Page 23 of Twice
“What about high school?”
“I already have enough credits to graduate.”
No surprise. Wesley was always taking extra classes, going over the summer. He was miles ahead of the rest of us.
“But won’t you have to go to Vietnam?”
“Nah. They’re not sending guys there anymore. I’ll just get trained somewhere. In two years, I’m done, and college is covered.”
I looked at him, speechless. Although we’d been best friends since we were kids, there had always been an older-brother vibe between Wesley and me. He had it so together. I hadn’t given a realistic thought to life after high school. And here he was, packing for the military, having already solved the college tuition issue.
I asked when he was leaving. He said his parents were taking him to the Thirtieth Street train station that Sunday.
“Can I come?”
“Sure. Just don’t be late.”
I had to work at my part-time job that Saturday (mopping at a Kentucky Fried Chicken restaurant), but I was there the next morning at the station with Wesley’s parents. I watched his mother tear up when she said goodbye. I watched his father do the firm handshake thing. I thought about trying to change that moment, to somehow keep him from leaving. But it was Wesley’s path. His choice. I gave him an awkward hug before he got on the train, and he grinned and said, “See you in two years.”
That night I felt so alone that I mumbledtwiceand traveled back to Saturday morning, called in sick to work, and hung out all day with Wesley. We shot baskets and ate cheesesteaks and listened to The Meters’ “Just Kissed My Baby,” bopping our heads to the funky bass line. We took his dad’s car and drove to the Schuylkill River, where Wesley, proving his readiness for basic training, dropped into the grass and did ninety push-ups while wearing his winter coat. There was a pack of his dad’s cigarettes in the glove compartment and we smoked a couple, just to feel older. We looked out at the brownish-blue water as we tried to blow smoke rings. I was really glad I’d gone back for the day.
“Don’t do anything stupid in the Marines, all right?” I said.
“Like what?” Wesley said.
“Like get shot at.”
“Nah. I told you. I’ll be behind a desk or something.”
But that’s not what happened.
?
Wesley, no surprise, excelled at basic training and was already on an officer track three months into his stay. In early 1975, he came home for a weekend. He looked so much older. His hair was shaved, and his body was as thickly muscled as a gymnast’s. We went for some Italian panzerottis, and he told me a story about his drill instructor.
“They’re not supposed to hit the new guys, right? But this DI, he’s a mean bastard. He didn’t like the way one private was looking at him so he told him to stand up straight—‘Like this!’ he goes—and then he bangs him in the face with the butt of his rifle! And he got away with it!”
Wesley shook his head. “These military guys are crazy.”
He told me he was up for two positions, one on a ship and one at a training center.
“More fun to be on a ship,” I said.
“Yeah,” Wesley said. Then he lowered his voice. “None of it is really fun, you know?”
He flew to San Diego the next morning. He took the ship job. I didn’t hear from him for months. Then, in May, just a few weeks after the fall of Saigon, there was an incident with an American merchant vessel that was seized in international waters by Cambodia’s Khmer Rouge. The Marineswere sent to try and rescue it. That night at the supermarket I ran into Wesley’s mother. She looked exhausted. She told me Wesley was in that unit.
“We’re just praying so hard,” she said. “Please pray for him, Alfie.”
I said I would, but when I read the news two days later that several helicopters had been destroyed in that incident and dozens of Marines had been killed, I left prayer behind and ran to my bedroom. I flipped back through my notebooks until I found the day when Wesley had come home and, not even thinking about having to relive the last five months, Itwicedmyself back to our meal at the panzerotti shop, determined to keep him off that ship. I was so happy to see him, it must have shown on my face.
“What are you all smiles about?” he asked.
“Listen,” I began. “I want to tell you something. It’s a secret I’ve been keeping.”
He pushed his glasses back on his nose.
“What?”
