Henry had finally gotten his wish. After years of supporting
Richard Nixon as Vice President and in his failed 1960 presidential
and 1962 gubernatorial bids, he had pretty much given up that Nixon
would ever rise to national prominence again.
When Nixon announced he would once again seek the presidency, Henry
was the first to say “I told you so! We have not seen the last of
Richard Nixon!”
The tragedy of 1963 was still fresh, and the war in Vietnam
occupied many voters' minds. As a fresh start, Nixon was a candidate
who would end the war and get our men back home. That’s all we
wanted, right?
At fourteen, I wasn’t interested that much, but couldn’t help but
see his father’s enthusiasm. But Juliette was wary of it. “Don’t go
overboard, you don’t want to be disappointed again.”
Henry was absolutely sure that Nixon would win in November, but his
loyalty was torn when Governor Reagan entered the race. When it
came to the primary, only Reagan, California’s favorite son, was on
the ballot. Henry reluctantly cast his vote for Reagan. Juliette,
of course, supported Kennedy.
With Kennedy’s victory, Juliette was certain that he would easily
take the national election, whether it was Reagan or Nixon. But
when Kennedy was shot, that hope faded, and she found only a
condescending support for the new front-runner, Vice President
Humphrey.
Henry’s hopes turned when Nixon took the nomination, and he
practically danced in the street when in November, Nixon took the
White House, even if it was one of the closest elections in
history.
I held a bemused detachment to the entire affair. In his second
year of high school, he was more interested in making friends, and
more importantly, meeting girls. The expectation that Spike would
become a good friend again failed to materialize, and Spike kept
his distance from I, establishing his own circle of friends.
I first noticed Betty Stone, a freshman at the high school, when
she was in the marching band. He admired her from afar for the
first few weeks before he finally had the nerve to talk to her in
person. The opportunity arose when they were about to take the
school bus to a parade competition. She was ahead of him in line
and turned, giving him a smile.
The first words out of his mouth were awkward. “Hi. I’m I. I
think...” He trailed off.
What a Bozo, he thought. She’s going to think I’m an idiot.
“You think?” was her response. “You mean you don’t know?”
“I mean, I think we’re in band together.” As they stood there in
their uniforms, that point should have been fairly obvious. I
wasn’t going to win this one no matter how hard he tried.
“The uniform sort of gave it away,” she replied.
“I play the clarinet,” he offered as an explanation why he was
holding one.
“Again, that’s somewhat obvious.” She smiled at his discomfort.
“I’m Betty. I play the flute.”
“Yeah,” I looked down at his feet and shuffled them a bit. “I know.
We’re in band together.” Oh, jeez, I said it again.
The brief encounter was not getting any better. Betty tried to
smooth things over. “We’re about to get on the bus. Would you like
to sit with me?”
“Uh, sure, OK. You probably think I’m a moron,” I
conjectured.
“No, but I do think you’re a little nervous. That’s OK; I don’t
bite. Hard, at least,” she gritted her teeth.
As they boarded the bus, some of the other band mates looked at I
with awe, some with fear, and some with disdain. No one other than
Betty had shown him any sign of friendship.
Betty’s attention was calming I’s nervousness. “Until this year, I
hadn’t seen you around here before,” he said.
“We moved into town over the summer,” she indicated. “My father
used to live here when he was younger, and when he came back from
Vietnam, we moved back here.”
I found a bit of commonality, at least. “My uncle was in Vietnam.
He used to write my mother about it, but stopped a couple of years
ago. She’s worried about him, but can never seem to get any new
information.”
“My mom was very worried during the time he was away,” Betty
revealed. “I was only eight when he was sent over there. When he
came back, he wasn’t the same. I think he figured a return to his
hometown might help.”
The band mates lapsed into silence as Betty looked out the window.
The day was overcast and a bit chilly. She moved a little closer to
I, and leaned her head on his shoulder. I was in Heaven.
As the bus moved down the road, the bus driver did not realize that
the turn ahead was the one he needed to take. The students called
out to him that he missed the turn. The road was not wide enough to
make a U-Turn, so he continued on until he could make another turn,
figuring that he would be able to circle back.
The next road up was a right turn, and the driver took it. As the
road narrowed, he knew it was a mistake. The pavement gave out, and
he was left on a bumpy dirt road. Ahead lay another right turn, so
he took it. The road led into a grove of trees, and the branches
brushed along the bus roof as they passed. As they continued
through the miniature forest, they finally came upon a small house,
where the road seemed to end.
The house was being used as a private school, and many young
children were in the area. The bus driver slowed to a stop and got
out to survey the situation. It looked like the turnabout ahead was
the only possibility of reversing direction.
By this time, the students had gotten off the bus and were watching
the driver as he tried to figure out what he was going to do. I and
Betty stood next to each other, and Betty reached and grabbed I’s
hand. I grasped back, and they were interlocked in a digital
embrace.
The driver ordered everyone back on the bus as he decided to make
his move. He inched ahead, carefully avoiding the school’s fence. A
planter of flowers in the center of the roundabout made the
maneuvering particularly tricky, Every once in a while, the bus
bumper would strike the brick planter, shaving a bit of masonry
from it. Forward – reverse – forward – turn – the small steps were
having a successful effect and finally, after thirty minutes, the
bus cleared the final obstacle and was back on the road, this time
heading in the right direction. The students let out a cheer and
Betty leaned over and gave I a big kiss. I kissed back, and then
broke off the embrace. Both looked a little embarrassed by their
compulsive action, but settled back into their seats, quite
happy.
When the bus finally arrived at their destination, the parade was
already started, and the band took their place near the end.
Because of their tardiness, points were deducted from the overall
performance, and they failed to place in the top three.
The excitement of the trip to the parade, and the parade itself,
was muted by the results and the quiet drive back home. But for I
and Betty, time was passing at its own pace in their private world.
Snuggling against the chill of the evening they passed the
remaining time in silence.
Arriving back at the school, I gave her another kiss, and headed
over to his parent’s car.
“How was your day?” Juliette asked.
“It was OK,” I offered in his own non-committal way. He wasn’t sure
he wanted to tell her about Betty, just yet.
“I have some wonderful news!” Juliette was so excited. I actually
stopped to pay attention. “My brother Arthur called me today. He’s
home from the war! That scoundrel has actually been home for a few
months, and he didn’t let me know! He’s bringing his family over
for Thanksgiving. Oh, I’ve missed him, I haven’t seen him for so
long!”
I barely remembered his uncle; he figured he was probably about
five years old the last time he saw him. But his mother’s
excitement failed to bubble over to him. He had Betty on his
mind.
The days leading up to Thanksgiving were a bustle of activity, with
shopping, cleaning and decorating for the holiday. When the day
finally arrived, it was almost a letdown, but the smell of cooking
turkey brought new warmth to the day’s celebration.
The doorbell rang and Juliette rushed to answer it. Flinging it
open, she embraced her brother. “Arthur!” how dare you wait until
Thanksgiving before coming to see me. “You’ve always been full of
mischief.” Calling to I, she said, “Come here, I, and see your
Uncle Arthur!”
I came in the foyer and saw his uncle. He could see the rest of the
family somewhat hidden behind him. His mother re-introduced them.
“This is your Uncle Arthur! And you aunt Jenny, and come out,
girl!” she called to Arthur’s daughter. “This is your cousin
Elizabeth!”
I stared at the girl. “Betty?”