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Show "Now that you've decided, you have to act before they do," I said matter-of-factly. "You c a n ' t have them come for you and treat you l i k e a f u g i t i v e . You have to keep some dignity, some self-respect." "Tomorrow?" His eyes were pleading. One more day. Just one more day. I l i f t ed my shoulders, about to absolve myself once more of the decision. But he was bearing so much! I nodded. "Tomorrow. Tomorrow w i l l be soon enough." We called from a drive-up telephone booth the next morning, feeling as though we were about to v i s i t a m i l l i o n d e n t i s t s. Traffic rushed by; I t r i e d to l e t i t blot the sounds of Brian confessing h i s presence to the l o c a l Marine headquarters. I sobbed into a handkerchief and watched the r a i n and the broken windshield wiper carving an i n d e l i b l e groove in the glass. Some things could not be r e p a i r e d or polished away, not even with the sands of time. I knew t h a t Vietnam would be one of them. The sergeant had promised Brian t h a t he would be t r e a t ed well because he had turned himself in, but s t i l l Brian would not let me accompany him i n t o the a i r p o r t terminal. We kissed and he put a hand on my mounding b e l l y. "Take care of my world for me. I ' l l be back to claim i t ." Later, Brian wrote t h a t the MP's had slapped handcuffs on him in the t e r m i n a l . I was reminded of the scene my mother had described wherein my f a t h e r and other p a t r i a r c h s were arrested and handcuffed l i k e "dangerous criminals. |