58

The dance hall was full near to bursting with all the people of Fort Colson. Even as cold as it was outside, inside it was so warm and I worried I’d sweat through the underarms of my dress. But once the hired band started playing, I forgot all about that.

It had taken very little convincing for David to get me to dance with him. The lights were kept low and the floor was so crowded, I was certain no one was watching my sorry efforts at doing the twist or the swim.

But then the electric keyboard started a new song with a slow melody. I knew right away which song it was. “Never My Love.” A tune that earned more than a few eye rolls when Mom had heard it on the radio.

All of the dancers around us either paired up, moving close to each other, or left the floor for glasses of punch or to stand along the wall, wishing they had someone to dance with. David put out his hands and grinned at me.

“Can I have this dance?” he asked.

I nodded, putting my hands into his, feeling his fingers closing over them. He lifted my left to his shoulder before putting his right hand on the small of my back. My stomach flipped and fluttered, making me feel somewhere between excited and ill. Whatever it was, I hoped the song would last a long time.

“Have I told you how pretty you look tonight?” he asked.

“A few times,” I answered.

“I hope you don’t get sick of hearing it.”

“How could I?”

The singer didn’t have the smooth voice I’d expected for the song. He lent a harder edge to the lyrics, but it little mattered. They could have played any song for all I cared in that moment. All of the band started in on the “duh-buh-duh” part of the song and David joined in, off-key and making me laugh.

“You can’t sing,” I said.

“That surprises you?”

“It’s a nice surprise.”

“How’s that?” he asked.

“I’m just glad that you aren’t perfect.”

“Not even close.”

When the song ended, we let go of one another, clapping along with everyone else. I hoped for another slow song and that David would want to dance to that one too. But no luck.

“Thank you,” the bandleader said. “Now it’s time for us to take five. But don’t worry, we asked a brand-new band to play a song or two to fill in for us. It’s their debut here in Fort Colson. Join me in welcoming the Bus Drivers!”

“That’s Joel’s band,” I said, looking up at David with eyes wide. “That’s my brother’s band.”

Sure enough, Joel took the stage, his Les Paul hanging around his neck and a big, silly grin on his face. The other boys joined him. John and Andy taking the microphones, Chris sitting at the drum kit. They wore their best suits, even if they didn’t match and the slacks were a few inches shorter than they’d been just a few months earlier.

Once set, Andy counted to four and Joel started on his guitar.

“Oh no,” I said, covering my mouth with my hands. “Why did they choose this song?”

Mom was no fan of the Rolling Stones and especially not of that song. When Joel had asked her why, she’d just said that she was little interested in “those British boys’ pursuit of satisfaction” and that it was “no surprise they couldn’t get a girl when they insisted on going on and on about it.”

The silly smile was gone from Joel’s face as he played, replaced instead by an expression of intensity, concentration. He looked grown up, and I thought it was good Mom hadn’t come and yet wished she could have seen him.

John and Andy sang into their microphones, their melody and harmony less rough-edged than Mick Jagger and Keith Richards. Chris hit the drums so hard, I feared they’d tip over.

They were good. As good as a bunch of fourteen-year-old boys could be. And when they finished, they took a bow, a spark in each of their eyes as if they had just realized that they’d gotten away with it.

The only thing that would have made it more perfect was if Mike had been there to hear it.

At ten seconds before midnight we counted down, all of us yelling at the top of our lungs. 1968 was so close, I could feel it. It seemed as if in just a few moments the whole world could change for the better, that only good things lay around the corner for us.

“. . . Five . . . Four . . . Three . . . Two . . . One . . .” we yelled. “Happy New Year!”

The regular band played “Auld Lang Syne” and the couples all around us shared kisses. I tried not to turn toward David, not wanting him to think he had to kiss me and unsure if I would survive something like that in front of half the town.

That was when he took my hand in his and lifted it to his lips.

It took me what felt like a whole minute to breathe again.

Dear Annie,

Hey, pal. I’ve been writing you some real doozies lately, haven’t I? If I’ve caused you nightmares, I want to apologize. That wasn’t very nice of me, was it? Listen, if you still have those letters, go ahead and burn them or tear them to shreds or use them to line the birdcage. I guess you can hold off on the last one.

I know you love birds, but I draw the line at keeping one inside.

Anyhow, I’ve just had a few really good days and I wanted to tell you about them.

The other day we opened up a makeshift clinic and let some of the locals come to get a little medical care they might not otherwise have. I let the real doctors take care of giving shots and pulling teeth. What I got to do was play games with kids while they waited to see the nurses or when their folks were receiving treatment.

It sure didn’t feel like being in the Army and for a little while, I was glad to be right where I was.

I’ve been reading my Bible a lot more lately. On days that are especially hard, it just seems to help me breathe again. Did you know Oma sent me a pocket-sized one a couple of months ago? It’s been a real life saver the past few weeks.

Anyway, I was reading and a certain verse stuck out to me. I’ve never in my life written in a Bible. I just thought it was disrespectful, I guess. But I took the pen right out of my pocket and underlined that verse and wrote the date in the margin.

“The people that walked in darkness have seen a great light: they that dwell in the land of the shadow of death, upon them hath the light shined.”

This is a terribly dark place, Annie. And it’s real easy to get lost in that darkness. But even in the worst days and the terrors, I can see a light. I swear to you, I can.

It seems real corny to say, but when I think about that verse, it just seems like God is so close. Like I can reach out and grab hold of him.

I don’t know if I’m explaining this right at all. I guess what I’m trying to say is that I feel at peace. Whatever happens over here, even with a war exploding all around my ears and death everywhere I look, I know that God is with me.

Everything is going to be all right. I just know it.

Happy New Year, sis.

Love,
Mike

PS: I know this envelope is thick and you might think I wrote all of this just to you. But I didn’t. Sorry to get your hopes up. I wrote something to everybody (you, Joel, Mom, Frank, Oma, Grandma, Bernie, even our sweetie pie Auntie Rose). If I don’t make it out of here, I want you to make sure they each get their letter.

Can you promise me that?

And I’m going to ask something really hard. Don’t read them unless, well, you-know-what happens. Can you do that? Put these in your sock drawer or hide them away in the attic or whatever you have to do to keep them safe.

They’re important.

Dear Mike,

Happy New Year! Can you believe it’s already 1968? Golly, this decade is speeding past in a hurry, huh? It seems like just yesterday we were little kids, sneaking downstairs to hide behind Mom’s chair and watch Guy Lombardo ring in 1960. Do you think she knew we did that?

The Legion put on a boss party this year. It was a real gas. You would have been really proud of our baby brother. His band played two songs and didn’t even get booted off the stage when they played the Stones.

Maybe when you get home we’ll throw a bash and they can play for it. They really aren’t half bad.

I wish we could sit at the kitchen table with a couple bottles of root beer to talk about all things. Truly, I don’t mind you telling me about the dark days. Not really. Sure, those letters rattle me a bit, but I’m sure not nearly as much as they do you. Don’t ever feel bad about writing those kinds of things to me.

But, I don’t mind saying that hearing good news from you makes me happy. I’ve always loved that verse that you wrote about. Your take on it reminded me of something that happened a few months ago.

I sat on the public access dock, watching a storm that raged from miles away. The clouds loomed large, white hot lightning splintering from them followed by the crash-boom of thunder. The sound of it echoed across the water.

No rain fell where I sat. From the way it seemed, I didn’t think the wind would press the storm my way. It was all far off, distant.

I didn’t tell anyone this because I was afraid it might not make sense to them. And it seemed a special moment that I didn’t want spoiled because someone thought I’d lost my marbles. Something tells me you’ll understand, though.

As I watched that storm, I just kept thinking, “That’s how God is.”

Sometimes he feels so far, as if to never reach us. We call for him, we beg him to come. And when he seems to stay away, we might even ask where he is.

Then we see his power on display and remember, he has gone nowhere. And he’s lost not one bit of his strength.

I don’t know if that makes any sort of sense to you at all. If it doesn’t, just don’t tell me or look at me funny.

Just remember, there’s a light in the darkness. The darkness cannot understand it. But that light isn’t for the darkness. It’s for you. It’s so you can find your way home.

I love you.

Annie

PS: The letters for the family are tucked away in my drawer. I hope that’s where they stay forever.