Waiting: One Wife's Year of the Vietnam War

Chapter 28

{Chapter 28} All the feelings I had experienced in April returned as I stood staring at the plane Lee had just boarded: the agony of separation, the unholy fear of the unknown, the gut-wrenching loneliness, and the sense of no control. The plane bound for Vietnam lurched forward and then taxied away, taking with it my husband and my heart. I felt as if I had been ripped into two again—half of me bled; the other half felt dread. The tears were ready to roll but I held them as I walked to my gate. I awaited my flight back to San Francisco, if not intact, at least in control. It was self-preservation. Lee’s leaving for Vietnam in April had encompassed certain drama, naïve heroism, and a larger-than-life sense of sacrifice. As horrible as it had been, it had possessed a dash of life. This time I knew exactly how many lonely nights six months held; I was all too familiar with precisely how long it took the minute hand of a clock to make a full circle. I knew unexplained terror. I sobbed all the way across the ocean. Susan was waiting at the gate for me. She rushed to me and grabbed my elbow, asking, “Was it that bad?” My tears flowed again and I shook my head. When I could speak, I answered, “No. It was that good.” “You look positively ill. I thought Lee had been mean.” “Oh, God, Susan,” I wailed, “it’s over. And it went so fast.” She turned on her heel and strode ahead of me. By the time we had picked up my luggage and found the car, I was in control again. “Sorry,” I apologized. [200] chapter 28 “I’m glad you had a good time,” she said, starting the engine. “But I really just can’t handle hearing about it right now, okay?” I nodded. I understood. Anyway, I was just as happy to hold the memories in private. “So what’s been happening here?” Susan clicked off the news as she drove: Tom was okay. Miles had visited and seemed more interested in parties than class. Khalifah had come for the weekend to report that he was plotting to change schools. Work was still boring. Eleanor was deciding on wall paint, the Whittemores had invited Susan over for drinks, and the Thompsons—more Sheldon friends whom I had met briefly during the summer—had asked us to join them for Thanksgiving dinner. The L.A. Police Department had not solved the Tate murders. So odd, I thought, that the rest of the world had been oblivious to such a special week. Routine was the norm and I had simply stepped outside of time. But nothing had changed, which I found simultaneously comforting and stifling. Susan came into my room before bedtime and sat in her old place across from me. “How’s Lee? Is he different?” she queried. “Yes and no,” I said, trying to define how. “He’s basically still himself , but somehow he won’t ever be the same again. It’s subtle, but it’s there.” “I missed you this week,” Susan said suddenly. “It was hard knowing every day that you were with Lee. And yet I was glad for you. I think I’m going crazy.” “Sounds like a perfectly sane reaction to me. In a way, you’re lucky. R&R almost makes everything worse. I mean, I had gotten used to not being with Lee, not talking to him. Now I feel like I’m starting all over, only this time I know what I’m facing. I don’t know if I can do it again. He’s getting a company when he gets back. That means he stays in the field.” Susan’s face reddened. “Goddammit!” she exploded. “How do you feel about it?” I shrugged. “Lee’s so excited he can hardly stand it. Me? I think he’s pushing his luck, though he says the company commander is safer than a platoon leader. That’s a relative term. Now he will be surrounded by many October 1969 [201] radio antennas instead of just one, which makes him a more prominent target.” “How did you like Hawaii?” Susan asked, changing the subject. “I hardly noticed it, frankly.” “What’d Lee say about your size?” Susan asked with such nonchalance that I...