Anthem

by Deborah Wiles

  A bunch of kids runs from the observatory across the grass and onto a large waiting bus that says CHARTER on the signboard. And under that, a handwritten sign: Young Engineer’s School.

  Flam laps water from a bowl, while we watch the kids board the bus.

  “Enter the young,” says Molly.

  “What?”

  “Nothing,“ she says. “I’m tired, too.”

  “Hello, Molly. Hello, Norman.”

  I blink and there stands a kid with a crew cut and black-framed glasses.

  “Drew!” says Molly. “Norman, it’s Drew!”

  “You are correct,” says Drew. “I am surprised to see you here.”

  “You’re surprised!” says Molly. “Norman! It’s Drew!”

  I start to laugh. It’s so good to see someone we know. “What are you doing here?” I ask Drew. “I thought you were going to some air force base.”

  “I am going to Vandenberg Air Force Base tomorrow,” says Drew. “But tonight we are at the Griffith Observatory in Los Angeles.”

  “So I see!”

  “I thought you were going to San Francisco,” says Drew.

  “We are,” says Norman. “We are on the way.”

  “The Apollo astronauts trained here,” said Drew. “They learned how to identify the thirty-seven navigational stars that their guidance computer uses. This is in case of equipment failure. Inside the observatory, there is a Zeiss refracting telescope in the east dome, so you can see the stars.”

  Molly looks like she wants to hug Drew, she is so delighted to see him, but she settles for “Good for you, Drew.”

  Drew pushes his glasses up on his nose and asks me, “Are you still called Florsheim?”

  “How did you know about that?”

  “Kyle told me. He said you are a good drummer.”

  “Drew! Hop to!” shouts a man in shorts, a baseball cap, and a jacket.

  Drew waves at the man and says, “I have to stay with my group.”

  “Right,” I tell him. “See ya, Drew.”

  Drew says, “My sister Jo Ellen is an attorney-at-law in San Francisco. If you need legal services, she is someone to call. Jo Ellen Chapman. Just in case.”

  “Thank you, Drew,” I say.

  “You’re welcome,” Drew replies. “What happened to your bus?”

  “Oh. It got painted,” says Molly, almost jovially. She is suddenly so happy.

  “You have a dog,” says Drew.

  “This is Flam,” I tell him. Flam looks at Drew with shiny dog eyes but doesn’t move.

  “Drew!” The man in the jacket starts to walk toward us.

  “I have to stay with my group,” Drew repeats.

  “Are you spending the night here?” asks Molly in a hopeful voice.

  What a good idea to ask about a place to stay. I should have thought of that.

  “There is a campground in the park,” says Drew. “We have reserved spots. I do not think it is against the rules for you to follow us there.”

  So we do. They give us a parking space. We climb into our sleeping bags. And finally, finally, we sleep.

  ALL ALONG THE WATCHTOWER

  Written by Bob Dylan

  Performed by Bob Dylan

  Recorded at Columbia Studios, Nashville, Tennessee, 1967

  Drummer: Kenny Buttrey

  Performed by the Jimi Hendrix Experience

  Recorded at Olympic Studio, London, England, and

  Record Plant, New York, New York, 1968

  Drummer: Mitch Mitchell

  They traveled all day Tuesday until Norman could drive no more.

  “My arms and legs are rubber. I need to get off this bus.”

  They had chosen the coast road for part of the journey, as the new Interstate 5 route to San Francisco was not complete. Furthermore, Molly told Norman, she’d slept on it and had decided she was done worrying about Barry if he couldn’t worry about her, so he could just go do whatever he wanted to do, and yes, she would go to San Francisco if Norman insisted, but she would not wring her hands and cry over Barry.

  “Right” was Norman’s comment. Molly, the emotion machine. He didn’t have the luxury of all those feelings.

  “You don’t believe me,” Molly said. “Watch and see. I’m going to wear flowers in my hair, because that’s what normal people do when they go to San Francisco.”

  “You can’t fit flowers in your hair,” said Norman. “Your hair’s like a helmet.”

  “Sez you!” Molly pulled the rubber band out of her hair and let it fly around her face. Norman watched her in the student mirror over the driver’s seat and wondered how long she could keep it up.

  They stopped for gas, for groceries, and again for supper. In searching for a campground, they stumbled on a freshly painted sign: THE COTTAGES AT AVILA BEACH.

  “I want real beds for a night,” said Norman. “Want to try this?”

  “Yes!” Molly said immediately. Windblown and weary, Molly was more than ready for a bed. She had stoically let her hair fly around her so wildly it looked like a bird’s nest. The bus bumped down the sandy lane to a bungalow with a sign out front: OFFICE.

  “Great bus!” a sandy-bearded, barefoot man in overalls, no shirt, and a porkpie hat greeted them. He sat on the porch next to a record player that blasted a Jefferson Airplane album, playing it to the empty beach. “I know they’ve got newer albums out,” he told Norman, “but Surrealistic Pillow is my favorite. Where you headed?”

  “San Francisco,” said Norman.

  “From South Carolina,” said the man, looking at Multitudes’ license plate. He shook Norman’s hand and introduced himself as Eddie. “Long way from home,” he observed.

  “Yessir.”

  “Eddie is fine. Hey, doggie.”

  “That’s Flam,” said Norman.

  “Good dog.”

  “Embryonic Journey” began to play on the record player.

  “Man, I love this tune,” said Eddie. “Listened to it over and over again in the South China Sea. Wish I could play guitar like that. This guy — Jorma Kaukonen — he’s a virtuoso.”

  “I know this one!” said Molly. “My brother played it for me. He’s a guitar player.”

  “Yeah?” said Eddie. “He’s got good taste.”

  Despite her previous declaration, Molly suddenly found herself warming to the idea of finding her brother in San Francisco … maybe, she told herself, because they were now so close. Maybe because the music soothed her bruised feelings. She shook the thought from her head. She was angry with her brother. That’s right.

  “His name is Barry,” she continued. “We’re looking for him in San Francisco. Against my will.” She gave Norman a See! I meant what I said! I want to go home! look.

  “Molly,” said Norman. He braced himself for anything.

  “Really!” said Eddie, ignoring the look between Molly and Norman. “Is he lost?”

  “Who knows?” said Molly. “He doesn’t say.”

  Norman groaned.

  Molly felt emboldened now and asked Eddie, “Why were you in the South China Sea?”

  “I was on an aircraft carrier, the USS Intrepid. I didn’t see land for nine months. The army couldn’t do what they do in Vietnam without navy pilots and their aircraft crews to keep them flying,” said Eddie. There was pride in his voice.

  Molly’s resolve to not care about Barry’s future once again wavered. It was like riding a seesaw. She took a seat on a wooden chair. Get it together, Molly, she told herself.

  “Vietnam?” asked Norman. He sat on the chair next to Molly. He had his own seesaw to consider.

  Eddie took Norman’s question as an invitation. He lifted the needle from the record and settled into a porch rocker. He stroked his beard with forefinger and thumb as he talked.

  “I was a plane handler. Me, Eddie Mullin, aviation machinist mate, hydraulics, sixth-class. I went to boot camp at NAS Atlanta, to aircraft carrier school at NAS Pensacola, and to hydraulics school at NAS Memphis. Then they sh
ipped me out to the South China Sea through NAS San Diego.”

  “Naval air station,” said Norman. “We’ve got one in Charleston, too.”

  “That’s right.”

  “And an air force base,” said Molly. “So you didn’t have to fight in the jungles?”

  “It’s a different fight,” said Eddie. “You work seventeen hours a day, seven days a week. Your job is to keep those fighters flying. You live with over two thousand people on your ship, and sleep in bunks stacked six high. You take care of your aircraft so the pilots can complete their missions successfully. You hope they return. You live in a twilight zone in the middle of nowhere, and eat a lot of powdered hamburger.”

  “How did you get there?” asked Norman.

  “They take you there! Let me tell you, it’s a weird feeling when you’re on an airplane and you’re surrounded by only sea to the horizon everywhere you look, and then, suddenly, you see this speck down below, and that’s where you’re supposed to land. You start dropping like a rock. And when your plane hits that deck, you feel like a rock. You hope the handler is gonna grab the arresting wire on the first try and you’re not going to end up in the ocean!”

  “Wow!” said Norman, clearly impressed.

  Molly felt herself changing her mind about San Francisco. She pulled her rubber band off her wrist and began to gather back her hair.

  “It was the biggest experience of my life,” said Eddie. “A nineteen-year-old kid joining the navy to see the world.” He laughed.

  “You’re nineteen?” asked Molly. He looked so much older.

  “I’m twenty-three now,” said Eddie. “I flunked out of college my first semester — I didn’t want to go to college anyway — and enlisted in the navy because I knew the draft, which is always the army, would come for me. And, sure enough, they did. I got my notice to report for my army physical when I was two weeks into navy boot camp. But I was already spoken for. That’s how disorganized the army is.”

  Norman pulled at his earlobe as he listened.

  Eddie placed the needle back on the record, at the beginning of “Embryonic Journey.” “I sure do like this tune. There’s just something about music that connects us to something larger than ourselves. Very Buddha-nature.”

  “What’s … Buddha-nature?” asked Molly.

  Eddie stroked his beard, smiled at Molly, and said, “It’s a luminous expression of awareness.”

  “Oh,” said Molly. “I see.” She didn’t. She petted Flam, who shoved his nose under her hand, and she said, “My brother has been ordered to report for a physical in Charleston.”

  Eddie breathed out through puffed lips. “And you’re the rescue posse.”

  “Sort of,” said Norman. He wasn’t sure what they were anymore.

  “Well, Uncle Sam’s got him now …” said Eddie.

  They fell silent. Then Eddie slapped at his overalls, turned off the record player, and said, “Did you stop for conversation, or would you like to take a load off and rent a cottage overnight? Want to be our first guests?”

  “Yessir!” said Norman. He felt like saluting, which made him feel ridiculous.

  “Yes, please!” said Molly. The sounds of the sea had been calling to her since the moment they’d rolled up to the cottages. She couldn’t wait to walk barefoot on sand, stand at the edge of the earth, and let the salt water cover her feet. She took the rubber band out of her hair once again. She wouldn’t think about Barry one more minute.

  Eddie opened the bungalow screen door and waved them inside. He handed Norman the key to cottage number four just as a clean-shaven, bare-breasted man in bell-bottom jeans appeared with a plate of brownies.

  “This is Flo,” said Eddie. “We’re trying this experiment, now that I’m back from Nam and had a little inheritance drop into my lap. We’re gonna live on the beach for the rest of our lives.”

  “Really!” said Norman.

  “Have a brownie,” said Flo. “Take a load off.” He smiled, which made hundreds of freckles spread across his pale face in a grin. “Sweet puppy!”

  Suddenly, magically, they had real beds to sleep in, a real shower, a real room of their own with real towels. And a real beach.

  They hauled their suitcases into the small cabin. Molly dumped dog food into a bowl for Flam and he happily began to crunch. Norman sat on the edge of his bed and stared at the floor.

  “You okay?” Molly asked automatically.

  “I’m okay. You?” he answered. But he wasn’t. He put his elbows on his knees and his head in his hands. A bleak silence filled the room.

  “Norman?”

  Flam finished his supper and trotted to Norman. Norman ignored him. The sound of the surf rolled through their open windows.

  “We’re almost there, Norman.” He was not okay. The old anxiety crept into Molly’s heart, all the sadness in the world. “Just one more night, Norman,” she added gently.

  He lifted his head and sighed heavily. “This is an impossible trip,” he said. “We should have gone home in Los Angeles. I should have listened to you.”

  She dearly wanted to say, I know. I’m always right. Instead, she shifted her thinking about Barry once more. “It’s a good idea to keep going,” she told Norman, “and to find him.”

  When Norman didn’t respond, Molly continued. “Maybe he can join the navy. We might find him tomorrow, and he could go to the navy recruiter’s office and the army would never know, and by the time his physical date rolls around, he’d already be at boot camp. He wouldn’t have to fight in the jungle, he wouldn’t have to die, he wouldn’t have to end up like Victor.”

  Norman put his head back in his hands.

  “My dad would be so happy, too,” added Molly. “It would fix things for our family. We should go to San Francisco. We should find Barry. And you know what, Norman?” She was sure now what they needed to do. “We should do what Mom wants. We should bring him home.”

  Norman began to cry. Molly reached out a hand, pulled it back, reached it out again, but Norman flinched when she touched him. So she let him cry. She sat in a chair near the door and watched him for a long time. Her heart twisted in on itself. She didn’t know what to do next.

  Finally, Norman lifted his head and said quietly, “I thought you didn’t care what Barry did.” He sniffed and wiped his face. “I don’t understand you, Molly. Make up your mind!”

  Molly wrapped her arms around herself and stared at her cousin.

  “We don’t know where he is,” Norman continued. “We have eight days to find him and get him home. That’s impossible. The whole thing was impossible from the beginning. We have no idea what to do next. We really don’t. I am no hero. And guess what. Neither is Barry! You think it will fix things to bring him home?”

  Molly’s mind began to race. She looked around their room. They were so far from home. The surf crashed onto the sand. Seagulls called beyond their door. The most important thing to do right now, she decided, the only thing she knew to do, was to answer them. So she set her jaw.

  “I’m going swimming,” she announced.

  Norman lifted his eyes to his cousin’s. “Now?”

  “Now. Let’s go. You know how the ocean works, Norman, you’ve been around it all your life! You put on your suit and you run in. C’mon, I’ll race you!”

  She tugged him off the bed and he unfolded himself, hesitant and yet compliant. She opened his suitcase, threw his Boy Scout shirt on the bed with a laugh, and tossed him his suit. She ran into the bathroom with hers. “Go!”

  For a little while, they were kids again. They raced each other to the water, Flam at their heels, barking. The beach was a half-moon of toasted sand hugging San Luis Obispo Bay. It horseshoed to a pier and ended with the San Luis Lighthouse at the point. It curved around them like an embrace.

  The tide was coming in and they had the place to themselves. Tiny plovers scooted along the wet sand near the water’s edge, making footprints that the surf washed away. Flam would not go into the water. He r
an back and forth on the beach and chased the seabirds.

  Molly and Norman screamed into the sky as they hit the surf and dove under the salt water. They washed away the past ten days of unbelievable life and tried to find their former selves. They twisted and turned somersaults and came up gasping for air, waves slapping them in the face. It was glorious.

  When they had yelled their throats raw, they left the water and walked to their cabin. The tide line was thick with sand dollars and shells, a feather, strings of kelp, and pocks of tiny holes where the sand crabs fished and burrowed into the wave wash. All of this life was sprayed artfully across the wet sand like a tiny galaxy. “Look,” said Molly, pointing to it. “A Milky Way.”

  “It’s a big world,” said Norman.

  “It’s an infinite universe,” said Molly. “Or that’s what my science teacher said. You think men will really walk on the moon?”

  “If Drew has anything to say about it, they will,” said Norman.

  Blue butterflies danced around white blossoms in the buckwheat plants by their cabin. The sunset would soon be gone and the purple night sky begun. The Point San Luis Light blinked safe here, safe here, safe here.

  “You never see this in Charleston,” said Molly with a sigh. “The sun rises on the water there.”

  Norman stopped beside Multitudes’ door and tapped his prize bell softly. “We’ve been from sea to shining sea,” he said. He looked at Molly in a kind of astonishment.

  Molly thought about how to answer her cousin and settled on one word.

  “Groovy.”

  Norman laughed and then a sob heaved out of his chest. Just one.

  “Norman?”

  He waved her away. “I’m okay.” He sniffed and wiped at his nose with his salty arm. “I’m fine.” He was. He would drive to San Francisco. And then? Then he would drive home.

  They got showers with plenty of hot water and lathery soap and scented shampoo and clean towels and plunged into their beds, onto cool crisp sheets. Norman fell asleep mid-sentence, trying to tell Molly about the first time he picked up a pair of drumsticks.

  Molly was already dreaming.