Although he was only eighteen his hands showed the calluses of a retired field worker. After he had quit school, he had bailed hay for the farmers around town. After a year of hauling hay, the war had gotten even worse, and he had enlisted. A buddy of his had died the spring before; he walked right into a mine field. Damn near drove his mother crazy. It was a shame he thought, sending all of these boys who had something to leave behind. So he had enlisted. He walked right into the office and signed his soul away. Rader Jackson, he never thought that his name could mean so much. He hadn’t thought about leaving much; not in that next month anyway, but now that he stood at the bus stop in his faded jeans with his duffel bag draped on his shoulder, it was different.
The thoughts began to race through his head. Not thoughts of death or battle; he did not think of how the cold metal would sit in his hands. He did not wonder what the stench of death would do to his innocence, and he did not wonder how the eyes of the dead would haunt him for the rest of his life. Everything new was obsolete to him. The only thing he could focus on was how alone he was. He had lost his parents and then his grandparents; he had a dog for a time but retrievers are wanderers, and one day he stopped coming by for scraps. Rader stood there at the bus stop, his duffel bag on his shoulder, and he cried. There was no one to say goodbye to; no one to stop him from enlisting in the first place. He had three hours until he left everything that he had ever known, and he had nothing to make peace with.
Suddenly he was embarrassed, what if someone drove by and saw him there, waiting? The town was small, and everyone knew the schedule. The passers-by would know that he had nothing more to do than wait. He turned from the stop and headed towards the diner.
The diner had been there since before he was born; it was an old box car that old man Leary had turned into a pit stop for the bus passengers. It was on the outskirts of town and the local farmers usually avoided it. They didn’t like travelers; they had nothing better to do than sit in that diner until the next train came through. The locals found that the travelers’ luxury of time was an inconvenience. They always wanted to sit and talk about the war or how crazy the world had gone. The farmers wanted to stay separated from the madness.
Rader would be safe from familiar faces here, and his bus was the only one coming or going on a Saturday night so he would find solitude. He walked to the back of the box car and sat down. He recognized the waitress right away, Abigale Thompson. She was a couple of years his junior, but his grandparents used to bring her over to play with him on Sundays. "A good girl," his meemaw used to say, "it is too bad her father is so wild." Rader was too young then to understand why she used to go to church with them instead of her own family. He was too young to notice the slur in her father’s speech and the whiskey on his breath. He didn’t know for sure what had happened to her mother; he had heard rumors that she had died during childbirth.
He noticed how pretty she was as she walked towards him. She studied his duffel bag and face for a second and then acted as if she had never known him before. "What can I get ya," she asked. He looked past her eyes only to notice the bow in her hair; he remembered the pink bow from school; it was always kept in perfect loops around her straight blonde hair. She had thick beautiful hair, and he wondered why she didn’t wear a blue bow. It would have shown her eyes much better. He order some bacon and a glass of water with no ice, and after scribbling his order on a green pad she was gone again.
He sat there for a moment thinking of how he had missed seeing her around. He decided that when she brought his food he would ask her to sit. He felt the lump grow in his throat as she came towards him. He had been alone for so long that he was scared to talk to her. It had been at least a month since he had talked to anyone except for the little Mexican boy who lived next door, but the boy was only six and hardly qualified as conversation. Had he forgotten how to relate to people? What if he couldn’t keep the conversation going? Maybe she had acted as if she did not recognize him because she did not want to talk to him. "You have nothing to loose," he told himself, "the worse she can do is say no". Before he could think anymore it just came out, "would you mind sittin’ down and talkin’ to me for a while, I’ve been feeling pretty low today". He could not believe that it had come out so fully; he could feel his face turning red. She smiled, and he could see how genuine she was by looking into her eyes. "I get off in fifteen minutes, and if you can wait I know a place that we can go." With that she walked away, and he ate.
In fifteen minutes she was back, but this time she was wearing lipstick and no apron. He told her that he didn’t have a car, but she said they could walk. It was nice out, and they were not going far. They walked down the road about a block to the pier. They had been here before; he wondered if she remembered. They used to catch bullfrogs when they were small. They sat down in silence, looking onto the pond, and he said, "Abby, I know that you probably have a boyfriend, but I want someone to send a letter home to." She was the only person that he had left here, and he wanted to explain that to her. She was the only living memory that he had from his life, and he wanted to tell her that he loved her. He wanted to ask her to wait for him to come back, but he didn’t. He sat there; just waiting for her to respond. She looked through her tears into his eyes. She had been his forever. She had never passed their days of play off; she had always loved him. She cried out to him, "I will never hold hands with anyone else! I will read your letters like they are my life, and reply to you with my soul." They hugged, and he held her so tightly she thought it likely to die there in his arms.
They talked for the next two hours of how it would be once he came home, and then he was gone. She kissed him as he got on the bus, and she handed him her address. A tear trailed down his cheek as he rode away; he had found someone to say goodbye to.
When Rader arrived in California he had already written her two letters. They were really not about much of anything though, and he decided to wait to send them with his next, which was sure to be more relevant. When he laid on his bunk that night, despite all the excitement, everything new, he could tell her of nothing besides his heart. He told her of how it might be love; he told her that he thought of nothing but her. He sent the letter the next day, and one everyday following for six weeks. His last letter from California was to tell her that he was leaving for Vietnam the next morning. She cried as she read the words.
Dear Abigale,
By the time you receive this I will be in Vietnam. I had expected to have longer notice of the trip, but they just told us today. My sergeant tells me that I am ready; he tells me that I am brave. I am scared though Abby. I’ve heard stories of little kids and grandparents being killed over there. I have seen boys fresh back from Nam, sent home without their arms or legs. My platoon is all worried about their wives and children, and I am worried about you. Even though it feels that I am not real, believe in my love. I will be home soon, and until then I will think of how much I have to get back to. I’ve been think that we could maybe buy that pier when I get back. Maybe we could buy the whole farm. I have some money from hauling hay, and my severance should be enough to cover the rest. We can get married then, and everything will be perfect. I will write from Nam.
I love you angel,
Rader
She would wait forever she thought. She closed her eyes and she could see him, shy, asking her to sit with him. If the war lasted forever, then she would wait that long.
The people at school thought she was crazy; she was spending her life waiting for the love of a traveling soldier. She did not listen to what they said. She had been alone for this long, and he was worth waiting for. She lived on his letters; every morning she would dash to the mailbox. She would read and be right there next to him again; it was as if he was already back, just telling her stories from the past. She couldn’t wait for the war to be over. He would be a hero then, and she would be his wife. She heard the travelers at the diner talk of the evils of the war. They cursed the soldiers and called it a lost cause. They spoke of how the Americans had no business in Vietnam. and they said that they were only there to die. She never lost faith though. She just smiled at the visitors and thought to herself, "they’ll see. When the war is over and our boys won; then they will change their minds." She was proud of Rader, and nothing could be said to change that.
The first letter that Abigale got from Vietnam came weeks after the last one from California had arrived. She had checked the mailbox every morning, and she had never been discouraged by the absence of letters. She knew that one would come. The morning that she saw his handwriting again she was ecstatic. She ripped the envelope open and sat down right there on the sidewalk. She began reading:
Angel,
I got here three days ago, and I have already been on the front line of battle. Forgive me for not writing sooner, but I have been thinking a lot of what to say to you. The country in reality is itself a charming place, but it has been torn apart by this war. When I try to sleep at night I am tormented by the sound of ammo firing and the orange flashes which overrun the sky. When I close my eyes I see the death which I have until this point been lucky enough to avoid. I don’t want to tell you of these things Abbey, but they are changing me so. I killed a boy today. I had to, it was either him or me. I just kept thinking of coming home to you. He could not have been fifteen yet, and I can’t help but pray that his mother does not go mad. His blood was all over me., and as much as I want to be glad for shooting him, I can not. He died for what he believed in, and as I see it that does not make us different from one another. Angel, I just don’t even know why I am here anymore; why any of us are here anymore. The majority of the people don’t want us here. They bomb our camps and bars and spit on us as we walk through their villages. They curse our names. Through all of this my memory of your smile is the only thing keeping me sane. I have to go now, the charlies are near and we have to turn out the lights. We are going on the trail tomorrow; so don’t worry, but I won’t be able to write for a while.
I love you,
Rader
She set the letter next to her on the curb. She was angry with herself for letting her tears smear the ink on the page. She wished that she did not feel like she was sitting next to him. She wished that she could not close her eyes and picture the boy that he had killed. She cried because the death and the sounds made her sick to her stomach; she cried because her love was forced into fighting for a cause that few believed in. She cried because she wanted Rader to come home. He would be home soon; the war would be over. She could feel it. She had heard President Nixon say that he was bringing the troops home. She calmed herself; it was almost over.
The town had ignored the ugliness of the war and continued along with its day to day activities. The town still believed in America; the soldiers were still heroes, and the United States was still going to win the war. It was noble to free these people of the disease called communism. Abigale needed to buy into the town right now. She needed to be reassured the she and Rader were apart for a reason. It had been weeks since the last letter, and still she checked the mailbox every morning. She waited to get the name of a new base to which she send the letters that she had waiting for him.
She decided to go to the football game on Friday night; it would be a relief to imagine that her distant love was there with her. Chills ran up and down her spine as the crowd sang the anthem. She remembered why she and Rader were apart. She had new strength and new belief in the war. The men removed their caps, and every person covered their heart. The flag stood tall as the crowd sang to America. When the anthem was finished the announcer came over the speaker, "please bow your heads while I read the list of local Vietnam dead". The stadium was silent; the flag wavered in the wind. As the announcer read the list she saw women falling to their seats. She heard gasps and "Oh Gods" enough to last her a lifetime. Her palms were sweating, and she thought "there will be a letter tomorrow, I know there will be a letter tomorrow". The announcer finished and the people began to take their seats. Abigale remained standing; realizing that Rader Jackson had been the first name on the list.
The blue ribbon he had sent to her seemed to draw attention to the tears which fell from her blue eyes. She looked up to the sky, "I will never hold hands with anyone else! I will read your letters like my life, and I will reply to you with all of my soul". She left the stadium without seeing the game. She packed and left the town the next day. Although she was only seventeen, her eyes showed the years of a retired face. As she stood there waiting for the bus she did not think of the newness she would experience. The only thing she could think of was how alone she was. She had no one to say goodbye to.