How Can You Mend This Purple Heart (24 page)

Big Al, Tammie, and Sheryl were in the living room when Rosie and I returned. Tammie was in the chair, Big Al on the floor in front of her, his head nestled between her knees. Sheryl was sitting cross-legged on the floor, leaning against the bookcase. Rosie formed into the cushion of the big lavender couch, her legs over my lap, and sipped her wine.

“I've heard a lot about your friend Earl Ray,” Sheryl said. “When do you think I can meet him?”

Big Al glanced at me as if I had the answer.

“We're not sure Earl Ray wants to,” I said. “Sometimes he thinks he's a pain in the ass to everybody…including himself.”

“Shit, we'd take him anywhere he wants. We'd do anything for him,” Big Al added. “He just doesn't see it that way. Besides, I think it's mostly Jennifer.”

“Who's Jennifer?” Tammie asked.

“From what Jeremy has told me, she's his whole life. Or used to be,” Rosie said.

“I don't think Earl Ray is over Jennifer. Even now,” Big Al said.

“What do you mean, now?” Sheryl asked.

We told the story of the
Hullabaloo
dancer lookalike in the miniskirt and go-go boots, the silky long hair, the gash to her head, and the phone call from Jennifer's mother from Parsons, Florida. And the once-a-month letters from Jennifer that Earl Ray tossed into his locker drawer unopened.

“Besides,” I said, “Pappy left with his Buick, and Earl Ray doesn't have a way to get around.”

“I know that must make sense to you, Jeremy,” Rosie chided. “But who's Pappy, and what happened to him?”

“Pappy's Buick was the only way to get Earl Ray over to the Rainbow,” Big Al told her. “Pappy got sent back to full duty, and Earl Ray hasn't left Q Ward ever since.”

“Tell you what. If you can get Earl Ray to say yes to me, I'll come pick him up,” Sheryl promised.

Sheryl would pick us up at the side doors of Q around two the following Sunday. She would be driving a 1970 two-door Dodge Challenger, bright yellow.

It took us longer to get Earl Ray's pants pulled up over his legs than it did for Earl to get both legs on and strapped in place. He decided against the pincer arm. It was more of a pain in the ass than it was helpful. Besides, it was easier to get the white crewneck on without having that damn thing in the way.

“You gonna be able to get in the front seat, Earl?” Big Al asked.

“Don't worry about me,” Earl Ray told him. “I'm still not sure I'm going.”

“You gotta go now, Earl. Sheryl's right out there waiting. Just get off of Q for awhile,” Big Al coaxed. “Shit, man, Rosie's Place is like a palace compared to this. They got a color TV and cold beer, too.”

“You going to yap all day or help me out to the car?” Earl snapped.

Big Al slid off my neck and into the backseat behind the driver's side. I went around the car to give Earl Ray a hand getting from his wheelchair into the front seat.

“Push the seat all the way back, will you, Jeremy?” Sheryl asked.

Earl Ray sat sidesaddle with his legs through the open car door, the shiny black plastic shoes at the end of his artificial legs resting on the pavement. Sheryl went to the driver's side, leaned across the console and slid her arms under Earl's left leg. By the time Big Al had scooted from behind the driver's seat to his position behind the passenger side, we had Earl sitting comfortably in Sheryl's car. I pushed Earl's chair onto the patio and locked it in place and hopped in the backseat on the driver's side. Sheryl placed Earl's crutches between the bucket seats, got in, revved up the throbbing engine, and off we went.

“Welcome, Earl Ray,” Rosie said, smiling. “I've heard a lot about you.”

“If you heard it from these two, I wouldn't bet on it,” Earl replied.

“We didn't tell her anything Bobby Mac wouldn't have told her,” I said.

“Great. I feel better already,” Earl chided.

Tammie got up from the couch, stooped over Big Al, and teased at his hair with both hands. “Time is wasting, don't you think, Al?”

“We'll see you guys in a couple of hours,” Big Al said from his perch around Tammie's neck. “Don't do anything I wouldn't do.” He was smiling ear to ear.

“What about you, Earl?” Sheryl said. “I'd like to get to know you. Why don't you and I go to Rosie's room? It's right through there.”

“I don't know,” Earl said.

“We can talk. I won't do anything you don't want to do.”

Earl Ray leaned his entire weight against my shoulder as we made our way through the strings of purple and white beads. Earl's left foot jabbed into the throw rug on the other side, and we stumbled forward, wobbling in a half circle like drunken dancers.

“Get my crutches!” Earl yelled.

Rosie splashed through the beaded doorway with both crutches held out in front of her as if they were on fire.

“Get one under his right arm,” I said as I placed Earl's left half arm around my neck.

“I'm okay. Just wasn't watching where I was going,” Earl said. “Shoff, I can do this myself,” he told me as he shrugged me off his shoulder.

Rosie placed the other crutch under Earl's half arm. Earl leaned his muscular shoulder downward, pressing his armpit hard onto the wooden support. He moved across the hardwood floor toward Rosie's bedroom door with stiff, robot-like jerks.

CLICK. THUMP. SNAP.

CLICK. THUMP. SNAP.

The plastic knee joint of his left leg locked and unlocked as his feet stamped down hard with every lunge forward.

CLICK. THUMP. SNAP.

CLICK. THUMP. SNAP.

Sheryl held onto Earl's white tee shirt as if it were a hanky. She guided Earl over to the bed and helped him turn around.

CLICK. THUMP. SNAP.

“Told you, Shoff.”

“I never doubted it, Earl.”

“Just sit on the edge of the bed for now, Earl,” Sheryl said softly.

Sheryl climbed on the bed and wrapped her arms around Earl's waist. I held his left half arm for balance, and Earl sat down on the edge of Rosie's bed. He pushed against the hardwood floor with his shiny plastic shoes and scooted backwards.

“There now, that wasn't so bad,” Sheryl said. “Would you like another beer?”

Rosie had already been to the kitchen and back. She set a cold beer and a glass of wine on the nightstand and took my hand as she closed the bedroom door tight.

I took a sip of beer, and Rosie stretched out on the big white and lavender couch, her head in my lap.

The CLICK, THUMP, SNAP echoed in my thoughts like an endless mechanical throbbing.

I looked down at the woman who had first seen Big Al on a bus bench from her front window. She saw nothing that afternoon but a young man with a big smile. She had seen in Big Al and Earl Ray everything that everyone else couldn't. She looked past what others had stared at and what others turned away from. And Rosie welcomed them into her home. Rosie was not a whore or a prostitute; she was a friend. “Whore” and “prostitute” are too ugly and too vulgar for this beautiful woman who really gives a shit.

Rosie fingered my hair and looked at me with sad eyes. It was the first time I felt like I was in the arms of a real woman. She felt more like a longtime lover than just a miracle acquaintance, and I felt her sadness. And with it, a sudden and profound sorrow sprung from deep inside me, and I couldn't hold back the rush of feelings I felt for Earl Ray.

“He's never asked for a fucking thing, you know. Not one goddamn thing. He's more of a man than I'll ever be. And don't dare pity him. He'll kill you if you do. Don't let him see you give a shit, either. No, don't do that. That means he has to give a shit back. That's the way he is. There's only so much loyalty for him to give. But, when he does give it to you, it matters. It means something. Ask Ski and Moose and Big Al. Ask any Marine. Ask Jennifer. I'll never earn it. I've tried. I don't deserve it. He tried to kill me once. He could have, too, but I believe he really didn't want to. He's accepted me, but he'll never trust me. He pushes back on every fucking thing. He pisses me off, but I think he knows I love him like a brother. He deserves more than any of us can ever give him, but he'll never take anything from anyone he doesn't trust. Don't ever owe anybody anything. That's Earl…and he's never once asked for a goddamn thing.”

Rosie reached up, collected my tears on the back of her hand, and stared at me for a brief moment, her gray-green eyes searching. “C'mon, Jeremy, let's go upstairs.”

Rosie's room at the top of the stairs felt cramped and empty. Missing was the sweet hint of Tabu in the air, the cool whiteness of her bed sheets, the comfort of her soft, pink bathrobe against my face. Missing from this room was the essence of the woman lying next to me. But missing most was the warm, temporary feeling of home that I felt in Rosie's bedroom downstairs.

Sheryl's muffled screams came up the stairs like a distant siren.

“Help me! Someone help!”

“Holy shit!” Al cried out from Tammie's room. “He's having a flashback! He might be killing her!”

“Oh my God!” Rosie screamed.

“Someone help!” Sheryl's screams pierced through the closed door of Rosie's room like ghostly daggers.

“Hurry! Oh God!” She was so hysterical it almost sounded like laughter.

“My God, Al, what do we do?” Tammie screamed.

Big Al nearly fell from my neck as we slid off the bottom stair and my bare feet slipped on the living room carpet.

“Get me in there, Shoff! Quick!” Big Al yelled. His half body was swinging side to side on my back, his bare ass mooning the room with every leap. “Hurry, Shoff!”

We blasted through the door as Sheryl made one last cry for help. It wasn't the shrill panic scream like the ones before. This time it was a low, sure plea coming from under Earl Ray's body. It was a voice as calm and comforting as the warm feeling of Rosie's room.

“Help us,” Sheryl said.

Earl Ray's naked plastic and flesh body lay on top of Sheryl, pressing her into the mattress like a human waffle maker. Sheryl's legs were spread eagle around Earl, her knees pressed tight against either side of Earl's buttocks.

She was holding Earl's head in both hands, her eyes fixed on Earl's. “Hold still, Earl. Just hold still.”

Earl Ray's plastic left leg fitted him high at the top, close to his dick, and Sheryl's pubic hairs had become pinched between the top edge of the leg and Earl's thigh. The grip was so tight it was pulling Sheryl's pubic hairs out by the roots and tearing at her vagina.

“Oh wow. Help us out of this,” Sheryl giggled. “Just hold really still, okay Earl?”

Big Al and I loosened the harness straps from around Earl Ray's shoulder, gently wiggled the leg loose, and released Sheryl and her pubic hairs from the grip of near-mutilation.

Earl pulled the plastic leg tight over his thigh stump and slid his leg under the sheet. “Get me back to Q,” he said.

“It's okay, Earl,” Sheryl said as she brushed his hair. “What if we take them off? I'll be okay, I think.”

“Just get me out of here and get me back to Q.”

“Maybe we can sit in the living room for awhile,” Rosie suggested, looking to me for an answer.

“What do you think, Al?” I asked.

Big Al looked at his friend lying half under the white sheets and looked down at his own naked torso. For the first time since I had seen him swirl his wheelchair through the brown double doors onto 2B, Big Al wasn't smiling.

“Let's just get back to Q for now.”

Duty Calls

THE DOCTORS HAD
recommended me for “light duty,” and I waited anxiously over the next two weeks to hear from personnel. Of all the temporary duty assignments they could have given me, of all the places they could have sent me, I was appointed Recreational Coordinator for the Special Services department for the rehab wards. That meant I would be staying on Q Ward with my buddies until my final medical review. It also meant I was in charge of the game room: ping-pong, pool table, chess and checkers, the TV, shuffle board, and a whole closet full of other boring crap. But most importantly, and to my thorough enjoyment, it was my “duty” to round up about twenty to twenty-five guys every week for weekend party engagements.

Area VFW, Knights of Columbus, American Legion, and other organizations were anxious to host and give tribute to the combat-wounded Marines and sailors. The calendar was booked solid every Saturday and Sunday for the next two months. These events were “Welcome Home” dinners, clam bakes and picnics at which lots of food and beer was consumed, good and bad music was thoroughly enjoyed, and the incessant monotony of the rehabs was forgotten for a few hours. They were free-flowing, drunken escapes from all things past and future. No attachments, no apologies. The only thing that mattered was here and now. Have fun; you earned it. This is for you.

I couldn't believe it. The party-at-the-drop-of-a-hat-celebrate-today-to-hell-with-tomorrow-Thai-stick-smoking-pill-popping-on-the-edge-of-give-a-shit-where's-the-next-beer Jeremy Shoff was appointed the official liaison and chaperone for the rehab wards. It was probably one of the worst personnel decisions the U.S. Navy had ever made, but it was the absolute best decision for the guys on the rehab wards.

How it came about that I was awarded this most prestigious position I can't remember, and I never thought about it much. I did, however, do an outstanding job at it.

Every Monday morning, I would contact the hosting organizations, confirm the dates and times for the upcoming weekend, and begin filling in the attendance roster. A core group of about ten were permanently on the list. If I failed to include someone, it would have cost me my life. On Tuesdays and Wednesdays, I would make the rounds to the other rehab wards to complete the roster. We were never allowed more than twenty-five, and that included me.