Letters in a Shoe Box

This pandemic is a pain in the ass as far as I’m concerned.  There is nothing to do and mom is stuck at home which makes my life miserable for sure.  She’s always on my case so I have to hide out to keep her from calling my name and giving me something to do just to keep me busy.  I hate school, but at least I was out of her range and I do miss my friends. There is nothing worse than sitting at the computer doing stuff your teacher sends in your email to keep you busy.  

Trisha texts me:  

Hey Delha, it’s me.  Bored to tears. Tire of my cat curling up in my lap.  Never thought being out of school would be so boring. Whacha doin’?

I want to go to the mall and hang out even though the mall is such a boring place to hang out, at least there is the food court where we could buy a soda and watch the boys walk by.  

I text back: 

How’s Scott? Have you heard from him?

“Del, come here.” Mom calls and I roll my eyes thinking, “What now?”

“Coming.” I yell back, but before leaving the sanctuary of my room, I check my Twitter account.  Nothing. Blank. Big zero. Could this get any more boring? 

She has some ideas to keep me busy, but not one I want to do.  Read a book? Are you kidding me? Write a letter to Nana? Oh my God, Nana never reads what I send her anyway.  She lives in that Old Person’s Community Center, because of the early onset of Alzheimer's. She calls me Elizabeth which is my mother’s name, because she does not see me as her granddaughter which is awful.  She tells me about things I did, but it’s really what mom did. Elvis Presley? Really?  

Dad is considered essential in his job at the hospital where he works as an administrator in the discharge section and lately comes home late at night, because they are all on extra duty.  Mom worries, pacing the floor until he walks in the door holding his mask and gloves he has removed in the garage, a place where me and my twerpy brother are forbidden to go, and walks to the sink to wash his hands.  So far nobody he works with has been infected, but mom thinks it’s just a matter of time. He doesn’t have to deal with patients so I’m thinking that mom worries for nothing. This whole thing is nothing more than a lot of worrying for nothing.  Jack keeps telling mom he misses Mrs. Jenkins who is his third grade teacher, but I think he’s just a big suck up anyway, teacher’s pet and all. Jack is okay with sitting and watching television all day, but I’m getting so restless I can’t stand it.  

We eat dinner as dad tells us all about what is happening in the outside world.  He turns on the news after leaving the table and watches the reports coming in from the other parts of the country.  It amazes me that this is going on while we sit day after day bored to tears.

Unable to stomach it any longer, I wander down to our basement and while this is not thrilling by any means, there is stuff down in the shadows and dark corners that offer some sort of relief from the boredom.  We have never set this place up as a game room that my dad suggested, but instead it has become a collection point of junk that should have been discarded a long time ago. Both of my parents lean heavily toward being hoarders as neither one can work up enough nerve to do so.  

Trisha and I have come down here to play games like the proper way to kiss a boy by practicing.  We’re not queer, but there are certain techniques that need to be practiced before using them on the opposite sex.  Sometimes she brings over her dad’s magazines that he has stashed in his basement. Why do boys like big boobs? We wondered, but then we figured it out before we started high school together.  I find a pair of outdoor skates I used a few years ago and my instinct is to put them on, but when I reach for them, a shoebox taped up falls on my head. These shelves are crammed full of junk and I curse rubbing my head.  Bending down to pick up the box that struck me in the head, I see the box is labeled “Letters from Charlie.” 

Charlie?  That was my grandpa who died a few years ago.  After he passed away, mom moved her mother to that Community Center as it’s called, because she kept forgetting to turn the stove off and then the faucet which flooded the floors when mom finally decided to do something.  It was for her own good or at least that’s what we were told. Yeah, mom, just like that Santa Claus myth you tried on me and Jack. It worked for a while, but then kids are stupid anyway.

The tape is yellow and when I try to put the box back where it had come from, the lid comes off and the papers fall all over me like snow.  I curse again, because now I have made a mess that I will be expected to clean up. Reaching down, I pick up one of the papers, my eyes scan the top of the letter.  The handwriting is very neat, it is from grandpa to grandma.

Dearest Sonja,

Yesterday the Vietcong attacked Charlie Company and nearly twenty boys were killed in a shootout.  Things have become tense as we are trying to keep the enemy from breaking our parameters, because that would be disastrous.  I have read the Stars and Stripes and it seems we are winning this war, but it sure doesn’t seem like it sometimes. Yesterday Lt. Gunther was greased when a sniper shot him in the head.  I hate this place, because you never see the enemy until it’s too late. I’ve dug in, but the rain keeps filling my foxhole and I have a rash that won’t stop bleeding. At least I’m not as bad off as Hopkins who had to have a leech pulled from his ear by the medic.  I love you more than I can say. I take your picture out of my pocket each night and kiss it. It makes me feel better.

Love Charlie

PS: thanks for the candy bars, because it makes the grub we have to eat here taste better.

I am stunned.  No one ever told me grandpa was in Vietnam.  Mr. Sollice my social studies teacher began telling us all about the Vietnam War using words like “lost cause” and “a horrible mistake.” I wonder if grandpa knew that before he went over there.  Mr. Sollice showed us on the overhead projector where Vietnam was saying that his own father had served there during the war. He mentioned how his father suffered from recurrent nightmares from his experience over there.  I wondered if grandpa had nightmares. From this letter, I would say that he did for sure. I picked up another one that had a picture taped to it.

Dear Sonja, 

This is a picture of Ahn Dung.  He is the boy I told you about at the orphanage in Saigon.  I have filled out the paperwork and should be getting a notice of adoption very soon…

I have a Vietnamese uncle?  How come no one ever told me about him before?  Sure, sure, Santa Claus is okay, but no one ever mentioned Ahn Dung before.  I wonder what he’s like?  

Dear Sonja,

Last night they bombed the city and the orphanage took a direct hit.  When I went there to see what happened, Sister Hang Nguyen told me that Ahn Dung had been killed with his bedroom wall collapsed on him while he slept.  I went into the room where they had laid him out for a traditional burial. I knelt down and cried until I could cry no more. This war is cruel in so many ways, I cannot say.  I am keeping my head low and waiting for my DOS when I can come home again.

Love Charlie.

I sit there stunned.  I feel like I want to cry, but this happened a long time ago in a place so far from here and feel as if my tears will be wasted, but I still feel the loss.  

My memories of Grandpa Charlie was that he had always been old so it was a shock to see him as a young man in his uniform with his flak vest and helmet holding his M-16 with his arm around a dark skinned boy about Jack’s age, both of them smiling big smiles for the camera. So I picked the rest of the letters up knowing what I held in my hands was valuable beyond measure.  

I pulled out my cell phone and dial Uncle Bobby who was my mother’s older brother and lived alone after his divorce from his wife of over twenty years.  Mom said they were two empty-nesters who didn’t have anything to say to each other any more. Uncle Bobby was a good guy who was seven years old when his dad returned from Vietnam.

“Hey kitten.” He answered seeing my name displayed in his phone.

“Uncle Bobby I have a few questions.” I declared so there would be no misunderstanding since I only really called him on the holidays and his birthday.

“What kind of questions?” He asked as suspicion creeped into his voice. 

“About grandpa.” I answered.

“What about dad?” His voice still had a certain amount of edge to it.

“What was he like when he came home from the war?” I asked and then there was a long pause followed by a deep sigh.

“Why now?” He asked.

“Because I found some letters.” I held up the box as if he could see.

“Those letters?  I thought Kerry burned those letters after graduation.” He said sharply, no longer sweet and loving as I remembered him. “I wish I could come over and tell you face to face.”

“Not while we are self isolating.” I shrugged. “I wish you could, too. Both of them are driving me crazy.” 

“Kerry found those letters in a chest in the attic.  All the letters were put into his duffle bag that he was issued when he was in the army.  I was only about seven when he came home and I don’t remember much about that war. He never talked about it in front of Kerry and me and that is one thing I am thankful for, because he would wake up in the middle of the night screaming.  I could hear mom trying to calm him, but it took ten minutes which is an eternity when someone is screaming like that.” I could hear a catch in his throat, “She read a lot of them before she told me about them. He wrote about stuff, I really don’t think you need to know about.  Things that don’t even seem like things I could see him doing.” 

“Like what?” I asked

“Stuff.” I could hear him swallow hard. “Now you’re old enough that I can’t tell you what to do, but I know you’d be better off not knowing, Del.” 

I thought about Ahn.

“Did you know he and grandma wanted to adopt an orphan from Vietnam?” I asked and again there was a long pause.

“Ahn?  Yeah. After your mom was born the doctor told her and dad that she’d never be able to have any more children. A few weeks later dad got orders for Vietnam. He was a chopper pilot.” Uncle Bobby’s voice was barely a whisper.

“He told me he was an admin person.” I gasped.

“Yeah and he would dress up like Santa Claus even after me and Kerry knew that Santa wasn’t real.” He allowed himself to chuckle. “No kitten, he was a chopper pilot and he moved enough meat, as he would call it out of the jungle and into a field hospital.  Some of those kids died before he could land and they would hose out the chopper before he could fly it again.”

I cringed just thinking about how that would look. 

“Your mom wasn’t old enough, but I was...when he’d go to the V.A. for a tune up as he called it.  He took me a couple of times and I was only about ten, but I remember this room filled with men waiting, men who were missing various pieces of themselves like an arm or leg or an eye and they would smile at me and call me ‘slugger’ when they saw me.  And dad would sit there with them and they’d catch up on things, before dad would go into a room. When he came out he’d just shake his head mumbling, ‘These quacks just don’t get it.’ I knew better than to ask him what he meant. And while he was missing any of his visible pieces, I knew his brain wasn’t right.  He once told me that the docs can do a lot for a wounded man unless he’s been wounded in the head.” He paused before adding, “I wish your mother had burned those letters.” 

“What if we give them to grandma.  The letters are hers.” I suggested.

“Mom doesn’t even know who we are anymore.” His voice became stern.  “Besides with all of this hub-bub over the virus, I’m sure burning them would prevent any chance of her getting infected.” 

“How come nobody told me about this?” I asked angry at all the secrets that had been withheld from me. 

“You are fourteen-” 

“Fifteen.” I interrupted him.

“What do you know about the war?” Uncle Bobby asked.

“It was an unjust war fought against communism.” I answered and again there was a long pause. 

“Unjust?  Who told you that?” Again there was an edge to his voice.

“Mr. Sollice, my social studies teacher.” I answered.

“Well you tell your teacher before he starts using judgemental words to talk about a war he did not personally experience, he’d better check his bias at the door.” Uncle Bobby replied sounding more and more like the teacher he was at the high school the next county over.  “When this is over, I want you to come over for dinner some night and we can talk more about this, alright? I don’t want anyone filling your head with bullshit.” 

I could never imagine Uncle Bobby using the BS word, but there he was saying it and it made me feel so grown up.  Jack had wandered down to the basement and sat next to me. With a smile that was missing a few teeth, he asked, “Whacha doin,’ sis?” 

“Looking over some old letters.” I said as I scooped the rest of them off the floor and put them back in the box.

“Can I see?” He reached for them, but I pulled the box away.  

“When you are old enough to understand.” I put them back on the shelf where he was not tall enough to reach them.

“I’m not a baby.” He stomped his foot in protest.

“No, but there are some things you will have to wait for...just like me, squirt.” I ran my hand over his spiky red hair.  When I moved my foot, I saw I had missed one of the letters and I picked it up and read it while Jack read over my shoulder:

My dearest Sonja,

Was flying a mission over the DMZ when a rocket took out the ship ahead of me.  I was supposed to be in that position, but Lt. Jackson said that he wanted to do lead chopper.  It had been a long day, so I let him. It crashed on the jungle floor and I swooped in to do any rescue that needed to be done, but when we came upon the chopper, everyone on board was gone and my knees gave out.  One of the medics got me back to my chopper and gave me some smelling salts. He asked me if I was alright, but I just shook my head and told him, “That was supposed to be me, ya know.” He shook his head and mentioned something about the luck of the draw.  I started to cry and couldn’t stop. My co-pilot told me that VC were spotted in the area and we’d better high tail it out of there. We left the bodies in the chopper even though I begged them to bag them up. As soon as we cleared the jungle canopy we took on fire from the ground, but they weren’t able to reach us.  Turning the rudder, we headed back home and I was never so grateful to see a sunset like I saw as he came in for a landing at base. I’ve only got eleven days left in-country and I want to make it home to you,because I miss you so much. I haven’t held you or my baby daughter in forever. Tell Bobby we are going to a game the first weekend I am home.  I love you so much. I will always love you.

Charlie

“Sis, why are you crying?” Jack looked at me with his big innocent blue eyes.

“One day, you’ll understand.” I wiped the tears with the back of my hand.

“Promise?” He looked up at me as I put the letter on the box.

“Promise.” I nodded.