On the Road to Woodstock Somewhere in Maryland
On the Road to Woodstock
Somewhere in Maryland
Whether I wanted to read Livy one of Ron’s letters wasn’t the issue.
As the awkward silence between us grew, the situation became clear.
I was in checkmate. Livy had put my king into an inextricable check from which I had no escape.
Reluctantly I dug a hand inside my purse, plucked one of the letters out at random, and read aloud.
Long Binh, South Vietnam
Dear SuSu,
How are you, little sis? I hope you’re enjoying your freshman year! I’m happy I can write to you at your PO box without Dad reading every word.
I’m pretty good. To answer your question, yes, it’s still miserable here but I’m trying to improve my attitude.
It’s best for me to think about the future instead of the now.
The irony is the beauty of this place. Despite the death and destruction, the landscape is gorgeous.
The sunsets are from another universe. When our chopper flew into this one beach all I could think about was how, under different circumstances, I’d love to vacation here.
The Vietnamese girls are pretty, too. Ha ha!
I glanced at Livy with a tight-lipped smile.
So far, I’m the only guy in my company whose dad insisted I enlist. I’ll probably meet more before I go home.
My CO told me there are plenty of men Dad’s age who think their sons ought to serve their country like they did.
If I hadn’t enlisted, it would have been a reflection on him.
He doesn’t care that the US shouldn’t be here in the first place.
I love my country, and I used to think it was an honor to serve in the military, but that was before Vietnam.
I’d give anything to be holding a protest sign instead of an M16. I don’t believe in this war.
I have something gross to report today. I never gave getting leeches much thought until I got here, but during our mission we had to cross several streams with marsh and reed grass.
The streams had waist-high water. Even with our pant legs tied, fitted tight over our ankles, we still got leeches.
The only thing that helped to remove those blood suckers was our lit cigarettes.
Our CO told us not to remove them with a knife because that would only remove their bodies.
Remember in my last letter I told you we stayed wet for days? Well, jungle rot happens if you can’t change into dry clothes and socks. We get skin ulcers that resemble moon craters all over our legs and groin. They’re pus-filled lesions that look like giant chicken pox sores.
I looked over at Livy in horror. “Gross!” we both yelled at the same time.
One of the saddest things about this war is the thousands of innocent Vietnamese women and children who are dying.
I won’t even go into detail about those horror stories.
It would make you wretch. I’ve witnessed things no person should ever see.
It’s hard to sleep because I can’t get the images out of my head.
Johnson is lying to everyone over there. Don’t believe him.
“See, I told you,” Livy interrupted. “Keep going.”
I cleared my throat—to banish my own ghastly images—then went back to the letter.
My friend, Freddy C (we call him that because there are two Freds in my platoon), is better than a brother.
We look out for each other. He saved me from a venomous snake bite the other day.
The rascal had curled up inside my boot looking for a dark warm smelly spot, ha ha!
Freddy C reminded me to shake it out before I put it on.
Otherwise, I’d have met my Maker from a snake bite.
That sounds like a better way to go than having my head blown off, if you want to know the truth.
In your last letter, you told me you stay up at night worrying about me. Please try not to. Maybe I’ll come out better for being here. I have a lot I want to do for mankind when I’m free again.
Gotta go. They’re coming for the mail now. I’ll write more later. As always, thanks for your prayers.
Peace and Love,
Ron
Livy’s knuckles had turned white from gripping the steering wheel. “None of that surprises me. But hearing it straight from Ronny makes it so much worse.” She glanced over, thrusting her cigarette toward me. “By the way, you are not responsible for him being there.”
I was responsible. And she knew it.
Returning my gaze to the window, I happened to catch the sign welcoming us to Pennsylvania.
Several seconds passed before I answered.
“I was such an idiot. I can’t believe I left my diary on my bed.
With the key in the lock. I knew better.
” Biting my bottom lip until it hurt, I grew disgusted with myself all over again.
“I still don’t know if it was Dad who read it or Mama.
I thought diaries were supposed to be sacred. ”
“They are sacred. My parents would never read mine.” Livy stubbed her cig in the ashtray. “Did you ever learn who the girl was?”
“He refused to tell me.”
“Would it make any difference now?”
With a long sigh, I pressed my fingers into my temples. “I think I’m just looking for someone else to share the blame.”
Livy reached over and squeezed my knee. “It’s not your fault. You have to forgive yourself.”
A small shrug was my response to that. “We’re supposed to wait for marriage to have relations.” I overemphasized the word relations. “The Bible says it’s a sin to have sex before marriage. That’s why Dad got so mad. He told Ron he’d burn in hell for what he did.”
“The Bible was written a loooong time ago. Times have changed.”
Her comment made me think of Mama’s tattered Bible, which made me think of something else. I blurted it out without thinking. “I could have sworn I smelled alcohol on Mama’s breath the night I left.”
“Duh. She has to cope somehow. Between her son in Vietnam and her psycho husband? I’d be a lush too.”
“She’s not a lush, Livy!” I said, fury rising. “I’ve never seen my mother take a single drink. Not once in my entire life.”
“With all the church rules in your house? She’s forced to hide it. I bet it’s vodka. Not as noticeable.”
Could Livy be right? Had Mama been drinking vodka to cope with how much meaner Dad had become? And with the pain of missing Ron? “If the church ever found out, or if Dad ever found—”
“Our family goes to church, but they don’t tell us we can’t drink. It was Jesus who turned water into wine.” She gaped at me with What the hell? written all over her face.
I didn’t respond.
“Where in the Bible does it say you can’t drink? Or listen to rock music, or dance to your favorite song?”
This time I gave her a big shrug.
“Why is your church like that?”
Now I was defensive. There were plenty of good things about my church. “I don’t know, Livy. It’s the only church I’ve ever been to.” She was flat getting on my nerves. I decided to block out her know-it-all voice by humming “Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds.” Loudly.
But Dad’s vicious voice boomed even louder in my mind.
I started obsessing over what he’d done the night I ran away.
I hated him now more than ever. Part of me wanted to tell Livy what had happened, but I knew it would just lead to another lecture I didn’t want to hear.
“I don’t think you understand how hard it was for me and Ron to grow up the way we did.
It’s the reason I’m . . . me. I can’t help it, Livy.
” I couldn’t meet her eyes; the shame about Dad and my unworldliness was too much to bear.
“I do understand,” she said in a much sweeter voice. “I was there.”
“No, you weren’t! Dad’s gotten much worse since you and Ron left.
I’m only allowed to spend the night at Penny’s house because her family goes to our church.
Even when I’m home from college! I’m required to be in the front door by eleven o’clock, and music is a thing of the past. Never mind that I’m twenty years old! I. Have. No. Life!”
“You do now. Your old life left the minute you decided to come with me. So long, psycho dad. Hello, happiness!”
Livy’s voice sounded scratchy when she said dad. For as long as I could remember, her voice had a raspy quality, like it had to pass through a grater to get out of her mouth. I couldn’t wait to change the subject. “Do you remember how Ron used to call you Flea Bit? Because of your scratchy voice.”
“I’d get so mad at him,” she said with a grin.
“He flirted with all my friends.” As soon as the words left my lips, my anger returned. “Forget Ron. I’m getting mad at him for not writing. Let’s just focus on our fun weekend.” Leaning back in the seat, I pictured us in a sunny meadow with a cool breeze, listening to Crosby, Stills & Nash—live.
“Okay, but I want to say one more thing.” Tenderness laced her tone. “This is not meant to scare you.”
I whipped my head around to find her lips mashed together. “What?”
“Do you think there’s a possibility Ronny’s been . . . wounded?” She glanced at me briefly, then back at the road. “And that’s why he’s not writing? Maybe your dad’s keeping it from you and your mom, so y’all won’t worry.”
“I don’t want to think like that, Livy,” I said, with renewed fury in my voice.
She backed down immediately. “Okay. Fine. It was just a thought.”
“My father doesn’t protect us from anything. He used to sometimes, before he made Ron enlist, but not anymore.”
I closed my eyes, daydreaming about the good ole days, long before the Vietnam War, when it still seemed like Dad loved me.
At least some of the time.