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Show I spent most of the spring in my bedroom, often pacing up and down, sometimes holding the baby, Rebecca, in my arms. I would stop before the photo of Brian in his dress blues and white hat. "That's your daddy," I would t e l l her. She would smile and reach out a pudgy arm. "Mailman," she said, pointing at the hat. "No, no. Daddy." I i n s i s t e d. She smiled and batted the p i c t u r e . "Mailman." She grinned, showing her new t e e t h . She had the mischievous look of her father. I shrugged. Daddy, the mailman. The two were inextricably connected. I waited for Brian. I waited for the mailman. The waiting would end in June. Brian had promised he would be home for ray birthday. But in l a t e May he wrote that they had pressured him to re-enlist. "They need guys who know how to stay a l i v e . Of course my decision depends on you. How do you feel about it? It would mean three thousand d o l l a r s on the spot, a r a i s e in pay, and a t h i r t y day leave before my second t o u r .' I was h o r r i f i e d t h a t he would even think of staying in that hell and keeping me i n mine. "No!1 I wrote. 'Come home!4 I was deeply shaken t h a t he would be vulnerable to such an idea, and I wrote a long l e t t e r denouncing the war and the waiting. «i couldn't l i v e through another year of t h i s ,' I declared. 'And n e i t h e r could you.' A week l a t e r , before my l e t t e r had time to reach him, 1 received another l e t t e r saying that he had decided against pe-enlistment, but that h i s r o t a t i o n date could be delayed indefinitely. 'They a r e n ' t happy about my decision. They want to keep m< I think t h a t ' s why I was framed.... ' |