Fall of '69 Ch. 11

I might have been awake an hour, watching Becky sleep. Her body twitched. She mumbled anxiously, while rain and wind rattled the windows. When dawn broke with a clap of thunder, she sat up in alarm - the sheet falling to her waist.

"It's just thunder," I whispered, rubbing her back, feeling her tension subside under my palm.

Resting her head on her knees, she groaned miserably.

"You all right?"

"I was having one of my nightmares."

"Tell me," I said, pulling her down across my lap. "What was it about?"

She sighed, as I massaged her into a tranquil reality.

"Vietnam. My brother... fighting to stay alive." She sighed again, and then added, "But he doesn't."

"It's just a dream."

"Is it? Maybe it's a vision."

"Is it the same every time?"

"No."

"Then it can't be a vision."

"What's the difference? He's dead anyway."

Arguing with her wasn't going to change anything. I slipped out from beneath, straddled her hips, and began to massage her shoulders in earnest. The best way I could think to help her cope was to be a supportive partner.

The violent storm outside shook the old house, while lightening provided flashes of clarity in the shadowed room.

"Mmm, that feels good," she said, laying her cheek on the white sheet and closing her eyes.

Becky remained motionless for so long, I thought she'd fallen asleep. Then, with a husky morning voice, she said, "lower."

My hands had already worked down to her waist. Dutifully, I slid down to her knees and pulled the sheet with me, exposing her bottom. Placing a hand on each cheek, I kneaded the firm hills.

"Mmm, feels very, very good."

"I love B. B. B."

"What?"

"Becky's beautiful butt."

She smiled, eyes closed.

After a gluttonous gluteus grope, I worked down each leg, ending with her fairy feet and twinkle toes. Several times I had to recapture an escaped foot, promising not to tickle it again. It was an accident. Honestly, I didn't mean to make her squeal - at least not the first time.

Gently setting her limp leg down, I said, "I'm going to take a shower. We should go out for breakfast, since I may be cooking all the meals, after the game." Stopping at the door, I asked, "Does this tiny burg even have a diner?"

Her eyes were open, and her focus slowly rose from my groin to my face, making my skin tingle pleasantly. "Annie's diner opens at 5:00. Farmers get up early." She rolled over. "I need a shower, too."

"Far out. I'll do your back and you do mine."

Actually, we washed each other, all over - thoroughly. One of life's great sensual pleasures is a soap-slippery, naked woman.

An hour later, we sat in the booth near the back of Annie's diner. Bad news traveled fast in 'Petticoat Junction'. Just about everyone in the place seemed to know Becky, and told her how sorry they were about her MIA brother. No one asked who I was, but their stares burned into the back of my head. I assumed they thought the worst of our relationship. The fact they were right didn't give me any warm-fuzzies.

There should be a law against farmers wearing their shit-kickers into eating establishments. The diner smelled like a cow barn. My appetite practically disappeared. Coffee, bacon, eggs, and toast were all I could manage. Grabbing a newspaper off the counter, eager to catch up on world events, I read the headline and turned the paper around so Becky could see the bold print.

Vietnam Moratorium Day, Thousands Rally Against the War.

"We missed a good protest, yesterday."

She took the paper from me, "Maybe the government will begin to listen to the people."

"Miracles happen" ...not.

After reading the article, Becky stared out the window, deep in thought. "Maybe I should've stayed in school. At least there I could protest - do something positive with my time. When are you going back?"

I didn't dare tell her Rodger was shipping all my stuff to her house. Whatever she decided to do, I'd deal with it. "Why? Are you trying to get rid of me?"

She didn't answer, just turned her gaze out the window. The rain had stopped and sunshine streaked through breaks in the clouds. A tractor rumbled down Main Street, driven by a man whose face was made of crumpled leather.

"How old do you think that guy is - 25, 30?"

Becky laughed softly. "That's Mr. Harper. He so old, he remembers when the glaciers melted."

"I bet he has a saber-tooth tiger head over his mantle."

"No, there's a wooly mammoth head over the fireplace. The tiger head is over the straw mattress in his bedroom."

"When were you in his bedroom?"

"Never. His 10th wife told me it frightened her on their wedding night."

"You're funny," I said, taking her hand across the table.

She grinned crookedly, and answered, "You bring out the best in me... and the worst."

After clearing my throat and swallowing hard, I said, "Then I'm both glad and sorry."

"Not me. I'm just glad. I've never felt more alive." Stroking my knuckles with her thumb, she said, "Before we met, I was just living up to everyone else's expectations."

"And now?"

"I'm free."

Free sounded good, as long as it didn't mean free from me.

Changing the subject, I said, "How about a day trip? Why don't we drive to Topeka and watch the game? The house is too wet to paint. It'll be something fun to do."

Becky smiled. "Okay."

We took her car. It had a full tank and needed some exercise. I drove.

Becky sat close, and declared, "I own the radio." Her hand on my thigh hinted something else might be her property.

Most of the radio stations played country music or gospel, reminding me how much I loved my truck's eight-track player. Becky stopped on a crackly station out of Topeka that, in between commercials, played Top 40 music. 'Put a Little Love in Your Heart' came on. Becky sang along, and every time Jackie DeShannon sang, 'Put a little love in your heart', she rubbed my crotch and changed 'heart' to 'hand'.

We laughed. I bulged - her sexual aggressiveness always a satisfying surprise.

The Archies, 'Sugar Sugar' came on right after, and I had the chance to sing back:

"Ah sugar.

Oh honey, honey.

You are my candy, girl,

and you got me wanting you."

That's how it went for an hour. Hit songs, back and forth, my arm around her, copping a feel when traffic was nonexistent.

Blood Sweat and Tears came on, and it was my turn to sing. The words couldn't have been more appropriate for how I felt, so I sang with all my heart:

"I lost at love before

Got mad and closed the door

But you said "Try, just once more"

I chose you for the one

Now we're having so much fun

You treated me so kind

I'm about to lose my mind

You made me so very happy..."

Becky rested her head on my shoulder. A cool dampness caught my attention. I looked down, and her cheek was tear-stained.

Next, the Fifth Dimension came on. Becky didn't sing about the 'moon in the Seventh House'. She didn't sing at all. But I had the feeling we were aligned with harmony and understanding, sympathy and trust abounding.

Quiet miles slipped by.

Becky said, "Let's stop by the Induction Center. Maybe they can help me find out about Jeremy."

I followed her directions into Topeka. The Induction Center wasn't hard to spot. Protestors, waving signs and chanting, marched back and forth. There were police in riot gear standing in front of the boarded up window.

"Looks like they're closed," I said, coasting by.

"Great... now what am I supposed to do?"

Like I knew what-was-what, I said, "Write your congressman. He should be able to find out something."

Becky's body seemed to deflate. She slump forward, head down, eyes close. "This sucks. The world sucks!"

Rubbing her back, I gently responded, "Sometimes," trying to soften her all-encompassing sadness.

"I don't want to be here. Don't feel like being around people. Let's just go home."

Disappointed and self-centered, I said, "What about the World Series?"

"I don't give a damn about the game! Take me home. After that, you can go anywhere you want."

Well, if that's the way she felt, screw her. Tires squealed as I sped back the way we came, the return ride silent, and not fun. Becky sat far away, next to the passenger door, her face sideways, staring out. When we arrived at the farm, she left the car in a huff and ran inside.

Me, being the selfish jerk that I am, left her for the town bar and the all important World Series game five. Baltimore jumped out to a three to nothing lead in the third inning. Then Mets pitcher, Jerry Koosman, shut the door, while their offense came to life when Clendenon blasted his third series homer. Two runs in the sixth, one run in the seventh to tie the game, and two runs in the eighth to win. The series was over. The Mets were world champions, and I won the bet with Becky. She would have to declare to everyone who asked, 'He's my boyfriend.'

After downing my fourth beer, I was ready to go home and gloat. Staying under the speed limit took all my self-control. If Officer Goober-twin stopped me now I'd be in serious trouble. When I finally turned into the driveway, safe and unsound, I spotted a U-haul truck parked in front of the barn.

"Now what."

The smell of pot and laughter greeted me as I entered the kitchen door. "Becky?"

"In here, Doc. We have a visitor."

Turning the corner into the living room, I froze. Becky and Roger sat on the couch together, both topless and passing a joint back and forth. Becky removed her hand from Roger's thigh when she saw my frown. His pants were undone, and he was sporting a significant bulge.

"Hey, DC, I brought your stuff, easier to deliver the shit than ship it. Besides, I wanted to see how you and Becky were making out."

Becky laughed, "We're way beyond making out."

"I see that," he said, staring at Becky's chest, while his hand rose from her thigh to fondle her breast.

Becky patted the cushion on her free side, "Have a seat, Doc." Holding up the joint, she said, "We can share." She took a hit, "isn't that right?"

Oh God, what have I done?

Roger pinched the nipple, and kissed her neck. Becky's eyes remained riveted to mine, showing no pleasure in his touch, but rather a glare of defiance. She said, "Roger said the pot's not free. So..."

My blood pounded in my temples, my head ready to explode. With a hint of anger, I asked, "Hey Rog, what's the delivery of my stuff going to cost."

He sat back, and smiled, "Not a thing. Just seeing Becky," his hand cradled and bounced her breast, "was worth the trip."

"You've seen her. Now you can leave."

Roger showed me his are-you-crazy face. "Man, what are you smokin'? I just got here."

I glanced at Becky, trying to read her thoughts. Nothing transmitted. So I said to her, "The Mets won."

Her brow crinkled, and then memory of our wager must have cut through the fog. "So you win the bet," she said, and half smiled.

Roger released his grip on Becky. "What bet?"

Before I could answer, she said, "I have to tell everyone that Don's my boyfriend."

The fact she said boyfriend and not just friend gave me hope. Made me think she wasn't really into this scene, that this was all just an escape from a painful reality, or payback for a reality I created.

"That's right, I'm her boyfriend. So keep your hands off my girlfriend, Rog."

"C'mon, DC, don't be a drag." He put his arm around her, "She's cool with us both... sharing. Right, Babe."

Becky flinched, but she met my gaze and put the burden on me. "It's up to my boyfriend." This was a test. Her laser like eyes burned holes in my head.

Without hesitation, I said, "Well, Rog. I'm not cool with it." Then I looked at her, and said, "Beckster, I love you. I don't want anyone else but you, and I hope you feel the same."

Becky's jaw dropped in surprise. Then her head drooped. After a few seconds, she stood up, put on her tee-shirt, and walked up to me face-to-face. Eyes brimming with tears, she said, "I have one question, why did you have all your things sent here?"

"Well, Beckster... the truth is... Whether you kick me out, or make me live in the barn, I will never leave you."

"I see." She looked at the floor in thought, and then turned to Roger, "Party's over." Without another word, Becky turned away and ran upstairs.

"Hmm, this is serious, DC." Roger stood up and fastened his pants. "I never thought I'd see the day you settled down. But, I have to admit, you're a lucky man."

He held out his hand, and I shook it. Roger was a letch, but most of the time he was good friend. "Thanks, Becky is the love of my life." Saying it out loud, I realized how true it felt.

"Well then..." Roger smiled, "Best of luck. I guess I can't talk you into going to Canada with me."

"What?"

"My cousin lives there. He will let me stay to avoid the draft. No way am I going to Nam. I was hoping you'd come across the border with me."

"Wow." It took a few seconds to process, but my mind was already made up. "I appreciate the offer, but my life is here with Becky."

"It's your funeral. Come on then, let's unload your stuff. I can make the boarder by tomorrow."

"No, stay the night."

He laughed, "There's no reason for me to stay. I felt your girlfriend's tit. Nothing else to look forward to."

I laughed, and said, "You're a pig."

"I know. But a lovable pig ... and I know when I'm not wanted."

Roger can be a pig with a good heart. So, we unloaded my belongings into the barn with frat brother harmony. When finished, we shook hands and wished each other the best. He again offered a place to stay in Canada if I ever wanted to avoid the war. He drove off, waving and honking the horn.

I watched the truck until it was out of sight. My past life disappeared. My new life had just begun. I took a deep breath and watched the sun sat drop below horizon. Procrastination wasn't going to solve anything, so I went inside to face Becky. The bedroom door was closed. I knocked. "Becky, may I come in?"

A muffled, "Sure," came back in answer. She lay on her stomach, facing away.

I sat down beside her and rubbed her back. "You okay?"

"No. I've turned into Cindy. Trading sex for dope. I don't know who I am anymore."

"You are not Cindy. You just had a bad day. You're depressed, and in a moment of weakness you found an easy escape. Being topless is hardly having sex."

"I would've... if you wanted to... or... if you hadn't come home just then. I have no self-respect."

My throat tightened, regret choked like swallowing sand. "I'm sorry... for being a bad influence. But being with you, I've found out what I really want in life. Just you. That's all. I want a wife and a family. That's all I want to share with you."

She rolled onto her back, eyes red from crying, her brow crinkled, "Was that some kind of marriage proposal?"

Cradling her cheek in my hand, I said, "No, this is. Becky Jeffries, will you make me the happiest man in the world and marry me?"

Her eyes flooded and spilled over. My heart leapt to my throat with fear of rejection, until she nodded, and said, "I will." Her arms reached out and pulled me down into a warm embrace and kiss. "I love you, Don Carter."

"I love you too, Becky Jeffries."

After a few more prolonged kisses, I pulled away to look into her eyes. "Would you come home with me for Thanksgiving, and let my family be at our wedding?"

She smiled as more tears fell. "Of course I will. You and yours are the only family I have now. I hope your parents like me."

"I love you, so they will too."

She hugged me tight, kissed my cheek, and softly whispered in my ear, "Until then, you're still my lover."

No words came to mind, as my hands slipped under her tee shirt, dragging it up to expose her chest. The only thing left to do was fulfill her heart's desire the best way I knew.

The End.