Death Coming Up the Hill (8 page)

 

and started wailing.

I picked up my sister, cooed

and rocked her, and tried

 

to convince Mom that

everything would be all right.

How, I didn't know.

 

Dinner with Dad at

Coco's: cheeseburger, fries, a

chocolate shake, and

 

a huge serving of

quiet. He stared at his plate,

then at me; then he

 

sighed. Red rimmed his eyes,

and his body sagged like he'd

just finished a long

 

march through the jungle.

He couldn't sleep anymore,

he said. He missed me,

 

but after what Mom

had done to him, he couldn't

bear the sight of her.

 

Dad cleared his throat and

leveled his eyes on mine. I

felt sorry for him

 

when he said, “I'm just

trying to do the right thing

for you, son. Honest.”

★  ★  ★

When I got home, the

peacenik—with a mean Afro,

denim shirt, and bell-

 

bottoms—sat with Mom

and had Rosa tucked into

the crook of his arm.

 

He shook my hand, said,

“My name's Marcus,” and smiled, but

behind his wire-rim

 

glasses, his eyes looked

nervous. Rosa's father was

tall, broad-shouldered, and

 

handsome. Mom said, “You

two should have met sooner. I

should have . . .” She dropped her

 

eyes. “This wasn't fair

to you—or to Dad—and we

never . . . well, Rosa

 

was a big surprise.

I'm sorry, Ashe, for what I've

done to our family.”

 

Marcus planted a

gentle kiss on Rosa's head

and handed her to

 

Mom. “I'll do right by

you and Rosa, but I'm tapped

out and on the run

 

from the Feds. When I

get settled in Canada,

I'll take care of you.”

 

We believed him, but

in wartime, promises are

as solid as smoke.

★  ★  ★

The only good news

that week came on Halloween.

President Johnson

 

announced a total

halt to the U.S. bombing

in North Vietnam.

 

“It's a start,” Mom said.

“Maybe it'll turn out to

be the beginning

 

of the end of the

war. Maybe by the time you

graduate, we'll be

 

out of Vietnam,

and you won't have to worry

about the draft.” Mom

 

would turn out to be

right, but not in the way that

she and I had hoped.

 

The optimism

we all felt when LBJ

announced a halt to

 

the bombing blew up

the next week when Nixon beat

Hubert Humphrey in

 

the presidential

election. Nixon had made

promises about

 

what he would do to

end the war, but Mom didn't

believe him. To her,

 

he didn't seem like

someone the American

people ought to trust.

★  ★  ★

The morning after

the election, Angela

drifted into school

 

looking fried. When I

asked her if she was okay,

she just ignored me.

 

I wasn't surprised.

Mom had stayed up late watching

the election news,

 

and she was so mad

that morning she could hardly

talk. Angela felt

 

just as strongly as

Mom did, so I thought Nixon

was the reason for

 

her grave mood. We walked

to Mr. Ruby's class in

silence, and before

 

we reached the door, she

pulled me into a fierce hug

and started bawling.

 

The Army, she said,

had just sent news about her

brother: MIA.

 

I didn't know what

to do or say, so I just

stood there and held her

 

while she quietly

sobbed into my shoulder, and

for some reason I

 

thought about my mom

and dad and Rosa and the

brewing battle that

 

would tear us apart,

and I started crying, too,

because we had both

 

lost someone we loved

to a senseless war that could

have been prevented.

 

Part of the divorce

wrangling included a court

order to appear

 

before a judge for

a custody hearing. Mom

showed me the papers

 

during dinner while

she was nursing Rosa. “I

don't want to lose you,”

 

she said tenderly,

and I wasn't sure if she

meant me or Rosa,

 

but as I watched my

baby sister snuggled with

Mom, I knew what she

 

had meant. I couldn't

blame her. I was seventeen,

and I could handle

 

whatever crap Dad

threw at me, but Rosa was

only a baby

 

who still needed her

mother to love and care for

her. I'd had my turn

 

being raised by Mom,

and now Rosa should have hers.

I
had
to find a

 

way I could be a

hero for Rosa in the

coming war with Dad.

 

Angela gave me

a copper MIA wrist-

band with her brother's

 

name and the date he

went missing on it. I was

supposed to wear it

 

until he came home—

or until his body was

found. I slid the smooth

 

bracelet over my

wrist and wished I had something

to give her, something

 

permanent like this

wristband that would remind her

of me if I went

 

missing in action.

Last night, Mom had talked about

running away from

 

Dad and the hearing,

taking me and Rosa to

California or

 

Florida or some-

place Dad wouldn't be able

to find us. I tried

 

to imagine the

three of us living away

from home and friends and

 

trying to pay the

bills. It wouldn't work, I said.

There's no way we could

 

earn enough money

to live on
and
pay out-of-

state tuition: the

 

draft would snatch me on

my next birthday. Mom looked heart-

broken. “What else can

 

I do? Marcus will

send us whatever money

he can and join us

 

when we get settled

somewhere.” I believed her, but

who'd pay for college?

 

We ate Thanksgiving

dinner at Angela's house.

Somehow, her mom had

 

the energy to

host a big meal despite all

their worries about

 

Kelly. Their home felt

so cozy that Mom and I

lingered long after

 

dinner. Sharing the

holiday together did

something for both our

 

broken families,

so when Angela's dad asked

us to celebrate

 

Christmas with them next

month, Mom and I agreed right

away. The warmth from

 

Angela and her

parents filled the room, and we

floated home on it.

★  ★  ★

Mom gasped when she saw

Dad's car parked in front of our

house. I steered into

 

the driveway and shut

off the engine. Mom looked mad—

or scared—and tightened

 

her grip on Rosa,

who had started to cry. “Take

Rosa inside,” I

 

said. “I'll deal with Dad.”

While they left, I got out of

the car and met him

 

in the front yard. He

reeked of beer. “Is that the black

bastard?” “Rosa,” I

 

said. “My sister's name

is Rosa.” I sounded a

hundred times calmer

 

than I felt. A flash

of pain twisted Dad's face. “How

can you consider

 

her a sister? Do

you know what your mother did

to me? To
us?
” He

 

stepped closer. “Come on,

Ashe. I can take you away

from all this right now.”

 

“One ninety-two” was

on the board, and beneath it,

Mr. Ruby wrote

 

“30,000.” He

took a deep breath and told us

that this week, the death

 

toll in Vietnam

since 1961 hit

that number. He snapped

 

his fingers. “That's half

of all the residents of

Tempe. Dead.” He snapped

 

his fingers again.

“Gone. The loss is crushing, but

it doesn't even

 

include civilians,

POWs, or those

missing in action—

 

and we can't even

begin to calculate what

we've suffered at home.”

 

I thought about those

weekly casualty counts,

the stern mug shots of

 

local guys killed in

action, Kelly MIA,

and the trauma in

 

my own home. Mr.

Ruby really knew what he

was talking about.

 

Last week, two letters

dropped on our house like mortar

shells. The first announced

 

that a judge would soon

end our financial support

from Dad. Rosa and

 

Mom would be cut off

forever; me, too—unless

I lived with my dad.

 

Abandon Rosa

and Mom, and he'd pay all my

college expenses,

 

thus guaranteeing

a four-year draft deferment.

Stay with Mom and lose

 

everything. Dad's threat

burned me, but Mom stayed cool. “We

can count on Marcus,”

 

she said. “It won't be

easy, but he'll send enough

for us to get by.”

 

Her tightlipped smile showed

her determination to

keep this part of our

 

family intact.

She opened the next letter,

and while she scanned the

 

page, her hand trembled,

and her determined façade

faded. She dropped the

 

letter and grabbed me

like she was drowning. “Marcus

is dead,” she whispered.

 

Angela cried when

she heard, and worry spilled out

with her tears. “What are

 

you going to do,

Ashe? What are you going to

do?” She hugged me and

 

wouldn't let go. Mom

worried, too, when I said I'd

quit school and get a

 

job. “That's crazy! What

about college? Live with your

dad—something will work

 

out for us.” Her words

dripped with doubt. Dad had tossed a

grenade into our

 

family, and Mom

wanted to be the hero.

I couldn't let her;

 

I couldn't live with

Dad while Mom and Rosa were

dumped on the street. He

 

had us trapped, and

I had to figure out the

answer. Angela

 

and I stayed up late

talking about options, and

though she wouldn't say

 

it, there was only

one that might work, one she and

I couldn't discuss.

 

Christmas brought no gifts

except time, plenty of time

for thinking about

 

what heroes do. I

figured out that a hero

is someone who risks

 

his life for something

greater than himself. Throughout

history, people

 

have accepted risks

for some greater good, and I

could think of nothing

 

greater than the well-

being of Mom and Rosa.

I loved them more than

 

I hated war—and

even more than I feared death.

It was my turn to

 

sacrifice. When she