Desertion

 

On Thursday last week I wasn’t feeling well and stayed home from work. I was on the sofa, wrapped up in a blanket, leafing through a magazine with the TV on. It was one of those day time shows with experts who tell you how to live your life. I wasn’t paying much attention but then something caught my ear. The woman being interviewed was preaching: Simplify! Get rid of that clutter! I looked around and knew she was talking to me. I decided to do something about it.

 

On Saturday morning I got to work. There were piles of old magazines all over the house. I’d been planning to finish reading them some day. They all went into the recycling bin at the transfer station.

 

Clothes! My closet was so full I couldn’t cram another thing into it. I had bought an extra dresser and a chifferobe to hold the rest but there were still piles of clothing on the floor. There were shoes I hadn’t worn in decades and probably couldn’t get my swollen feet into anymore. I made a rule: anything I hadn’t worn in the past 12 months went to the Goodwill. I stuck to it.

 

In the desk I found manuals and warranty statements for appliances that I replaced long ago. Some of the old broken ones are stilll in the cellar, but not for long. I found folders of birthday cards and Christmas cards, just plain store bought cards with someone’s name signed at the bottom. I have no idea why I was keeping them. Out they went.

 

Then I found something interesting. It was a story I had written, oh, it must have been 30 years ago. It doesn’t sound like me anymore, I was so young then. But I remember writing it, and I remember those events. They really happened, though maybe not quite like I understood them at the time.

 

It’s an interesting story and one I thought you might like to read. It could use some polishing up but maybe it’s best to leave it be. So that’s what I’ve done. I’ve copied it here just the way I found it.

 

~~~

 

No matter what my pastor says, I'm not sure God meant all this stuff to exist. Like mosquitos. Were they part of His original plan? Or the atom bomb? Or me? I'm one of those things. I don't mean useless and irritating like a mosquito. That's just my cousin Ronnie's opinion. Or scary like the atom bomb, though some may have thought that too. It's just that maybe it surprises Him that I'm still around.

 

You see, when I was born there was a problem. The doctor told my daddy that he'd have to choose between me and my momma. We weren't both gonna make it. Daddy loved my momma and he'd never even met me so you know which one he would have picked. But somehow we both came through okay. Now if God expected us both to make it, why'd he scare my daddy like that? See what I mean? So if I wasn't supposed to be here, how can I know what I'm supposed to do now?

 

My name is Diane Marie Henderson and I live in Pasquotank County North Carolina where I was born. I don't imagine you've ever heard of Pasquotank County. It's named for the tea colored river that runs through the county and into Albemarle Sound. We don't get many visitors. Most of those we do get are on boats taking the Dismal Swamp Canal route to spend the winter in Florida.

 

Now that you know who I am, can I tell you a story? It's one that wouldn't have happened if I hadn't been around. And everyone would have been better off. At least I think so.

 

It all started on Labor Day when I was 11 and starting fifth grade. We went out to my Uncle Milton and Aunt Clara's place for a fish fry. I never liked going there because of my cousin Ronnie. He was a brat and always teasing me about something or other. He called me Dienee cause he knew I hated it. Sometimes he'd get so bad I had to sock him. Then he'd go running to Aunt Clara and I'd be in trouble again. But what was I supposed to do?

 

Anyway, that Labor Day when I was 11, Ronnie said he had this big secret that nobody else knew about, but he might just tell me if I was real nice to him. I told the little jerk that he was a liar and wouldn't know a secret if it bit him on his ugly face. So of course he had to show me then.

 

He took me way out into the woods and up this hill where he made me get down behind this old log and he pointed to something down by the valley on the other side. There was a little creek down there and some kind of camp made out of sticks and an old tarp. Ronnie said that's where the hippie lived, as if Ronnie had any idea what a hippie was.

 

Then we saw him. This guy came walking along the edge of the creek carrying a gun. It was no hippie. He was wearing army clothes but he had a beard and dirty hair. He looked more like a mountain man than a hippie. But I knew why Ronnie was scared, and why he kept spying on the guy.

 

I had to find out who the guy was and what he was doing way out here. I stood up and yelled "Hey mister!"

 

Ronnie just freaked out. He jkept moaning "Oh no, oh jeez," over and over. He tried to pull me back down, but I climbed over the log and started down the hill toward the guy who was standing there staring at me. He hadn't said one word.

 

I yelled it again, "Hey mister!"

 

He kind of growled at me in a real deep voice. I think he was saying "What do you want?"

 

"Nothing," I said, "just wondering what you were doing out here."

 

"Who's that with you?"

 

"Just my dumb cousin Ronnie. He's been spying on you."

 

"Who else knows I'm here?" He was still looking kind of mean like, but I wasn't afraid of him.

 

"I don't think anyone does. Ronnie said he hadn't told anybody else. Is this a hideout?"

 

"Look, kid, I just don't want anyone knowing I'm here, okay?"

 

"Who you hiding from?"

 

"You best get out of here right now, and don't tell anybody about me or I'll come looking for you. Understand?" He squinted his eyes like he was being real serious. And he held his gun out like he might use it on me if I crossed him.

 

"It's okay. I won't tell anybody. And Ronnie's so scared I know he won't. What's your name?"

 

"I don't have a name. You get outta here now.” He turned and walked away from me.

 

I walked back up to Ronnie who was trying to hide the wet spot where he peed himself. I told him this was our secret and I'd bop him if he told anyone else. We went back to the house and had the fish fry. But I couldn't stop thinking about the guy with no name.

 

The baby boom had come and gone in Pasquotank County but the schools were still running a double shift. I was in the morning session from 7 to noon. It wasn't easy getting ready for school that early, but I sure liked having all afternoon free to play.

 

When we got out after the first day of school, Billy Parker called to me, "Henderson, go get your glove. We're picking up a game at the American Legion field."

 

I had sort of a crush on Billy, and I loved playing ball. They wouldn't let me play Little League - no girls. But I was a much better second baseman that Dwayne Cooper who made the team, and I could hit better too. And in pick-up games I was always chosen before Dwayne. I wanted to play ball that afternoon, but I wanted to talk to the no-name guy even more.

 

I rode my bike out near where I thought his camp was. I ditched the bike and headed into the woods. Pretty soon I found the creek and followed it to the camp.

 

No-name was washing some dishes, but he heard me coming. "I knew you'd be back," he said, without looking up.

 

"My name's Diane Marie Henderson," I told him.

 

“I'm Riley," he allowed, "but that's not my real name."

 

"I didn't think you'd still be here. There must be a lot of other places you could hide."

 

"I never said I was hiding. And I knew you wouldn't rat on me." He kept washing an old stew pot.

 

"So what did you do?" I figured he must of committed some kind of crime. I wanted to know what it was.

 

"I didn't do nothing. I just like being on my own out here." I didn't believe that at all.

 

"Where you from?" I asked.

 

"Up by Mackeys." When he looked up at me I knew he hadn't meant to tell me that, like it just sort of slipped out.

 

"What do you shoot with that gun?"

 

"You sure ask a lot of questions. How about helping me with these dishes?" He was smiling.

 

"You're washing with dirt! Don't you know anything? Where's the dish soap?" He was rubbing the pot with gravel and sand.

 

"I don't got none. This works OK." He wasn't smiling anymore but he didn't look embarrassed either.

 

"I'll bring you some." I wasn't about to start washing his old scrungy dishes with dirt.

 

"Do what you want," he said. I was wishing I was playing ball at the American Legion.

 

"I'll be back tomorrow," I said. I wanted him to tell me if he’d still be there.

 

"Bye." was all he said.

 

The next day after school I waited until Momma was out of the kitchen. I grabbed a couple of Brillo pads and stuck 'em in my pockets. I didn't take her dish soap 'cause I knew she'd miss it. But Daddy had some in the garage. He used it to wash the car when it was new. He hardly ever washed the car after it got old, so I took that soap and some rags that were in the same bucket. I rode out to see Riley.

 

Billy Parker saw me riding by and wanted to know where I was going. I wanted to tell him. I wanted him to go with me. But I just said I had to take something to Aunt Clara's and rode on.

 

Riley was still at his camp. I showed him the dish soap and Brillo pads and rags. We started cleaning up his old dishes the way they should be.

 

Riley asked me "How come you're not in school?"

 

I explained about the double shifts and only going in the morning. He said he wished it were that way when he was in school. He might not of quit so soon.

 

So I asked, "Didn't you like school?"

 

"No. They called me a special student but they jest meant I was dumb. I quit after sixth grade."

 

"What did you do then?"

 

"I helped Pa on the farm. Then I joined the army.”

 

“Why’d you join the army?”

 

“I dunno. There was somethin’ called the draft that said I had to.”

"How old are you, Riley?"

 

"I'm nineteen years old since March." He sure looked older than that. But I guess he didn't act it.

 

"And you already been in the army?" I thought only older guys had finished with the army.

 

"I still am in the army, I guess." He looked at me hard. I think he was starting to trust me a little.

 

"You guess? That doesn't seem like something you'd need to guess about. What are you doing out here on your own?"

 

"Just thinking about stuff." He wasn't looking at me anymore.

 

"My Daddy always says 'If you don't think too good, don't think too much.' No offense, Riley." I shouldn't have said that.

 

Riley looked at me for a time then said, "Your Daddy's probably right about that."

 

"So what are you thinking about?"

 

"Just what I should be doing. Everybody tells me something different. I don't know what's right." He got up and walked back to his lean-to.

 

I didn't know what he meant. "I don't understand, Riley. What's this all about?"

 

"You'd better get on home Diane Marie."

 

On the way home I figured that Riley must be a deserter and in big trouble. They shot deserters, didn't they? I wanted to help him. I believed he needed me, and no one ever had needed me before. I kept on visiting him and we talked a lot about what he should do. Finally, I convinced him to turn himself in and he did.

 

I found out later that he was court martialled and convicted but rather than being sent to prison, he was returned to Ft. Hood to repeat his basic training. He sent me a letter from there. It said he would soon be off to Viet Nam. I didn't hear from him again. I guess he probably got killed over there.

 

So, you see what I mean about everybody being better off if I wasn’t around. I sure wish I knew what to do about that.

 

~~~

 

So there it is, the story I wrote when I was 13 or 14 and just discovering what life was all about. I can remember feeling guilty and sorry for myself for a year or two but I got over it. Later I did learn what became of Riley, whose name really was Riley. Riley Odums.

 

He did get sent to Viet Nam from Ft. Hood. On his second day there he stepped on a booby trap and lost both his legs. He then spent years in a succession of army and VA hospitals. I met him again in one of those hospitals and we eventually became friends. Here’s part of what he told me.

 

When he joined the army he was sent to Ft. Hood for basic training. He had nearly finished and was expecting to soon be shipped out to Viet Nam, when word arrived that his mother had passed away. He was given leave to return home for the funeral. His father had died two years earlier and the only close relative he had left was his sister Annabelle. She was attending college up north where she got involved in the anti-war movement. At the funeral she tried to talk Riley into going AWOL, perhaps to Canada, instead of Viet Nam. She terrified him with stories she had heard, not so much about the horrors he might face but those he might be forced to commit. But others in town were saying how proud of him they were for defending his country. His sister said the country didn't need defending against the Vietnamese. In his confusion he did what he had always done when confused - he ran away and hid. That’s when I met him.

 

In high school I had so many other things to think about that I forgot about Riley. When I was a senior I worked at the five and dime after school and on Saturdays, and saved enough money to buy a used car, a nine year old Vega.

 

After graduation, I got a job at the newspaper in Elizabeth City. Seeing a lot of stories about veterans and MIAs, I began to wonder what had become of Riley. Had he really been killed in Viet Nam or had he just forgotten about me? One Sunday I drove to Mackeys to see if I could find anyone who knew him. I found a woman who still kept in touch with Riley's sister. She was married and living in Pittsburgh. I called Annabelle but learned nothing. She still blamed me for Riley being a double amputee and in a hospital, but she wouldn’t tell me which one. She told me “He needs people around him who know what’s best for him’” I guess I knew what she meant by that.

 

I kept calling different army offices and finally learned that Riley was now in a VA hospital in Richmond. I drove there to visit him and we had some long talks. I met a woman there named Leigh Ann who was helping disabled vets become re-integrated. I wished I lived closer so I could help with that. But I liked my job at the paper and didn’t want to leave.

 

Leigh Ann and I eventually worked out a plan for Riley to settle in Elizabeth City where I could help look after him. Then I met Cyrus, a young man who worked with my father. We got married two months later. When Cy was transferred to Alaska, I went along after making arrangements for others to look after Riley. But I always felt guilty about deserting him, even after my first child was born, a boy we named Bryan. I wanted to move back to Elizabeth City, and that became a continuing argument that led, among other problems, to divorce after six years. I returned to Elizabeth City with Bryan and got my job back at the paper.

 

Billy Parker was still in town, working at the Ford dealership. My old crush on him had never quite left me and I married him soon after returning to town. But the remnants of an old crush proved not to be an adequate basis for a sustainable marriage, particularly with Billy's growing addiction to sports gambling. I divorced him after we had been forced to declare bankruptcy. In the turmoil, I lost my job at the paper but found a new one nearby at the print shop.

 

I then moved in with Don, a new guy in town who worked for the power company. We were married after my second son, Seth, was born. But that marriage also ended in divorce when I discovered he was having an affair with Dwayne Cooper's wife.

 

I guess I’m just not cut out to be married. I’ve got my two boys, my six dogs, my three ex-husbands, my daddy and my momma, and my job at the print shop. On most weekends I drive to the Outer Banks where I can make some extra dough cleaning houses.

 

One thing that all three husbands shared was a belief that I cared more about Riley than about them. They were right about that but I was never unfaithful to any of them. From the very beginning I saw Riley as a child, my child, even though he was eight years older. I could never desert him any more than I could desert my other two boys.

 

I visit Riley nearly every day, taking him shopping, driving him to the doctor, helping him take care of his apartment, and seeing that his disability check gets deposited and that his bills get paid. I’ve never told him I love him, or that I’m sorry for all that had happened to him because of me. Riley has never shown any sign that he thinks about things like that. I don’t mind. I finally know the reason I’m here.

 

 

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Tag der Veröffentlichung: 29.11.2016

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