10

Fourth of July morning was unseasonably cool. Opting for my navy-colored pedal pushers and pulling a red cardigan over my white T-shirt, I headed downstairs for the morning. An excitement swelled in my chest for the day. It was childish, I knew that. But I couldn’t help but anticipate the crowds at the parade, the floats and later the fireworks.

I was glad that Bernie had decided to keep the diner closed for the day.

In the kitchen, Mom had a box on the table, its contents strewn around it. She was still in housecoat and rollers, the slippers she’d gotten for Christmas on her feet.

“It’s cold out,” she said, not looking up at me as I went to the cupboard for a mug. “You’ll want a sweater.”

“I’m already wearing one.” I took down my favorite cup, a white one with an orange rooster crowing at a rising sun that had long ago worn off the ceramic. “Would you like some tea?”

“No,” she answered. “Thank you, though.”

“What are you looking for?” I asked, grabbing the kettle from the stove and putting it under the faucet.

“Oh, the old service flag. I’ve been looking for it since Sunday.” She picked up a cubed jewelry box, considered it, then put it among the rest of the items. “You haven’t seen it, have you?”

“No.” I put the kettle on to boil and moved to stand next to her, looking into the box. “What is it?”

“It’s just a cotton rectangle with a red border and blue star in the middle,” she said. “We had it in the window when Frank was in Korea. It just lets everyone know that a family member is at war. I wanted to put it up for Michael.”

“Are you sure you kept it?” I asked.

Years before while packing up the old house to move to the new one, Mom tossed nearly everything she found that reminded her of Frank. His shaving kit and Brylcreem. The underwear he’d left behind in his drawers and all of the records he’d enjoyed listening to. If anything was of value, she sold it. All other things went out to the curb for the trash collector to gather. She’d said it was so we’d have fewer things to move. But I knew that wasn’t the whole reason.

“Maybe I’ll just have to order a new one.” One by one, she picked up what she’d unloaded, piling it back into the box. “I guess I didn’t think ahead. Your water’s boiling.”

The kettle stopped its high-pitched whistle when I turned off the gas. I poured the water over my tea bag, the steam full of the scent of herbs and earth.

“I wish you’d known him before,” she whispered.

“Who’s that?” I asked.

“Frank.” She shook her head. “I’m sure you hardly remember him.”

“I do. Mostly the way he was after the war.”

“I’m sorry about that.”

She picked up the box, carting it back to her bedroom closet where she kept it hidden among the skirts of her wedding dress.

That dress was almost another casualty of what Mike sometimes called “Operation Frank Removal.” But, all those years before, as she crumpled it in her arms to dump in the trash can, her face had changed, as if something inside had let loose. With just a hint of emotion, she had carried it right back to her room, smoothing the bodice and the train, fitting it back into its protective case.

From the kitchen, I could hear her wrestling with it once more as she fit the box back into the space where it would be cloaked by the skirt.

The Frank she’d worn that dress for hadn’t come back from Korea. Instead, a different man returned. One haunted by explosions and death and the stink of war.

Blowing over the top of my tea, sending wisps of steam over the water, I prayed that Mike wouldn’t have to go to Vietnam. And if he did, that he’d come home just the way he’d left.

If we climbed onto the roof of our house, we could see the fireworks light up the sky over Old Chip. Ours was a modest display. I was sure it was nothing compared to the one Grand Rapids or Lansing put on. Still, it was our celebration, and no amount of mosquitoes could keep us from it.

Joel and I reclined on the roof, our knees bent and heads resting just on the peak. Mom had opted to sit with Oma on the porch swing, the two of them chatting quietly, not as interested in the show as we were.

“You know who Jimi Hendrix is?” Joel asked, turning his head to look at me.

“I don’t live under a rock,” I answered.

“Do you know what the Monterey Pop Festival is?”

I sighed. “Yes, but I know you’ll tell me anyway.”

“It was in California. All the rock stars were there. You know what Jimi Hendrix did?”

“Nope.”

“He lit his guitar on fire.”

“Why would he do that?” I asked.

“I don’t know.” Joel smiled. “But it’s pretty groovy, isn’t it?”

“No. It’s stupid.”

“I bet he has a hundred guitars.” He crossed his arms. “If I had a hundred guitars, I wouldn’t think twice about setting one on fire.”

“You don’t even have one.”

“Yeah, I know.” He smacked a mosquito on his neck. “As soon as I save up enough to buy one, I’m getting a band together. Andy said he’d teach me how to play.”

“That would be cool.”

Purple sparks blasted across the sky, the sound of it echoing off the trees and houses.

“What do you think Mike’s doing now?” Joel asked.

“I don’t know,” I answered. “Maybe the same thing as we are.”

“I bet the Army’s got better explosions than we do.”

I smiled. “Probably.”

Green blazed, then yellow and blue.

“Do you think he’ll have to shoot anybody?” He rolled his head on the shingles, looking at me. “I mean in Vietnam.”

When I shrugged, I felt the roughness of the roof scratch at my shoulders through my sweater. “He might.”

“I wouldn’t be able to live with myself.”

“I guess you’d do what you had to in order to stay alive.”

Orange bloomed, then red and white.

“Some guys go over there and just dig latrines all day,” Joel said.

“Who told you that?”

“Pete.”

“How would he know? He’s what, twelve?”

“Maybe Mike’ll do that,” he said, ignoring my question. “Then he won’t have to kill anybody.”

We watched the last of the fireworks before climbing back down the ladder to the ground. Mom and Oma were heading inside for cups of hot tea. Joel went in for a cookie that Oma had promised earlier in the evening.

I stayed outside, sitting on the porch steps, pulling my cardigan close around me.

All the happenings of that day—the parade and fireworks and hot dogs and Fort Colson full of red-white-and-blue—were to celebrate independence. Independence won through fighting.

Every American war, including the Revolution, had required a Jacobson. Not all of them had made it home.

I was no hippie or flower child or anything like that. Not by a long shot. But I would have been happy if the war would just end.

As much as Uncle Sam thought he needed Mike, we needed him more.

Fort Knox
Davidville, Kentucky

Dear Mom, Annie, and Joel,

Well, I made it through the first two weeks here at basic training. You wouldn’t recognize me if you saw me now. My hair is cut all the way down to the scalp (all my beautiful curls, swept into a pile in the corner of the barber’s shop) and I’ve grown muscles where I never knew they existed before. I’ve done more sit-ups and push-ups over the last fourteen days than I have in all my life. I’m not even going to mention the pull-ups. Gosh, I’d like just one day when I don’t have to run or jump or anything like that.

Between training and drills, we’ve been taught how to make a bed properly and that cleanliness is next to godliness. Mom, you’d be impressed by how tight I can pull a sheet over a bed now. You’d be surprised what a neatnik I can be with a drill sergeant breathing down my neck.

Don’t get the idea that I’ll keep this up at home, though.

We did some tests to figure out our jobs for the Army. Go figure, there’s more than just shooting up the enemy. Who knew? Anyway, they say they want me to train as a medic. How about that? I guess it was a good thing I stuck with the Boy Scouts after all. Tell Mr. Riggs thanks for teaching me first aid in Scouts. I’m sure I’ll put all he taught me to good use.

At the end of basic I’ll be headed to Houston for Medic Training. I heard somebody say that some of the medics get stationed in Japan or someplace like that. Gosh, I’d sure hate to be sent somewhere like that and miss out on Vietnam altogether. That would be the pits.

Just joshing, Mom. I know you want me to avoid war if I can manage it. Believe me, I feel the same way.

I guess I better go. Lights out comes early here and, golly, am I ever ready for it when it comes. I’ve never been so tired in all my life. And hungry. They sure don’t feed me so well as you do, Mom.

Joel, stop laughing about that. You’ll hurt Mom’s feelings.

I love you three. Annie, take care of Joel. Joel, take care of Mom. Mom, take care of Annie. All of you, take care of my car. That should do.

Mike