24

August was nearly spent before we knew it. Most of the people in Fort Colson tried to hold on tightly to the last days of summer even if it wasn’t terribly warm and Old Chip had already gone too cold for swimming. The sun set earlier every night, it seemed, reminding us that, soon enough, autumn would come to usher us into winter.

I wasn’t ready for summer to be done.

Joel and I took turns checking in on Grandma Jacobson, taking her cans of soup or fixings for sandwiches, sitting with her to make sure she’d eat. Each time I went, I hoped she’d have gotten a letter or phone call from Frank. Whenever I asked, she denied that she had.

The problem was, I wasn’t sure if I should believe her or not.

It was a Thursday and I used Mike’s car to drive to her house. Bernie had wrapped up a burger in tin foil for me to take to her. I didn’t knock on the door, instead I opted to let myself in. It seemed better than making her get up to answer it.

I found her in the living room, where she sat in Grandpa’s chair, staring out the window. She’d left a full cup of tea on the side table at her elbow. It had gone cold.

“Would you like me to make you a fresh cup?” I asked.

She shook her head. “I can’t keep anything down,” she said.

“How long has that been going on?”

“Don’t worry about me.” She waved me off as if it wasn’t important. “I’ll be all right.”

“But if you’re sick, we should call the doctor.”

“I’m not sick in that way.”

Sighing, she turned her face from me. Instead of pushing her to say more, I took her cold cup of tea into the kitchen and washed what few dishes she had used in the days since I’d last been there.

On the small table that stood flush against the kitchen wall was a box of old photographs. A layer of dust had settled on the top, which lay removed and discarded on the other side of the table. A few photos lay fanned out and face up. Gathering them in my hands, I recognized the young man in the first picture—tall and thin and grinning—as my grandfather. The beautiful woman on his arm was my grandma. In each picture they stood as close together as they could get. In a few, she held a baby that was either Frank or Aunt Rose, I couldn’t always tell. I flipped through a stack of them before I heard her shuffle in and stand beside me.

“I got those out last night,” she said. “I haven’t been sleeping, and it seemed like something to occupy my time.”

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen these before.” I looked at another. “Is this Grandpa?”

“He was handsome, wasn’t he?”

She had a hanky held tightly in her hand, raised to her chin. I couldn’t be sure, but I thought she might have been wearing the same housedress she’d had on the last time I’d visited. The sour smell of her told me she most likely was. Her typically set-perfect hair was flat in the back and dingy looking, as if it hadn’t been touched since the funeral.

“You miss him?” I asked.

“Of course I do.” She said it as if I was stupid for asking it. “I’ve missed him for years, though, haven’t I?”

I nodded, putting the stack of pictures down and turning to face her.

“It would have been better if he’d died five years ago,” she said. “He suffered so.”

“Grandma, don’t say that.” I swallowed hard, trying to push down the heaviness that threatened to erupt out of me. “You don’t mean it.”

“Maybe not. I don’t know. But, Annie, there are some things worse than dying.” Her dark eyes filled with tears, and she made to leave the room. “Lock the door when you leave. I won’t have you barging in here again. An old woman deserves a little dignity.”

“Have you heard from my father?” I asked.

She stopped, her shoulders tensing. “No,” she said. “He hasn’t contacted me. But I’m sure he’s back in the same place he’s been for twelve years.”

“Why did he leave?”

“How would I know?”

She left me in the kitchen, alone with a box full of memories that stung me to riffle through.

I did as she asked.

I locked the door behind me.

Fort Sam Houston
San Antonio, Texas

Everybody,

Remember in my last letter how I said medic training wasn’t near as bad as basic training? Well, I hate to admit that I was wrong. But I was. And how.

This week we learned how to give shots and start IVs. Guess who we practiced on. Each other. I have more needle holes in me than a pin cushion. I don’t mind telling you that I am sore! My partner blew my vein at least three times. I’ve never had an uglier bruise in my whole life.

I tried getting sympathy from one of the nurses here. But she said an angry bruise didn’t warrant a date off-base. Strike out for Mikey. I never did have much luck with the ladies.

Sorry, Joel. I’m afraid the lack of wooing skills is hereditary. You can thank Frank for that.

We’re on to splints and fixing dislocated shoulders next. Let’s just hope we don’t have to put a shoulder out of socket to learn how it feels. Now that I think of it, that might be a way to convince her to let me buy her a bottle of Coke.

They show us a lot of films here as part of our training. Just not the kind you’d want to eat popcorn while watching. I think they’re trying to get us ready for what’s coming, but they’re scaring me half to death. I guess I’m in the right place if eventually I get scared all the way to death. I’d bet these guys would love a little real-life opportunity to try out what they’re learning.

Don’t worry, Mom. The worst that’s happened so far is me getting sick in a garbage can.

One of the guys I met here said he’s been at Fort Sam for three months and hasn’t gotten his orders yet. He’s working in the hospital they’ve got on base. He said if I’m lucky, maybe they won’t send me to Vietnam after all. Wouldn’t that be something?

Would you all do me a big favor when you think of it? Go see Grandma a little more. Would you? She sent me a letter and I could tell she’s lonely. I know she’s not always the nicest, especially to you, Annie. But just pop your head in for a minute here or there. You’re all she’s got right now. We all know that Aunt Rose isn’t making any extra trips from Grand Rapids, don’t we?

Write back soon and tell me how it’s going. Joel, I bet you start school soon, huh? Eighth grade, right? Can’t believe how fast this summer went by.

Love,
Mike