by Neil Plakcy
It was a gorgeous day, he had a great wife and a kid of his own, and he was looking forward to a reunion that evening with his buddies. At the edge of the parking lot, the ground sloped away sharply. The hillside was covered with a loose screen of trees and underbrush, and in the far distance they could hear the buzz of traffic below them.
A few feet down the slope was a dogwood tree just starting to blossom. “Pretty tree,” Terry said. He ran toward it, lost his footing, and began to roll down the slope.
“Terry!” Harry tried to run after him, but lost his own footing and slipped and slid until he could grab hold of a tree.
Terry did not stop so quickly. He was crying as he rolled through the undergrowth toward the highway. “Oh, my God, oh, my God, Terry!” Harry called. He finally reached his son, laying against a pile of brush, mercifully unharmed. Harry picked him up and held him close, crying and whispering to him softly.
Carefully he climbed back up the hill, holding his son to his chest. His heart was racing. He thought he could never be more afraid for his son.
He didn’t tell Jane, though she knew something was wrong. She chalked it up to anxiety about seeing his friends again. They left Terry with some other kids at the home of a friend of the bride’s, and Harry slipped away twice to call and make sure his son was all right. Even years later, that awful hollow feeling would come back to him unbidden, and he’d be there all over again, helplessly watching his son slip away from him.
Jane was pregnant then, but didn’t know for a few weeks. Karen was always her mother’s daughter, just as Terry was his father’s son. On weekends, Harry and Terry would go camping or make father and son projects, while Jane and Karen went shopping or played with Jane’s dolls.
For his son’s eighteenth birthday, Harry wanted to make him a special present. It had to be something memorable, something that the boy would keep for a long time, to remind him of his father. And at the same time, it should be something that would help launch him out into the world. Terry had applied to a couple of the smaller state colleges, and though he hadn’t heard from any yet, Harry was sure there would be a place for him.
Harry thought for a long time about what college kids did. Every time he pictured a campus in his mind, he saw kids carrying books, so he decided to make Terry a bookcase. Not just an ordinary one of pine scraps or Masonite, but a nice one in walnut, with scroll work across the top. He made it three feet high, with three shelves, because he thought the rooms in the dorms were probably small.
He worked on the bookcase in secret during the weeks before Terry’s birthday. He was on the early shift at the plant then, and he got home around three-thirty. Since Terry and Karen usually stayed at school for clubs or sports, he had the basement workshop to himself in the hours before dinner. Jane knew he was making something special but didn’t ask what it was.
By a Thursday in early April, just before Terry’s birthday, he had almost finished. On his way home from work, he stopped for a can of varnish to protect the wood’s beautiful finish. He was worried that kids might be hanging around in Terry’s room at college, drinking cans of soda slick with condensation, and he wasn’t going to let any wet ring ruin his handiwork.
He was proud of himself for his forward-thinking as he pulled into the hardware store in the center of town. As he got out of his car, he saw two boys approaching each other on Main Street. One was wearing Army fatigues and boots, and had his hair cut short. The other had long hair and a tie-dyed t-shirt with a big peace symbol on it. He watched as the two boys warily approached each other, then stopped, face to face. “Peace,” said the t-shirt boy, holding up two fingers.
“Fuck off,” said the soldier. He pushed past the t-shirt boy and walked on down the sidewalk. Harry shook his head and went into the store, where Chuck Ritter was standing behind the counter talking to a woman customer.
“Take care,” Chuck said to the woman. “You need anything more, just call me.” He turned to Harry. “Afternoon, Harry.”
“Hello, Chuck. How’s everything?”
Chuck shrugged. He nodded his chin toward the woman, who was walking down the slate path toward the sidewalk. “You know Mrs. Rafferty?” he asked.
Harry shook his head. “Widow,” Chuck said. “She’s got a big house down by River Road. Two kids. Her daughter’s grown and moved to Ohio, but her boy used to help her keep up with the house. Now he’s in the war and something’s always happening to her. Leaves in the gutters, squirrels in the attic. Got a faucet that won’t stop dripping now. I just sold her a couple of washers and spent fifteen minutes explaining how to change them.”
“Shame,” Harry said. “Lots of boys going off these days.”
“Your Terry?”
Harry shook his head. “He’s going to college. Though of course, if he got the call, he’d go. I think this war’s got to be over soon. You just watch the TV news, we’re wiping up the floor with them.”
“And good riddance to the little Commie bastards too,” Chuck said. “You know what I heard the other day? Over thirty-three thousand boys have been killed in Vietnam so far. That’s more than Korea.”
“My goodness,” Harry said. “I didn’t know that.”
“It’s terrible.” Chuck stood up straight. “So what can I do for you today?”
They spent a few minutes over by the woodworking counter, discussing the merits of various lacquers. Harry coated the wood three times over the next few days, and by Monday night, when they took Terry out to dinner for his birthday, it was ready. After Jane, Terry and Karen had gone out to the car, he carried it up the stairs and left it in the middle of the living room.
They ate at the Stewart’s Crossing Inn, down by the river. It was a fancy place, tie and jacket required, not the kind of place the Moscas usually went, but this was a special occasion. “Can I get anyone a cocktail?” asked the waiter, an older man in a white vest and black pants.
“I’ll take a Manhattan,” Harry said. “A whiskey sour for the lady.” He turned to Terry. “To celebrate this momentous occasion, let me have the honor of buying you your first drink.”
“I’ll have a Bud. With a shot of tequila.”
Harry stared at his son as the waiter backed away. “It’s not exactly my first drink, Dad,” Terry said.
Harry nodded slowly and said, “Well, I guess not.”
The waiter brought the drinks and took their dinner orders. Harry raised his glass and said, “I’d like to make a toast. To Terry, on the occasion of his eighteenth birthday. Your mother and I are very proud of you, and I’m sure you’ll go on making us proud at college.”
They all lifted their glasses and drank. “Mom, Dad, there’s something I want to tell you,” Terry said. “I signed up today.”
“Signed up?” Jane asked. “For what?”
From the sinking sensation in his stomach, Harry knew. “The war,” Terry said. “The army.”
“But why, son?” Harry asked. “I thought you were going to college.”
“I can go to college when I come back,” Terry said. “You should understand, Dad. You’re always talking about your Army days. How those buddies will always be your best friends.”
Jane looked at him then, and he knew it was his fault. No one talked much at dinner, just ate quietly and even skipped dessert. Turning the key in the front door, Harry remembered the bookcase sitting in the middle of the living room. He stopped just inside the door, and the rest of the family piled up behind him.
“What’s that?” Karen asked.
“Your brother’s birthday present,” Harry said. He turned to Terry. “I thought you might need a bookcase in college.” He shrugged. “We can always find a place for it here in the house.”
“It’s great, Dad,” Terry said, walking over to it. “Beautiful. Thanks.” He turned back to his father. “I’m still going to college. When I get back. With the GI bill and all. I’ll use it.”
A horn honked out at the street. “Who’s that?” Harry asked.
> “A couple of the guys. They’re taking me out for my birthday.” He peeled off his sports jacket and his tie and draped them on the edge of the sofa. “Thanks for dinner. And the bookcase. I’ll see you later.”
Harry followed him to the door. “Be careful of that tequila,” he called, as his son ran toward the street.
“Will do, Dad.” When Harry turned back into the house, he saw that Karen had gone up to her room. Jane stood by the sofa, holding Terry’s jacket and tie.
“Maybe the Army will teach him to put away his clothes,” she said. Then she started to cry.
* * *
They’d all gone to church that next Sunday, and prayed for Terry and for the country, and Jane and Harry had kept on going every week. It was hard to let go, but Terry wasn’t leaving until mid-June, after his high school graduation. And even then, he was just going to South Carolina. He’d be home after basic training. And he might not even go to Vietnam. One night in June the Moscas watched President Nixon on TV discussing his Vietnamization program, planning to turn the war over to the Vietnamese and bring the American boys home. But that didn’t have any effect on Terry’s appointment at basic training.
Two days after his graduation, the Moscas drove Terry to Fort Dix in New Jersey, where he was inducted into the Army. Driving away from the base, Harry and Jane were silent, but the reality of his absence took a long time to hit. For days Harry looked up at the supper table and almost asked, “Where’s Terry?”
It was like he was away on vacation. He called every Sunday, and wrote once a week, short letters about basic training and the men in his unit, who were slowly becoming his friends. Harry recognized that shift, remembered the way he had grown away from his own family, made the men in his unit into a new one.
On the twentieth of July, Harry, Jane and Karen gathered around the TV set to watch Neil Armstrong land on the moon. The picture was grainy and Harry kept getting up to adjust the antenna. “You can wiggle that thing all you want but it’s not going to help,” Jane said. “Imagine, that picture’s coming all the way from the moon.”
“I hope Terry’s watching this,” Harry said. Jane looked at him sharply, but said nothing. Harry watched the bulky man drop from the space ship, and bounce lightly on the surface of the moon. Exploring new worlds, he thought. His whole life ahead of him. And all his parents could do was sit there, transfixed by the scene, and watch.
* * *
In early August, when Terry came home on leave for a few days, he seemed to Harry like a different boy. “I can’t quite put my finger on it,” he said to Jane that night, as they were preparing for bed. “He’s changed.”
“He’s growing up.”
“It’s more than that,” Harry said. He began unbuttoning his shirt. “Look at his spine. That boy used to slump like nobody’s business. Now he stands up straighter than a ruler. I had forgotten he was so tall.”
“The army does that to you.” Jane slipped her blouse onto a hanger and took it to the closet. “I remember when you were first back from the service. You were so polite. Yes ma’am, no ma’am.”
“I was accustomed to taking orders.” Harry folded his pants and laid them over the chair next to the bed. He sat down on the edge of the bed in his boxer shorts and started to take off his socks. “Hmm. Maybe I can get Terry to clean up the basement before he leaves.”
“Harry.” Jane took a faded pink nightgown from her drawer, slid it over her head, and then swiftly pulled her bra out her sleeve. “I think we should do something nice for him before he leaves. Make a party in the back yard.”
Harry settled into bed and pulled the covers up over him. He yawned. “I don’t know that the boy wants a fuss.”
Jane turned the light off and slipped into bed next to him. “It won’t be much of a fuss. Just a little party.”
The party escalated in size rapidly. The next day, Harry overheard Jane talking to Elaine Warner on the phone. “We haven’t had a party in so long,” Jane said. “There are so many people we owe invitations to. And of course Terry wants to ask his friends, and Karen wants hers too.”
“A lot of nonsense,” Harry said.
“I’m on the phone, Harry.” Jane listened for a moment. “I don’t want you to go to any trouble, Elaine.” She paused. “All right, if you want to bring some cookies that would be nice. Bring Paul and Dennis too, of course.”
Harry snorted in the background. On Saturday morning, Jane roused everyone early. Karen had to clean the house, Harry had to borrow a barbecue grill from the neighbors and set it up, and Terry had to cut the grass. “Right away, Mom,” Terry said, then gulped down a glass of milk.
Harry watched in amazement as his son walked out the kitchen door. In a moment he heard the garage door open, and then the rip of the mower cord. “Not a word of argument,” he finally said. “Just, ‘right away, Mom.’ Why didn’t we send that boy off to the Army when he was ten years old?”
Jane cleared away Harry’s plate. “You’ve got work to do too. Go on, git.”
The guests started to arrive at twelve. Harry set up the grill under an old oak at the edge of their yard, where the broad green sweep of the golf course picked up. It was what had made Harry buy the house in the first place—it was like having a twenty-acre back yard. So what if he didn’t know how to play golf, and couldn’t afford to even if he knew how. He’d put up with the minor inconveniences of men in plaid pants searching his yard for errant balls, even a broken window once, for the chance to see all that grass out his back window, for days like this, when the sun was high and warm and his family and friends could spill across the invisible line demarcating his property, and pretend that his realm stretched on for miles.
A group of the men from the old Stock Club came over to the grill to stand with him while he cooked. “Has Terry run into any protesters?” Sandy Lord asked. “Seems like everywhere you look people are picketing and bad-mouthing soldiers.”
“It’s a man’s duty to fight for his country,” Chuck said. “Anybody who comes into my store and says ‘Peace,’ and holds up those two fingers, I won’t serve him.”
“You may change your mind when they come for your son,” Harry said. “Don’t get me wrong, the Army can do good things for a boy. It was a heck of a kick in the pants for me. But I don’t know, I’ve been watching the news, and I start to thinking, what are we doing over there, anyway? Why don’t we just let them settle their differences themselves?”
“I’m glad I’m too old to go,” Charley Woodruff said. “I don’t have two years of my life to give to them. I think they ought to make this an all-volunteer war. If boys want to go, like Terry, then let ’em. More power to ’em.”
“And if you don’t want to go, then nobody should say you’re not American,” Tom Laroquette said. “If this was really our war, somebody threatening my family, then I’d be the first one out.”
Paul Warner nodded. “I’ve got mixed feelings,” he said. “On the one hand, it’s my job to make those detonators, you know, and I feel like it’s important that I stand behind what I’m doing. But I’ve got to tell you, if you ever stop and think about it, it’s scary. Horrifying, sometimes.”
Chuck shook his head in disgust. “That’s why this country’s in trouble. No real patriots left. Say, Harry, any of those burgers ready yet?”
It was a strange day. Nobody at the party was very festive, and yet nobody wanted to be sad either. As dusk fell over the golf course, people started to filter away. It was like no one knew what to say. They’d make a joke to Terry, squeeze his arm, warn him about those little Asian girls, and then when it came time to say good-bye to Harry and Jane, people seemed to lose their voices, just kind of smile and nod. After everyone had gone, Harry turned on the outside lights and walked around the yard collecting trash, trying to figure out what was worth holding on to.
* * *
On Sunday afternoon, two hours before his flight, Terry stood in the living room by the front door in his uniform, with his duffel ba
g by his side. Harry could not look at him. “We’re going to be late,” Harry called to Jane and Karen.
“Do you have a picture of us?” Jane came out of the bedroom holding a photograph.
“Thanks, Mom.” Terry took the picture from his mother and slipped it into his pocket.
“Are we ready yet?” Harry asked. “Karen?”
“Nobody’s going to care how your hair looks at the airport,” Terry called.
“I hope they have leeches where you’re going,” Karen said, coming into the living room.
Harry looked closely at her. She looked like she had been crying, and his heart took a great dive. With difficulty, he said, “Everybody in the car.”
No one looked at anyone else on the long ride into Philadelphia, and conversation was slow and stilted. There was more traffic than they expected and Harry had to drive like crazy, darting in and out of traffic, getting mad at slower drivers, because he was losing his son and he was powerless to do anything about it.
It was the first time Harry had ever been to the Philadelphia airport, and the whole place was too large, too crowded, too rushed for him. They parked in a huge garage and got lost twice in the terminal trying to find the right gate. Jane slipped on an escalator and fell backwards into Harry’s arms. He felt the whole day could crack open at any minute.
The gate area was crowded with business travelers and a few other young men in army uniforms, like Terry. Harry could not bear to look at any of them. Instead, while Jane fussed over Terry and Karen tried not to cry, he counted ceiling tiles, stared at other travelers, and tried to decipher the incomprehensible messages coming over the airport loudspeaker. He worried they were saying something he needed to know, but couldn’t understand.
Jane would not let Terry go until they had called the final boarding for the flight. She and Karen cried as Terry walked to the stewardess and then disappeared down the long jet way, but Harry wouldn’t let himself go. He wanted to be strong for his son. The three of them stood at the floor-to-ceiling window and watched the plane take off, until they could no longer see the red lights against the dark sky.
