with close ties to the Justice Department. I will be on the phone to him one way or another, and he will be on the phone to Washington. Soon, someone’s ass will be in a sling, and you look like a perfect candidate. This boy needs medical help, think carefully about what you do next. Think very, very carefully.” Sarah cradled his head and began mopping up the blood from his face.
Vaguely, Josh could hear a heated discussion among the officers punctuated by profanity-laced exclamations about hippies and Commies. Then a decision was reached; they would take the SOB to a hospital. They dropped off Sarah and Josh at an emergency room and warned them to get back to their studies. As Sarah helped him in, Josh asked, “I didn’t know your dad was a judge.”
“You really are out of it. You know he’s a financial adviser and a staunch Republican. If I called him, he would probably tell the cops to put me in the slammer with you and throw away the key.”
“Good plan then,” he moaned, “but at least we would be together.”
“You’re welcome but not the kind of honeymoon I had in mind,” she said sarcastically. “And don’t forget, your ass is not in jail. You owe me.”
It took about two dozen stitches to sew him up. While the medical staff suggested staying the night to see if there were any internal injuries, Josh insisted on going home. Later, Sarah fed him some soup and put him to bed in her apartment. She sat on the bed next to him.
“Sorry, honey, I have a headache tonight.” He tried smiling at her.
Sarah smiled back. “You really are an Irishman., still making jokes after your head was split open and your body was used as a punching bag.”
“I’ll be okay as long as I don’t laugh at my own jokes.”
“Do you mind if I lie next to you? I can sleep on the couch if that would be better.”
“No, I would like you next to me.”
She slid onto the bed next to him and rolled her body up against his. “Ouch,” he winced visibly. “My body really was a punching bag.”
“I’ll be able to give you more pain pills in an hour.”
“Hey, Florence Nightingale, I am hurting now.”
“Half hour maybe, if you’re nice.”
“I’m always nice…all the girls say that. I’ve got reference letters and everything.”
She instinctively elbowed him, and he let out a howl. “Oh, sorry, sorry, but you deserved it.” They lay they for a while in silence. “Thank you,” she finally said.
“For what? I talked you into getting involved in something that put your life in danger. I think you could do much better in the boyfriend department.”
“Well, I wanted to be there, and I already have a better boyfriend,” she said quietly.
“How could anyone be better than me?” He winced with the pain.
“The thing is that you instinctively tried to protect me. Okay, you did a rather shitty job of it, but you did try. Thank you.” Josh did not reply; he just closed his eyes. “Josh, this is like a moment that takes you out of yourself. I don’t know. There are times when I could see myself with you. And yes, I’m being unfair since you can’t run away. I know you hate serious conversations, at least about personal stuff. But I do have you trapped here, hah, hah. Those fantasies of us as a couple have crossed my mind. I also know that will never happen.” Josh pressed his eyes shut. “You’re a hard man to reach, and I’ve concluded that I surely am not the woman to do it. But I’m not sad, not angry, not even disappointed. I’ll take what’s offered and be grateful. Besides, I’ve a man who loves me in the more conventional way.”
“Can I ask,” Josh finally spoke. “Do you love him?”
There was a long pause. “I like him enough. Can any of us ask for more? The thing I realized early on is that you’re missing something. You have so much, charm and intelligence and wit and talent but…”
“But?”
“You’re…incomplete.” Sarah carefully snuggled against him, her head curled onto that part of his chest not bruised. “Something has been taken out of you.” They both fell asleep.
Josh looked up into the morning sun. Oh yeah, he was in Vancouver, the smell of Sarah was only in his mind. Maybe he should get going. But no, the pull of the past still held him. He wondered about Sarah’s long ago words. He was an incomplete man. They never picked up that conversation again. Maybe he should have gone to a shrink back then. What would a trained professional have said about his incompleteness? And what does it mean to be incomplete? Just because he didn’t want a traditional relationship didn’t make him damaged. He just knew what he wanted. He recalled two girls talking one day on campus. One told the other that her boyfriend had a commitment problem. Josh had laughed to himself. The young man did not have a commitment problem. He knew exactly what he wanted—sex without any complications. The young gal had the problem; she was not able to rope him in. It was an age-old struggle.
Then Josh laughed to himself. Had Sarah been right? Did he lose some part of his humanity? Was he incomplete as she said? Sarah was not a silly coed who would bitch about a boyfriend who kept wiggling off the hook. She had been one of the sharpest pencils in the drawer, straight As, the top of the class. He could have gone to Carla for advice. She would be direct and honest. He could still see her looking at him wondering why he was stupid enough to ask if she thought he was incomplete. “Absolutely, you’re a goddamn man, aren’t you? All male assholes come up short. So just screw that self-pity crap, cupcake, and just strap on a pair.” That would be the end of her analysis into his deeper psyche.
Josh recalled dozing for a bit until the pain woke him again. This time he was successful in coaxing some pain pills out of Sarah.
“Florence Nightingale, I need your help. I have to pee.”
“Hey, you’re a big boy, you can do that all by yourself.”
“No, help me up. I am hurting. By the way, I should call Morris, find out if the others are okay. He must be frantic.”
“It’s okay, I called him earlier when you were being treated. Everyone escaped in better shape than you. You really must look like a Commie. I talked them out of coming by, you need the rest.”
Amid many groans, the task was accomplished. He took off his T-shirt and looked at his body in a mirror before getting back in bed.
“You’re a mess, maybe you should have stayed in the hospital overnight.” She sounded concerned now.
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br /> “No, I’m a tough guy. Hell, when I played football, I looked like this after every game.” He smiled through gritted teeth.
When she looked skeptical, he quickly added, “Okay, not this bad, but I would have some bruises sometimes.”
“These are not a few bruises. You look like shit.”
“Well, thank you, Sarah, I thought you would never notice.” But he grimaced as he shifted his body. “The price of being on the right side of history, I guess.”
There was a long silence and then Sarah added quietly. “Are we?”
More silence. “I struggle with that question every day, every single day.”
“Maybe that’s why I love…like you so much. You care.”
Josh smiled bitterly. “Caring is not a blessing, let me tell you. I know where caring about things can lead. My dad. He was a passionate man, about Ireland and his tribe but also about life. His opinions were held fast.”
“I’ve never met him, have I?”
“And you won’t. He never forgave me for giving up football and not going to Notre Dame. Now he thinks I am the antichrist. We only interact to scream in each other’s faces. Not a pretty sight. I feel bad for Mom. She is tough, well, came from a tough background, but this gets to her. I really feel bad about my sister, she does not deserve this.”
“I knew things were not good but not this bad,” Sarah whispered. “Sorry.”
“Oh, everyone has a story. I’m lucky in some ways. I think my folks gave me some special gifts. Really! My dad was a classic Irishman, great storyteller, a romantic, holding fast to his principles. And I look like him. But I also got things from my mom. She was deeper, more thoughtful, someone who saw beyond the surface of things. And there is my dilemma. I’m passionate and analytical at the same time. I want to commit, but then see all the nuances and shades of gray in everything. This war thing. There are moments when the stupidity and injustice of it all overwhelms me. And then and then…”
