A Long Time Passing
by Rick Beck
Chapter 20
20/20
Dr. Jordan had the dog tags on his desk when I arrived. True to his word, there was a coffee pot in front of the window. It was new. A can of Maxwell House Coffee was beside the coffee maker. The pot was newly filled with dark rich looking coffee.
"Can I see them," I said.
He leaned forward from his usual position. The tags sat not quite touching the manila file with my name etched on the tag. He tossed them at me and my hockey player reaction had me snag them out of the air.
"What's it about, Thomas."
"I don't know," I said.
"What do you know. I want to know about those tags. What does the K. stand for, Thomas."
"How'd you figure it out?" I said.
"Wasn't difficult. You don't come with a very large cast of players," he said.
"His name was Kennith. Odd spelling but his family was from Kentucky. He went by Keith because he hated his name."
"What's in the bundle?" He asked.
"His letters," I said.
"I'm going to ask you again. What's going on? Who are these kids? What do they have to do with Michael Clark?"
"Dr. Jordy, I don't have a clue. I don't know. Until Crumb gave me those dog tags, there was no connection between them and Keith."
"You turned blue and rushed out of the court. Why?"
"Seeing his name. It struck me hard. I don't know why," I said.
"What about the letters. We going to take a look?"
"I think so. You can look them over. Do you want to do it while I'm here or I can come back after you've read them," I said.
"I have left the evening free. Let's see if we can't get to the other side of this today if we can. You willing to give it a try?"
"At this point I'll do anything to end this. I can't handle much more of this. I thought my life was under control, but now, I don't know anything any more."
I fixed myself a cup of coffee while Dr. Jordan carefully opened one envelop after another, replacing one letter before going to the next. It was almost dark by the time he'd put the letters down, half read, half unread.
"How old were you?"
"Sixteen when he left."
"How did they make you feel. Knowing your only friend was losing it," he said.
"He wasn't losing it. He was depressed because he was there."
"Were you depressed because he was there?"
"Sure."
"Did you want to be there with him instead of this, Tray, I believe?"
"Sure. At first. Not after a few months. I stopped reading the entire letters," I said.
"What did you read?" He asked.
"Skimmed over the depressing crap and looked for stuff about me, home, anything but that shit he was in. I didn't want to know," I said.
"You didn't go?"
"No. I went to college."
"You felt guilty you didn't go and your friend went?"
"I protested the war. When I was still in high school and then when I got to college."
"You a hippie?" He asked.
"No. I was a kid that didn't think the war was right," I said.
"How did you know what was right or wrong. Do you think we get involved in wars for the fun of it?"
"I don't know why?" I said. "You'd think after a few thousand years we'd figure something out besides killing each other. War is just legal killing by the state," I said.
"You against the death penalty?" He asked.
"Yes. I'm against all killing. State sanctioned is the worst," I said.
"Why's that?"
"We claim to be moral and religious. We have no right to kill, no matter how powerful the politicians think they are," I said.
"Abortion?" He asked.
"Look, I'm not here to discuss politics."
"Just trying to get an idea of what direction your sympathy goes in."
"I think there should be alternatives to abortion. Liberal adoption laws. Shit, adopted parents can't be any worse than the real ones. There should be liberal contraception and liberal education," I said.
"Oh, you're liberal?" He said.
"On education, certainly. The more knowledge the better," I said.
"Good, good. I feel the same way. About knowledge, that is. I don't have opinions about big issues. I'm not qualified," he said.
"Right!" I said.
"Want to visit the couch?"
"Why?"
"I think we need to go into the rest of the letters together," he said.
"Why the rest," I said. "Why not the first?"
"Most Vietnam veterans went over there thinking they were upholding the values of America. Lots stopped believing that before they came home. Many felt the war was wrong. It sounds like Keith thought that way. Since you've never really read the entire letters, well, perhaps its time you dealt with his reality. Maybe you can get over the guilt you feel," he said.
"I don't feel guilty. I was a kid. There was nothing I could do," I said.
"Lie down and humor me, okay? Have you had the dream?"
"Yes," I said.
"What's the release phrase?"
"Holy smoke."
"Does it work?"
"Yes."
"Trust me, Thomas. We're going to solve the mystery today. I want you to leave here today feeling like you at least understand what is happening to you. I think we can do that."
Dr. Jordan read through the next letters in the pile. I'd read them all while in the motel room, so there was nothing new. There were four letters I'd never read. I read the first few paragraphs of the first of the four, and I kept writing Keith but I never read anything else he sent me. I still couldn't read them. Twenty-five years later I still couldn't open them.
After another hour he got to the final four. He removed the letter after putting away the previous letter. He sat looking at it for a long time without speaking. For the first time he read without reading aloud. He looked at the other three letters, still unopened. He read the letter to himself again and I started crying. He did not console me or tell me it was okay to cry. I hadn't cried when I read it. I merely put it back in the envelope and decided not to read his letters any longer.
After my crying slowed he said, "Do you want me to read it aloud, or do you want to continue to avoid the truth."
"Read it," I said, feeling as though I'd been speared.
"Wow! That's a tough one," Dr. Jordan said, reaching for the Kleenex.
"Yeah! I didn't read any more. I never finished that one. I kept writing him every few days, but I didn't want to get any mail from him. Then, my letters started coming back. I knew. He knew. He was just waiting to die."
"Do I read the rest of them? Or you want to leave them sealed?"
"Can't get any worse," I said. "That tore my heart out then and it does now. Whoever said war is hell sure underestimated it."
"Here's the final one. He seems to be almost looking forward to coming home. At least he got to the end of it. He did have hope," Dr. Jordan said.
"How cruel is that? Fucker stayed on patrol to try to help the new kids survive. Fucker died thinking about the guys he was leaving behind. Fucker didn't care about me waiting for him," I said, more bitter than I ever thought I was.
"No you won't," I said.
"He sounds like one hell of a friend," Dr. Jordan said.
"Yeah, he was hell," I said.
"How do you feel?"
"Like he just died again. Like he was just ripped out of my body. I feel angry and mean. I miss him," I said and there was nothing left to say.
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