“I’m not proud to admit this,” Cal said, “but I don’t actually know what happened to Simon, or any of the others. I wanted to look them up when I finally got home, but truthfully, I was scared. As long as I don’t know what happened, I can picture each of them old and wrinkled like myself, surrounded by kids and grandkids. Hell, I can even picture them in these very bleachers, cheering on our team today. And I’d like to think that’s why none of them ever came looking for me, either.”
Jack and Javier were both quiet as Cal surveyed the stands.
“Look, boys, I’m old, but I’m not blind,” Cal said. “I know things are different now. I knew times had changed when I saw how terribly we treated those men who came back from Vietnam. But, to me, there’s no finer way you can dedicate your life. And I consider it an honor and a privilege to have served alongside my fellow soldiers. I believe that I owe my life and my good fortune to God. But I also owe it to those men.”
Jack and Javi knew exactly what he meant. They couldn’t even count the number of times they had stayed up late quizzing one another for exams or cheered each other on through mud and rain. It was the only way they made it through.
In the backseat of a black van, on the way to Cal’s funeral the following summer, Jack’s father had handed him a small envelope. For my grandson was written on the front. Jack turned his face to the side to keep his father from seeing his tears.
Not wanting to get up just yet, Jack rolled over in bed and lay on his chest. In a strange way, he was thankful that Grandpa Cal hadn’t lived to see the strings. Even after all the horrors he must have witnessed in the war, Cal was a man of such pure faith—faith in his God, faith in his country. Who knows how this maddening new world might have affected him?
Jack sighed and turned his head on the pillow, staring at the thin ray of sunlight circumventing the window shade and striking his dresser, where an old and faded Hashkiveinu prayer card sat tucked inside the top drawer.
Of course, Jack was even more grateful that his grandfather wasn’t around to learn that he, too, was planning to lie to the army—only Jack’s lie was meant to get himself out of battle.
Javier
Javier woke up and stared at the date on his alarm clock. Only two days left to decide.
He squeezed his eyes shut, wondering if he should pray on it, until they floated back to him in the darkness, the apparitions of the night before. The visions that had played and replayed while he straddled the border between sleep and consciousness, while his mind tried to process Jack’s offer.
The flag and the priest and his sad, shaking head.
He was a true American hero, until his last breath.
“What about your dad?” Javi asked Jack. “You’ll have to tell him we switched strings, or he’ll think . . .”
“I know,” Jack said.
He decided to tell his father that the switch was Javi’s idea, that he had only agreed in order to help a brother in arms. His dad would hate that they were deceiving the army, but hopefully he would respect his son’s loyalty to a friend.
Jack’s dad was the only person who would hear about the switch. Nobody else could know. Especially not his aunt Katherine, who was somewhere in Middle America, or maybe Florida by now, trying to convince a county of swing voters to donate to his uncle’s campaign. It was certainly not the time for a family scandal. They would simply have to believe that Jack’s string was truly short.
“And what about . . . after?” Javi asked. “Won’t everyone be confused?”
“I guess we’ve still got a few years to figure that out,” Jack said. While he had planned what he would tell his father, Jack hadn’t plotted much further than that. “And who knows, maybe the strings won’t be such a big deal by then anyway.”
Javier was hesitant. Plunging headlong into such a tangled situation, without an exit strategy, felt like everything the academy had taught them not to do.
But they had also been trained to be brave, even in the face of uncertainty.
“Okay,” Javi said. “I’m in.”
Dear B,
Dear B,
When I walk through my neighborhood, I often pass by this spectacular apartment building called the Van Woolsey. I’m sure you’ve seen it—it’s gorgeous and spans an entire block along Broadway. The entrance is guarded not only by a massive iron gate with its name in gold lettering, but also by an actual security guard in a small gatehouse, so only those fortunate enough to live there can get in. Like Buckingham Palace on the Upper West Side. From the sidewalk, you can peek between the bars of the front gate and see the center courtyard, a mini park with perfectly trimmed hedges and white stone benches surrounding a tiered fountain.