Jordan Butler lay in a hospital bed in Saigon, recovering from a head wound he had received during an ambush by a tenacious band of NVA up in Tay Ninh Province. He and his unit had been out on a long-range reconnaissance mission. They were all so exhausted that when they finally stopped to rest, none of them had the strength to speak. Jordie, as he liked to be called, found a spot away from the others and slumped to the ground. He eased his head back until it rested on his helmet, sucking in a deep breath and letting it out slowly. He wished for time to pass where he rested in the same way. For he savored each second of silence and solitude he could snatch from all the bewildering chaos of battle, away from the one seeking him; the one who wanted to take his life and Jordie his. When would it all end? He wondered. How had he ended up where he was, struggling just to stay alive? Jordie closed his eyes. Instantly, he felt the heat of the sun on his eyelids. A mosquito began to sing in his ear. Sweat slithered down his face, parting the dirt and grit on its descent. He swatted at the mosquito and wiped away sweat, knowing he would repeat the ritual again and again deep into the night. At night, he had to concentrate on the unseen that watched him, patiently seeking an opportunity to strike. Take his life. Jordie could never see him, but he felt him out there. He would close his eyes then, though he’d never truly slept. Not the way he used to back home in his dad's house on 306 North Ashley Street in his room across from his younger brother, Trent. On top of the dresser that he and Trent shared was a framed photograph of Edie, Jordie’s girlfriend, dressed in her cheerleader’s outfit. Chris, his younger sister, was in the room next to theirs. Jordie's dad and mother were across the hall, asleep in the master bedroom. There and then, he was safe. He would awaken mornings and go to school, or in the summer he might go to the park to swim in the pool or play baseball, using the tattered mitt his dad had used to play center and left field in the minor leagues for the Chicago Cubs. Jordie did not know whether he fought harder to remember or to forget. One was just as painful as the other. He remembered, he sometimes surmised, when he clung desperately to every shred of life during times he believed that the normalcy of life, as he had once known it, would return. He tried to forget when he believed no other world existed, save the hell he abhorred so much. And there was no escape, no end except death. Jordie lifted his head up off his helmet and unbuttoned his fatigue shirt to inspect himself for leeches. One had situated itself near the center of his chest. He dug into his jungle fatigues shirt pocket and found a pack of Lucky Strike cigarettes and a cigarette lighter. He put the cigarette between his lips and lit it with the lighter. Jordie had never been a smoker, but he’d learned that it was one of the most effective ways to remove leeches from his body. He pressed the lighted cigarette against the one on his chest. It instantly fell off of him. He did the same to one that had started up the calf of his left leg. It scared him the most, fearing that it’s final destination would be somewhere up near his crotch. After inspecting himself for more of the blood sucking creatures, he was satisfied there were no more. Swatting mosquitoes and swiping sweat away, he laid his head back on his helmet again. He closed his eyes. Weak chuckles rippled past him through hot, thick air. A loud explosion, a bright flash and someone yelled, "Incoming!!!" "Incoming!!! "Incoming!!!" Then the sound of moaning was all Jordie remembered when he awoke in a hospital bed. Looking around, all he could see was darkness. At first he believed he was at home. In his room. And he could look across the room and see his brother, Trent, sleeping. Instead, he could barely make out the form of something in white; it groaned as if in pain. Jordie tried to sit up, but pain in his head kept him down. He threw his hands up to his face and felt bandages wrapped snugly around the top of his head. His fingers ran over his eyes, his nose and mouth. He pulled the blankets down to see if the rest of his body resembled what he saw lying in its bed on one side of him. Jordie grabbed at his own lower torso and touched pajamas made of a soft, cotton like fabric. Beneath them was his own flesh. Legs and feet intact. He let his head fall back on his pillow, relieved and thankful. He quickly glanced to the other side of him and saw that the form in the bed was not like the one he had seen in white. It was on its back and free of bandages. Blankets concealed the lower half of the form. But it looked flat there, as if parts of the form were missing. Jordie explored the rest of the room, but he was unable to see clearly, since his vision seemed to be impaired. He could hear a whirring noise. Arching his head upward, he saw the blurred image of a fan spinning idly from the ceiling. He heard more groaning, and now sobbing. The isolation, the strangeness of Jordie's surroundings intensified the pain that split his head down its center. What caused it? A tube stuck in his left arm was attached to a bottle above him that contained some kind of liquid. He understood he was in a hospital, but where? How? Weightlessness came over him; and he felt himself drifting. He grew weaker and weaker, as if all his strength was being drained from his body by some invisible force. Whatever it was that had come for him, he did not have the will to resist its power. Involuntarily, his eyes closed. The moaning, the crying, the whirring of the fan quieted. His vision languished and finally withered away. Thoughts of Edie claimed his mind and he was glad.
Late morning sunshine glistened, reflecting its light off the bumper of a highly polished chrome bumper. It was the Fourth of July, 1966. Jordie was out in front of his house, applying a coat of wax on his black, 1957 Chevy convertible. Afterwards, he would wipe clean its deep red leather interior. On the car radio, Chad and Jeremy sang a tranquil tune about saying goodbye to a summer love. It made Jordie sad. Finished with his car, he would drive to Edie Clarke's house and spend the remainder of the day and evening with her. A skinny, farm girl from Bowling Green with freckles sprinkled on her nose and cheeks, Edie befriended Jordie in Mrs. Cagle's ninth grade English class. She’d approached him after his short story titled “Bluegrass Summer '', about the summer Jordie had spent on his aunt and uncle’s Kentucky farm, was read aloud in front of the class. It was among the best short stories Mrs. Cagle said she’d ever read that was written by one of her students. While getting to know each other, they learned that one of their favorite books was by Charles Dickens. “Great Expectations''. Jordie, oddly enough, identified with the character, Pip. And Edie, naturally, loved the mysterious Estella. Edie was intelligent, an honor roll student, a member of the National Honor Society. And a very athletic cheerleader. An all American girl. And Jordie, the starting quarterback on Colby, Indiana’s high school football team, was crazy about her. He knew she had grown to care for him as more than a friend, but he was never sure how much. And now he wondered if Edie would marry him, if he asked. He realized that they had only been together for three years. But it would be the last Fourth of July he and Edie would be together, at least for quite some time. Jordie had been drafted into the Army in June, a month after graduating from Colby high school. He was due to leave for boot camp at Fort Leonard Wood, Missouri in three days. Edie would enroll at Indiana University in the fall. He heard the telephone ring inside the house as his mother called out to him, telling him it was Edie.
The black 1957 Chevy convertible cruised west on National Avenue to Tom's Parkmore where Jordie and Edie would have chili dogs, french fries and ice cold root beer for lunch. The top was down on the Chevy and the radio was tuned to WBOW AM. Tommy James and the Shondells deliberated about being alone with the girl of their dreams. Jordie took in the G.C. Murphy, Five and Dime store; the Riddell National Bank; Leifheits Men's store. He bought his favorite green pullover sweater there. And a pair of nice tan, wool slacks to go with it. With a peek down Walnut street, he saw the Cooper Theater, where he spent most Saturday afternoons watching matinees with Edie. "A Patch of Blue" was on the marquee now. He turned to Edie and saw the way the wind sailed through her soft auburn hair, blowing it in and out of her sun-kissed face, Wayfarers shielding her clear blue eyes. Her effervescent smile was for only him. The waitress rolled up to Jordie's car on roller-skates, dressed in a red and white striped mini-skirt. When she finished scribbling out Jordie and Edie's orders, she roller-skated back to the order window. Jordie pretended to admire her tanned, muscular legs as she leaned against another car taking the driver's order. Edie placed her hand firmly under Jordie's chin and turned his eyes to hers. "What's so special about the view over there?" Edie quizzed Jordie, sliding off her Wayfarers. Jordie kissed Edie lightly on her lips. "Nothing," he said, searching for signs of love in Edie's eyes. "Love me?" Whispered Jordie. The waitress delivered two tall frosted mugs of root beer to Jordie's car. "Let's see. You still got two chili dogs and two fries comin'. Right?" It was enough to distract Edie and prevent her from giving Jordie an answer to a question he had been afraid to ask since the night of their senior prom back in April, when he'd realized he had fallen in love with Edie. "Oh, I love the root beer at this place," said Edie beaming. Jordie handed Edie one of the mugs and a straw. "Edie. I want to ask you something." "I know. I could see it coming. Even before we left my house. You're broke. And you want me to pay." Edie was in a playful mood, perhaps to mask the melancholy that overtook her as the days went by and the time drew near when she and Jordie would separate for the first time in three years. There was a war in Southeast Asia. Although American soldiers were supposedly not heavily involved, the newspaper and television news accounts that Edie read and saw spoke more frequently of American young men being killed or wounded in battle. Edie was deeply concerned about Jordie. At the same time, she knew she had to keep her wits about her in order to do well in her studies at Indiana University, where she would be in a little over a month. She could hardly afford to let her emotions get the best of her. Jordie recognized Edie's light mood and could not bring himself to ruin it by becoming serious. He was prepared to do whatever it took to see her happy. He thought that if he had made up his mind earlier about applying, he possibly could be going to Indiana University in the fall with Edie instead of the Army. "Jordie. What were you going to ask me?” Edie inquired, drawing up a sip of root beer through her straw. "Huh? Nothing." Jordie stuttered before he scooped catsup with a french fry and offered Edie a bite. She moved his hand aside, searching his face with indigo eyes. In her mind, Edie wondered if they would always be a couple. Or was there some unseen force waiting to pull them apart eternally. Jordie started his car. "Maybe it'll come back to me later. Ready?" Edie put her half empty mug out on the tray that was attached to the car. The waitress rolled up fast and took it away. "Thanks! Come back!" And she skated vigorously away.
Jordie and Edie stayed in each other's arms at the Fourth of July dance sponsored by the local American Legion. Fireworks came afterwards at Forest Park baseball stadium. Jordie and Edie sat alone in the upper deck, watching the display. "Dad used to wake us up. Trent and me. Early mornings in the summer when he was on vacation. He’d bring us out here to play little league ball," reminisced Jordie, looking out at silver and gold streaks of fireworks launched from home plate. "I wasn't very good at it. Trent wasn't either. Dad never did know how much we hated playing. Trent moaned and groaned more than I did." "But you kept trying for him," said Edie, ignoring the fireworks and admiring Jordie. "Dad knew we were better than the way we played." Jordie turned and met Edie's gaze. They sat in silence, staring into each other's eyes. The fireworks finale came. Long, wide strips of red, white and blue streaked up against a moonlit sky and melted tranquilly away. Resounding cheers and applause erupted throughout every section of the stadium. Jordie kissed Edie in a way that he had never done before. His lips were still moist next to hers when he spoke: "Edie. Will you marry me?" She whispered into his ear. "Yes." ***
-end-
Epilogue
April 30, 1975. Wednesday. Edie lay in her bed, silently sobbing. Richard, her husband, was in the kitchen brewing coffee and preparing breakfast. Simultaneously, he watched a newscast on a portable television about the fall of Saigon, Vietnam. The television’s volume was loud enough for Edie to hear in the bedroom.
“A North Vietnamese tank broke the gate of the President’s Palace in Saigon....The people here were herded into groups. All they could take was hand luggage. Fifty at a time. They took off for the carriers, waiting in the South China sea…” Speaking over the television’s volume, Richard called out to Edie. “Coffee’s ready, honey!”
In the kitchen, on television, a former American prisoner of war made a final statement. He stood before a microphone, a Naval Officer at his side. His voice was weak and trembling. He spoke. “We are profoundly grateful to our commander and chief and to our nation. God bless America!”
Edie and Richard’s five year old daughter dashed into the kitchen. Richard turned to her. “Hey, Jordan...Be daddy’s sweetheart and go tell mommy coffee’s ready.” “Okay, daddy…” Jordan dashed out of the kitchen and into her mother and father’s bedroom. She stopped short when she thought she heard her mother crying. “Mommy? Mommy?” “Are you crying?” “Humm?” Jordan crawled up into the bed next to Edie and wrapped her arms around her mother. “What’s the matter?” “Okay, honey”…”Mommy’s okay,” Whispered Edie.
Jordan got off the bed and ran back to the kitchen. “Daddy, daddy.” “Mommy’s crying…” Richard started to rush out of the kitchen. But stopped first and turned the television off. He poured a glass of milk for Jordan and helped her into her chair at the kitchen table. “Drink your milk and I’ll go get mommy.” Then he hurried to see Edie.
“Edie?” “Edie?” Whispered Richard. But then he heard her crying. He crawled into bed beside her and took her into his arms. “I’m so sorry…” “Sorry, honey…” “I shouldn’t have had the television on…”
Edie turned to Richard, tears streaming down her face. “He was all alone…” “Jordie....” “He died all alone in that God forsaken country…” “Why?” “And for what?”
-end-
Copyright 2000 JDD
