Twenty-Three October 1972–August 1973
TWENTY-THREE
The day John left, I rode the train to the city to see him off. Kiju protested, convinced I wasn’t old enough to take the train to the city and back all alone.
“My mother gave birth to me at fifteen, you had her at eighteen,” I reminded her.
“Times are different now. You don’t have to grow up so fast.”
I raised my eyebrows. She acquiesced. Besides, she liked John, maybe even loved him by that time.
She was one of the few who didn’t tell us that a romance that began in childhood would never last. So I boarded the train in the early morning, joining all the others headed into the city.
I squeezed by an older woman to take a seat by the window and watched as the train station disappeared behind us.
On the outskirts of town there were only trees, trees as far as I could see.
The never-ending green, framed by the blue sky, and the gentle rocking of the train lulled me to sleep.
It was the last solid sleep I would have for a very long time.
John was already at the station. His parents had driven him to the city to stay with an older sister.
He had been planning to buy a cheap car and drive himself down to Boston, but his mother talked him out of it since it would be little used once he enlisted.
Instead, he would have to take a train to Montreal then take the train headed for Boston, where his brother would pick him up, to start his basic training.
I had spent the last two weeks trying to talk him out of leaving.
After I told Kiju about John’s decision, she agreed to get a phone.
And I made a lot of use of it. Desperate phone calls, letters badgering him to stay, begging him to find work here, at home.
I cried, maybe even yelled. But he was unmoved, convinced his decision was the best thing for our future.
The train lurched to a stop, and my head hit the window, waking me up.
“Are you okay?” the lady next to me asked as I rubbed a spot on the side of my head.
“Yes, thank you. Just a little bump.”
“I think you must have been having a nice dream. You smiled in your sleep the entire way.”
I blushed as she took her bag from the rack above the seat and headed down the aisle.
The city train station was a busy place, people moving in every direction, whistles blowing, action unfolding everywhere.
I stood in one spot and waited to see John, as people milled about.
I felt like a stone thrown in a river, the water rushing around me, cold and disorienting.
When I spotted him, he was already walking toward me, a single yellow carnation in his hand.
He didn’t even say hello, just kissed me, right there, in front of everyone in the train station, his hand on the back of my head, holding me as close as he could.
When he finally pulled away, I was out of breath, and I’d dropped my purse to the floor.
I left it there and reached up to touch his hair.
It was short now, so very short. He smiled and bent to pick up my bag, then handed me the yellow carnation, which was slightly damaged from our kiss.
“Let’s get out of here,” he said. “There is a little place down the road where we can get a bite before my train leaves.” And there it was again, his leaving. Every time I tried to forget about it for a few minutes, the reason why I was here jumped back up to remind me.
The restaurant was small, only a few tables. They sold Chinese food, something I’d never had before. There was a Chinese restaurant in a town over from ours, but we’d never gone. I looked at the menu, confused.
“Do you want sweet or spicy?” John asked.
“Sweet, I think.”
John ordered for us. Sweet and sour chicken with vegetables and fried rice. The food tasted unlike anything I’d ever had before.
I found it hard to hold a conversation with John. It was pointless to keep telling him not to go. And I didn’t know what else to say.
“You’re quiet.”
“I guess.”
“Are you still angry with me?”
“No, of course not,” I said unconvincingly. “Well, maybe, I’m a little angry, or maybe a little sad, I’m not sure which, maybe it’s both.” I was rambling. “But I don’t want to ruin our last afternoon together.”
“I know you don’t want me to go. But I’ll be back before you know it, and in a spiffy uniform. You won’t be able to resist me.” He smiled.
“We’ll see about that.”
He reached over and took my hand. I wanted to imprint his hand on mine. I wanted to feel its warmth forever, his fingers gently splayed across the back of my hand, his thumb caressing my skin. Once he’d paid the bill and we’d exited onto the busy sidewalk, my hand was my own again.
As we approached the train station, I slowed my step.
“When you finish nursing school, we’ll start our life together. This will be good for us,” he said as he took my hand again and gently coaxed me into the station.
His train was on time. A night train to Montreal.
It was leaving at six thirty, the same time as mine but in opposite directions.
He walked me to my platform, put his backpack on the ground and wrapped his arms around me, pulling me toward him.
I wrapped my arms around his neck and stared at him.
I wanted to take in every detail of his face, his brown eyes, his thin eyebrows, his full, pink lips, the scruff on his face, the way his forehead gave way to his thick black hair.
I wanted to commit it all to memory. And I knew in those seconds before he bent down to kiss me that he was doing the same.
“I love you. And I’ll be back to get you. I promise.”
“Promises are meant to be broken.”
“Not this one.”
One last kiss and he let go of me, grabbed his backpack and stood back for one last look. Then he turned and walked away. I watched until he disappeared into the crowd. Then I got on my train, took a seat by the window, and cried.
We exchanged letters, so many letters, and I was able to talk to him on the telephone every Sunday night for fifteen minutes.
Basic training was hard and exhausting, but he enjoyed the routine, the way he never had to think about anything, how it was all laid out for him.
He said it was nice for a while because it gave him time to think about his life.
He was deployed shortly after, and there was not enough time for him to come home for a visit.
Our last phone call was in mid-November, and I remember sitting at the kitchen table, the cord wrapped around my pinky finger, Kiju in her room with the door closed to give us some privacy.
I could hear her pacing and humming to herself through the thin walls.
“So, I am going to Vietnam.”
The only thing I could hear was the static and his breathing. My entire body felt hot and my mouth went dry.
“But hear me out. We are just going to help with the evacuations. No real danger. And I get to see a different part of the world. There’s even a stopover in Germany.
” There was hope in his voice, I could hear it.
Hope that sending a small gift from a country I knew almost nothing about would assuage the feelings of dread I was having.
“When I get back and you graduate, we should take a trip. Maybe Montreal or Boston? What do you think?”
All my words dried up and disintegrated on my tongue before I could say anything.
“Aliet? Are you there? I know it’s not the news we wanted, but it will be fine.”
“It will be fine,” I repeated.
“Are you okay?” John asked.
“I’m okay,” I whispered into the phone.
“I’m fine too. Everything is going to be fine.”
The word fine had lost all its meaning.
“How’s the application to nursing school?” He was trying to change the subject, and I let him.
“Good. I don’t really want to leave Kiju, but she insists.”
“She knows you are destined for great things.”
My throat contracted with anticipated tears, but I was determined not to cry. The last thing I wanted him to hear was my sobbing.
“Stay safe and come back soon.”
“I will, I promise. Until then, I’m just going to keep reliving our day by the water.”
I blushed and put my other hand to my cheek.
“I love you,” I said.
“Kesalul and nmultes. I love you, and I’ll see you soon.”
The dial tone echoed off the walls and windows. I was sure Kiju could hear it behind her closed door.
There is no word for goodbye in our language because there is no such thing. You can’t give a name to something that doesn’t exist. For us, we are always walking among the ancestors. We will see each other again someday is always true.
I’ve never believed in clairvoyance. I don’t think we should be able to see into the future.
Nothing good can come from knowing how it’s going to go, how it’s going to end.
But one day, as I sat in biology class listening to Ms. Andrews drone on about the exciting science of cell structure, I was distracted.
There was an uncomfortable feeling, deep in my stomach, and I couldn’t shake it.
It stuck with me through lunch, and I couldn’t eat, it stuck with me through the walk home.
I usually took the bus, but I wanted the walk, the fresh air, the alone time.
The air was cold and I could smell snow as I looked up at the grey January sky.
I thought I might be getting my period or that I’d eaten something that didn’t agree with me.
I was walking with my head down, kicking rocks, seeing how far they would go, and didn’t see Sally and Ben’s truck in the driveway.
My sense of doom was temporarily lifted when I saw they were there, and I hurried into the house for a visit.
But my relief was fleeting. I opened the door, and three loving faces turned to me, and I knew that the feeling I had all day had meant something.
No one spoke, and Kiju got up from her chair and came over to me.
She took my backpack and stood there, her hands on my arms holding me still.
“What’s going on?” My voice was shaky.
“I’m so sorry, sweet pea,” Sally said from her seat at the kitchen table.