Page 3 of Shifting Years
Tingles went over my arm as he poured magic into his Alpha's Word. It's not like Ihadto listen, but more of a nudge to consider his idea.
"Okay, fine," I said. "But I'm still talking about howyoumade me wreck your car."
"God, I loved that car, and it was your fault."
My arms crossed. "No, it wasn't."
"Yes. It. Was."
***
Chapter Two
March 1969
Mike
At six o'clock in the morning, Los Angeles remained shrouded in a cool, foggy gloom. My best and only friend Bobby drove his rusted white Volkswagen Beetle down the pothole-laden streets.
His skin was darker than mine, and his black Afro puffed up higher than my slightly messy dark-brown hair. I kept my dress code like everyone else. A tie-dye shirt would be righteous, but it'd get me beaten up again. California was laid-back, but these are dangerous times. That's what my paperbacks say.
Bobby's emerald-green eyes fixed on the asphalt ahead, waiting.
"I wasn'treallythrown out." He nodded with a noncommittal grunt.More like leaving before someone makes me.
He'd listen and that's the irony, because I couldn't tell him everything. Maybe there was no need. He never asked me about girlfriends or if I thought a girl was pretty.
Although I've never seen him with one, so what's the reason? Years back, Bobby told me being half-Black meant both sides harassed him. He played football and joined the art club for popularity and eventually dropped out. I never bothered him or needed him to be anything more. He was Bobby, my pal, and that's enough.
"My uncle," I said. "He told me it would be best for my mother since 'I'm a Vietnam coward and shaming her.' I'm eighteen and it's time to go out." I paused. "It's for the best, you know? I don't want my mom to deal… with the finances."
He nodded, not agreeing but showing he heard.
I took a deep breath. "And no more stories."
His jaw tightened. "Did your uncle do anything?"
"Not this time," I said softly. "Just yelled I should go to Vietnam because it would make a man out of me."
His eyebrows rose. "Would you?"
"Hell no, I won't go!" I chanted, then flashed a two-finger peace sign.
His full lips curled into a slight smile. "You know, you don't seem like a hippie. You give gestures and repeat the sayings, but where's the long hair, beads, or those tie-dye shirts?"
"Peace comes from within," I quoted.
He drove in silence for another city street before speaking. "I heard Nixon might draft people. They say if you're in college, they won't get you, but I can't afford it and some schools won't want me…"
"Then don't go."
"TV says they're our enemy."
"They're over there, and we're here. What are they going to do?"
"My dad said the Soviets want to nuke us, so we have to go there to stop them. It's a show of strength."
"It's better not to fight," I said. "If they had a war and nobody showed up, there'd be nothing."
