by Randy Mixter
“We did what we were told to do in ’Nam. We looked out for our buddies and counted the days until we were short.”
Two barefoot girls walked in front of them. Neither looked older than sixteen. Both stared in their direction and giggled as they passed. Alex and Matt smiled back.
“Every man I served with was a hero in my book,” Matt continued. “No matter the risk or the danger, we fought for ourselves, our buddies, and our country.”
He picked a dandelion from the grass, studying it between his fingers before flicking it away.
“In this small part of the city, no one judges me on my actions during the war. No one accuses me of crimes I did not commit.”
With the grace of a man who never stumbled in his convictions, he raised the Silver Star until it sparkled like a jewel in the sun.
“The minute I stepped off the bus here, this fellowship of free spirits embraced me. But more importantly, they understood me.”
A morning breeze caught the medal, spinning it slowly.
“There are no judgments in this community. On my first day in Haight-Ashbury, a girl our age came to me and cried on my shoulder. I had never seen her before. When she raised her head, she looked at me and said Thank you for coming home, and then she walked away.”
He stared at the Silver Star. “She will never know how much those words meant to me.”
Matt put the medal back in his pocket.
“I’ve been coming to Haight-Ashbury at every opportunity ever since. Its good therapy and I have met other veterans here who feel the same way. They had also experienced verbal abuse when they returned from Vietnam. One told me a woman spit on him as he crossed the airport terminal in uniform.”
“It’s ironic, isn’t it?” he continued. “They are called non-conformists and radicals, but yet they understand what we encountered over there.”
Matt looked at Alex. “If you do go to Vietnam and make it back safely, know this, the war never ends. It will be a part of you for the rest of your life. Be proud for what you did. Be proud that you stood your ground and fought for those you loved, and maybe the country you loved too. Nobody can take that from you. Oh, they’ll try, but you will always have your pride.”
Nearby, a mother knelt beside her daughter. The mother seemed barely old enough to have a child who appeared to be five or six years of age.
They both were dressed alike in sundresses of every color of the rainbow. The daughter carried a bouquet of freshly picked flowers. Her mother whispered in her ear and pointed in the direction of Alex and Matt.
The girl of five or six approached them, studying the flowers in her hand. By the time she stood in front of the two, she had picked a couple from the group. She silently handed one to Matt, and then the other to Alex.
“Thank you,’” Alex said in all sincerity. “I rarely get one of these without working for it.”
Matt thanked her too before she giggled and ran back to her mother, where, hand in hand, they descended the hill.
Matt brought the flower to his nose and inhaled deeply.
“It’s a kind place to visit,” he said.
THE HOLLOW
Alex extended an invitation for a late breakfast back at the house, which Matt graciously accepted.
“Where do you stay when you come here?” Alex asked him as they walked.
“Different places. Sometimes I sleep in the park, but usually there’s a roof over my head. Lately I’ve been bunking at a place on Fulton Street. Have you heard of The Jefferson Airplane?”
“I have,” he told Matt.
“They live in the house next to me. Last night I heard them practicing, something about a white rabbit.”
“Neat,” Alex said.
By the time they arrived at the house most of the houseguests were gone. Alex had just assumed the responsibility of tour guide when Chick, cursing loudly, shattered the peace and quiet.
“Damn it Sandman! Watch my feet when you drop those boxes.”
“It seems that the leader of our group of merry misfits is here,” Alex said. “Come on, I’ll introduce you.”
The large living room area, designated the tranquility room by Chick, normally contained an oriental carpet, a record player, and some candles and incense placed around its perimeter. It now housed several large boxes, a couple of old chairs and other pieces of furniture of different shapes and sizes, and, to Alex’s ears, sounded anything but tranquil.
Chick and Sandman were working at cleaning out the storage closet on the far wall. The closet hid an abundance of material items from previous owners, and personal belongings the houseguests regarded as relics of their past lives.
This was evident as Chick carried an ornate wooden desk chair from the storage area.
“Who in their right mind would sit in one of these?” he asked no one in particular as he held the offensive item as far in front of him as his arms would allow.
When Chick saw Alex enter the room, he let go of the chair with enough force to startle Sandman into dropping another box perilously close to Chick’s bare feet.
Chick wiped some sweat from his brow. “Well, well, the culprit appears.”
Both Chick and Sandman stood motionless, staring at the two new arrivals. Alex thought it best to play dumb, an easy task considering he had no idea why Chick was fuming.
“So what’s going on in here, Chick?” he asked.
“I’ll tell you what’s going on.” Chick’s face, what little could be seen of it through the mustache and beard, was a deep red.
“Her Royal Highness, the Queen of all realms, both near and far, has felt the need of a private suite. A bedchamber an acceptable distance from her servants sleeping quarters.”
“Furthermore,” Chick continued, “she chose the one place containing a museum’s worth of mankind’s artifacts.”
“I suggested the now empty space beneath the porch, but Her Majesty would have no part of it. Thankfully Sandman, the clumsy oaf that he is, will work for cannabis of which I have a plentiful supply.”
“It appears your friend has an adversity to hard labor,” Matt whispered to Alex. “Should we help him out?”
It took the four of them less than an hour to complete the task of converting the closet into a bedroom. The extra help had a positive effect on Chick. He invited all three to the front porch for a post moving party.
Both Alex and Matt declined when Chick passed around a monstrous joint, leaving him and Sandman grinning contentedly.
“I don’t do drugs,” Matt said, “but I’ll take a beer if you have one.”
“Check the fridge.” Sandman took a long pull from the reefer. “Benny sometimes keeps a six-pack for emergencies.”
When Matt returned, he carried two cold cans of Miller High Life. He tore the pop tops off both and handed one to Alex. Remembering Chick’s bare feet, he placed the sharp edged tops on the porch railing.
A good part of the afternoon passed as they talked. Chick and Sandman were particularly fascinated with Matt’s army experiences. His tales of Army boot camp held all three in shocked fascination.
By the time the houseguests began arriving, in the late afternoon, Benny’s emergency stash of beer had been depleted and Sandman was sound asleep leaning against the railing.
Warm greetings welcomed the arrival of the Hope sisters, their arms with bags of produce. All four were famished to the point of nearly taking up Chick’s offer to hit the kitchen and whip something up. The sisters told them, in a polite manner, to have patience, and please stay out of the kitchen.
Sarah was one of the last to arrive, carrying a paper bag of unknown contents. Matt perked up immediately upon seeing her.
“I see the princess has arrived,” Chick said softly enough for just the four to hear, but forgot to take into account Sarah’s extraordinary ability to either hear Chick from a considerable distance or her expertise in reading his lips.
“I heard that Chick.”
How does she do that? Chick wond
ered to himself, and vowed to keep his voice down whenever he talked of her, no matter the time or place.
As she drew closer, Sarah threw Chick a glare then looked in the direction of Matt. “You must pardon my friend, Chick. Every time I ask a favor of him, I become royalty.”
She climbed the steps and had the attention of everyone on the porch except for the still snoozing Sandman. Matt in particular seemed awestruck by her beauty.
Alex stood, with Matt right behind him.
“Sarah, this is my friend Matt. I met him earlier this morning.”
“Hello Matt,” she said. “I’m pleased to meet you.”
“Pleased to meet you,” Matt replied, as they shook hands.
She looked inquisitively at Chick.
“It’s done,” he said.
“Thank you.” Sarah bowed slightly in his direction.
“Of course the tranquility room is a mess of boxes and furniture,” he added.
“I’m sure you will find a place for them, perhaps under the porch.” She smiled at Alex as she walked by him. “Now if you all will please excuse me.”
She was barely in the house when Matt let out his breath.
“Dear God!” he said in a whisper.
“Before you embarrass yourself,” Chick said from his perch on the porch swing, “the queen is spoken for by none other than the man on your right.”
He turned to Alex and smiled. “Good for you.”
“In fact,” Chick continued, “it was their hideaway we completed this afternoon.”
Matt leaned against the railing and finished off his beer.
“Everyone needs a refuge, a place to get away. In our base camp in Vietnam, we had a small crater close to the middle of our camp, compliments of the Viet Cong. We secured the top of it with a tarp and built wooden steps leading into it. That covered hole in the ground became our safe haven from the brass and the war. Someone named it The Hollow and it stuck. In The Hollow, we never discussed the war. We talked about our lives before the army and our plans after. In The Hollow, our stories about home kept us going, one day at a time.”
“As I lay on the hospital bed before I shipped out,” he continued, “one of my buddies brought me the hand carved wooden sign we had in front of the entrance. It read The Hollow, and I still have it, at home packed away in my duffel bag.”
Sandman, who had awakened in time to hear the Vietnam story, arrived at a conclusion.
“I guess the Haight-Ashbury is your Hollow now,” he said.
“That it is, Sandman,” Matt responded. “That it is.”
THE STORM
Dinner at the house was a lively affair. The Hope sisters had scored a bonanza of flounder from their connections at the city wharf. They presented the cooked fish with an assortment of vegetables and salad greens, and two large apple pies for dessert.
Tonight, Sarah gave up her regular seat, choosing instead to sit between Alex and Matt. Celeste, a cute girl Alex had spoken to from time to time, sat on Matt’s other side. Her boyfriend had recently left the area for parts unknown, leaving Celeste sad and available. She perked up considerably however when introduced to Matt before dinner, and had elbowed Skip out of the way to secure a seat next to him at the table.
Matt gradually became the center of attention during the meal after again relating stories of his army days. His storytelling even drew the attention of the three children, Aisha, Blossom, and Scarlett, sitting at the small table next to them.
Sarah turned to him and smiled. “Maybe Matt has a funny story he could tell the girls at bedtime.”
Matt’s face turned a slightly lighter shade of red than Chicks had earlier in the day.
“I’m sure I could think of one,” he said meekly.
After dinner, Matt bolstered his growing reputation among the women present by asking if he could help with the clean up. It was the first time a man had made the request in the house and it stopped everyone dead in his or her tracks.
Celeste spoke up in the silence. “He could help me dry if he wants.”
The way she looked at Matt reminded Alex of Jezebel’s hopeful stare when she wanted a head rub.
“I’ll be happy to help Celeste dry.” Matt smiled at her as he said this, and her heart jumped in a way it had never done before.
The audience for storytelling time was significantly larger than most nights. Alex was in the room for the first time. He had become accustomed to listening from the hallway shadows. This was new to him.
Sarah, the Hope sisters, Belladonna, Cactus Girl, Isis, and Celeste, also squeezed into the room. Sarah sat on the floor next to Alex. Jezebel, always the last to arrive for the stories, entered the room and cocked her head until she spotted Alex. Within seconds, she curled up on his lap, softly purring.
Sarah laid her head on Alex’s shoulder. He reached his arm around her waist and held her near. Outside the room’s only window, the sky began to darken. Thunder rumbled in the distance.
“A storm is coming,” he whispered in her ear. “It will be here soon.”
“In that case,” she whispered back, “we won’t let this moment end.” And she nestled snugly in his grip.
Matt told a story of boot camp. It was a dark night and he became separated from his company in the field. He latched on to another unit for the trip back to the barracks. His intent was to rejoin his company as soon as possible. Unfortunately, the soldiers he had fallen in with had misbehaved and incurred the wrath of their drill sergeant.
When they arrived back at the company area, the sergeant, upset over some missing comic books, forced his troops to do push-ups until told otherwise.
Matt tried desperately to explain to the irate sergeant that he was not a part of the unit and had absolutely no knowledge of any comic book theft.
His strategy did not work, and for the next hour or so, he suffered the punishment of a crime he did not commit. As it happened, he found out later, no one had committed the crime. The sergeant in question had merely misplaced the comics.
The three girls asked questions about army terms throughout the story, but when they asked about push-ups, Matt felt obligated to give a demonstration.
“It’s okay,” he said when he saw concern on Alex’s face. “It’s part of my therapy.”
Matt dropped to the floor and proceeded to do thirty push-ups without breaking a sweat. A hearty round of applause followed this feat.
Sarah dared Alex to follow suit and his pride would not allow him to do less than twenty, after which he collapsed on the floor in exhaustion.
“I would have thought all the exercise you get chasing me would have put you in better shape,” Sarah said to a smattering of applause and some laughter.
Cactus Girl brought her children, Aisha and Blossom, up from El Paso, Texas in July of the previous year. According to Chick, she had been in an abusive relationship when she packed up and left.
Isis came down from Tacoma, Washington, with her five-year-old Scarlett, the following month. Isis never gave reasons for her trek to San Francisco, and no one pried into her history. In Haight-Ashbury, past lives were unimportant.
Rumors swirled about the house concerning a relationship between the two mothers, but they remained unfounded. Discretion, it seemed, was still a virtue even in the birthplace of free love.
“Alright children, bedtime,” Isis announced. The three girls hugged all present, including Matt, who appeared genuinely affected by the attention.
The group made their way to the first floor landing, then on to the porch where the remaining men had gathered. The wind howled and the sky darkened with menacing charcoal gray clouds. A bad storm was approaching from the bay, moving fast and looking dangerous.
Chick, Cowboy, and Benny shared the swing. Sandman and Skip occupied two of the chairs. If there was any doubt of their sobriety, it was erased at their astonishment over Mother Nature’s wrathful might.
Choruses of ‘far out’ followed each lightning strike. ‘Wow’, ‘neat’, and
‘too much’ followed the thunderclaps.
“I guess I won’t be going anywhere for a while,” Matt said, not seeing Celeste smile behind him.
Alex looked at Sarah next to him, her arms around his waist. In the entire time he had been here, he had never seen her miss a night on the hill.
Lightning struck close by. The boom was loud and instantaneous with the flash. Sarah gripped him tightly.
“I guess I’ll be sticking around too,” she said.
Belladonna walked up to Cowboy, tapping him on the shoulder. He got the hint and vacated his spot on the swing.
The Hope sisters appeared at the front door with two bottles of wine and a stack of paper cups. Cowboy, at the insistence of Alex and Matt, reached deep into the shadowy recesses of the refrigerator for his emergency stash of beer.
When the clouds opened, the windswept downpour came with such ferocity it drove everyone away from the railing to the porch’s center and back wall. The group split up with the pot smokers huddled around the swing, and the beer and wine drinkers on the floor and chairs, closer to the front door.
The lightning strikes and the accompanying thunder brought the two mothers, children in tow, to the doorway.
“They were frightened,” Isis said.
“Well, we can’t have that.” Sarah replied as she patted her lap. Soon she was whispering comforting thoughts in their ears as all three squeezed close to her on the floor.
The talk quickly divided the assembled house members into two distinct factions. On one side were those of an optimistic bent who found the weather event to be spectacularly cool. On the other side were the gloom and doomers led by Chick, who insisted this was God’s way of announcing he sided with the establishment.
After much discussion, during which both sides held their ground, Chick declared a truce of sorts stating that the combination of thunder and expounding hypothesis gave him a headache.
The talk turned to matters, of a more topical nature, the current and future well-being of Haight-Ashbury and its inhabitants.
