Waiting: One Wife's Year of the Vietnam War

Chapter 11

{Chapter 11} Our first visitor other than Connie in our Collins Street flat was Susan’s brother Miles. Having played football lineman at a small Utah junior college the previous year, Miles was a husky twenty-year-old transferring to San Francisco State and half of the reason the Sheldons were leasing the apartment. It was to be his weekend getaway from school when he needed it. Miles surveyed the progress we had made and nodded with tentative approval. I sensed that I was watching the proverbial bull just as it stepped into the china shop as he moved around the living and dining rooms, his muscular, sweeping arm motions threatening contrasts to the fragile knick-knacks adorning most of the spaces. “I think this vase would look better on the small round table over there,” he said confidently. “And that screen would do more for the room if it weren’t so close to the wall.” He lifted the vase and exchanged it for a flower arrangement with a graceful ease that surprised me. Then he flexed his muscles and gently adjusted the heavy mother-of-pearl and teak tri-fold divider. He was right; they did look better. Miles continued to be a study of contradictions. His booming voice shook the apartment when he yelled from room to room, shocking our ears that had grown accustomed to subdued conversation. In talking to his mother, though, he was soft-spoken and gracious. To Susan, he was a taunting little brother looking for ways to torment her. If she rose to the occasion, they embroiled themselves in shouting matches that I was sure would terminate their relationship. If she retreated from a confrontation [80] chapter 11 on the brink of emotion, he would quietly comfort her, reassuring her that he understood how tough it was for her to have Tom gone. When Miles discovered that I could cook chicken-fried steak and make white gravy, I became his buddy, though I didn’t understand why he thought that was a special talent; every woman I knew in West Texas did it weekly, if not daily. Having spent less time visiting Rotan than Susan, Miles found the culture there as bizarre and fascinating as I found the one in San Francisco. He mocked my Texas accent with good humor and plied me with questions about growing up on a farm with cattle and horses. Miles found a hard-hat summer job and moved into the apartment with us until his place near the college was available. Mrs. Sheldon gave him the small bedroom and slept on the hide-a-bed in the living room. Other than his appearance at the evening meal between work and going out, we didn’t see much of Miles, except now and then when he brought his friends by. His friends were an interesting collection themselves. Most were typical college boys, shy and polite around family. One, however, defied categorizing . Randy was a tall average-build fellow with blond hair that constantly fell into his eyes, causing him to arrogantly toss his head to flip the long strands back into place. He moved like a strutting peacock and rolled his shoulders forward when he walked as if he were pushing his way through a disgusting crowd of people slightly shorter than he. The most intriguing thing about Randy was his clothes. Blessed with more money than taste, Randy spent exorbitant amounts on his apparel, which ranged from the latest tight-fitting European fashions to colored tuxedos and ruffled shirts. Any time Mrs. Sheldon, Susan, and I knew Randy was expected, we found excuses to be in the living room to enjoy the show, for he had more shoes and gold chains than the three of us combined. Randy never stepped out of character. He always stood within sight of one of the mirrors and constantly combed his hair as he told us about his rock band. I was uncertain if Randy played in the group or simply poured thousands into financing it. Randy could be vague if he thought the truth might tarnish his image. Miles and his friends always left me perplexed. While Randy was certainlymaterialforamusement ,Icontinuedtobestruckbythecomparison June 1969 [81] between these boys and Lee, Tom, and the troops in Vietnam. Miles and his friends were the same age as most of the soldiers slogging through the mud and dodging booby traps, yet...