James Etheridge

Excerpt from “Only Time Would Tell” by James Etheridge.
Available at https://www.amazon.com/dp/1086015924

The next morning Mitch met me in the hall before school started. “Why the hell did you burn down our fort?” he demanded. I closed my locker and said, “Why did you bomb us with clay pigeons and golf balls?”
“Well, we didn’t burn down your fort.”
“No, but you could have really hurt somebody with those golf balls.”
“So what, all’s fair in love and backyard warfare.”
“Exactly. That’s why we blew up your fort. You almost cut poor ol’ Bubba-Bubba in half with a clay pigeon. He thought his ribs were broken. His momma had to rub Ben-Gay on them.”
Mitch started to laugh and then I started laughing. “Speaking of clay pigeons, where did that kid learn to shoot like that?” he asked. “Who in the world knocks clay pigeons out of the air with a BB gun?”
“He goes hunting with his dad and brother all the time. His brother’s a marksman in the Army.”
“What was he shooting those bottle rockets out of?”
“A bazooka. His brother made it out of iron pipe to shoot rockets with on July Fourth.”
“How’d he hit the front of our fort with it?”
“We were trying to land the rockets in the middle and take out the skeet thrower. One of the golf balls knocked it into the fort wall.”
“How do you know that?”
“I saw it. I was behind a tree next to the fort.”
“Oh, yeah, you threw the firecrackers. What kind were they?”
“Black Cats.”
“They sounded like M-80’s. By the way, that was a pretty impressive jump you made across the creek.”
“Thanks. How’d you see it? I figured y’all were all scrambling for your lives.”
“I saw you jump when I was running back down to the fort with the hose.”
“If it makes you feel any better, that was our last bottle rocket. We only had three.”
“Oh, yeah, that makes me feel great.”
“Look, do y’all need any help rebuilding the fort? I don’t mind, even though Bubba-Bubba says I’m a traitor.”
“Bubba-Bubba’s an ass.”
“You think we don’t know that? We have to deal with him, he’s in our platoon.”
“Why don’t you kick him out?”\
“We can’t. He promoted himself to lieutenant.”
Mitch looked at me and started laughing. “You’ve gotta be kidding me,” he said.
“Nope, he’s a lieutenant,” I replied. “He’s got the white bar he painted on his helmet and two pieces of his mother’s costume jewelry on his collar to prove it.”
“Oh, gah.”
“Yeah, it’s pretty funny. He probably had her pin them on him. Listen, I’ll be over this afternoon to help y’all.”
“We’re not working on the fort until Wednesday. I’ve got a science project and Beach is having to get braces.”
“Okay, Wednesday afternoon.”
The bell rang and we both went to homeroom.

Wednesday Mrs. Peebles showed us the weather charts again and told us false spring was going to continue through the first of the following week. I looked over at Mitch and gave him the thumbs up. He grinned and nodded. I could only imagine what they must have been plotting. A little while later I looked out the window and saw Joe’s dad’s old green ’55 Ford pickup leaving the school. Joe was in the cab with him. I hoped he wasn’t getting sick. It was strange that his dad was picking him up and not his mom. After school I went over to Joe’s and rang the doorbell. It took a while for someone to come to the door so I rang the bell again. Joe opened the door. His face was all swollen and his eyes were puffy. He didn’t open the screen door. “Hey, Tommy,” he said. “Hey, man,” I said brightly, “got the weather report in Mrs. Peebles class today. False spring’s gonna continue into next week. Should be a great weekend for maneuvers. Mitch and them are rebuilding their fort today. Wanna help?” He looked at me and didn’t smile. “Jerry got killed in Vietnam,” he said. I stood there, shocked and stunned. “Oh, God,” I said. “Oh, God,” was all that would come out. “What happened?” I finally managed to say. “His bunker got hit by a rocket. It blew up and killed his whole squad.”
“When?”
“Sunday. We just got the telegram today.”
“Sunday? That’s the day we…”
“Yeah.”
“Oh, God. Oh, God. Joe, I’m sorry,”
“Yeah. I don’t think I’ll be playing Army anymore.”
“No, I guess not.”
His eyes welled up and tears rolled down his cheeks. “Look, Tommy, I gotta go. I’ll see you later.” He shut the door and locked it. I stood there in shock, then turned and sat down hard on the front step, not believing what I had just heard. I felt empty, hollow and numb.

After a few minutes I stood up and walked back toward our house. I looked at Jerry’s black Super Hawk parked in the carport and a huge lump came up in my throat. I went down through our back yard, crossed the creek and walked up the hill to where Mitch, Drummer and Strongarm were working on the fort. “Hey, Tommy, thanks for the help,” said Strongarm. “Beach and the twins ought to be here pretty soon.” Mitch was holding a burlap grass seed bag. “We’re filling these bags with sand,” he said. His back was to me. “They gave us a couple of wheelbarrows full at the new house they’re building over on Hampton Trail.” He stood up, turned around and looked at me. “What’s wrong with you? You look like you’ve just seen a ghost.” “Joe’s brother Jerry got killed in Vietnam,” I heard myself say. They all stopped working and looked at me. “When?” asked Mitch.
“Sunday. I just came from Joe’s house. They got the telegram today.”
“What happened?”
“The bunker he was in got hit by a rocket and exploded.”
“Holy shhh…”
“Yeah, can you believe that?”
“Damn. How’s he doing?”
“Not good, I don’t think. He won’t be playing Army anymore.”
“My cousin stayed up all night watching the lottery,” said Drummer. “His number was way down the list.” “That’s the only reason my brother’s in college, besides his baseball scholarship,” said Strongarm. “My mother says it’ll pay off in the long run. If the truth be told, he’d rather be working construction and playing American Legion ball.”

We sat quietly for a minute, until I stood up and said, “Right. Let’s get to work.” I held the burlap bags while Mitch filled them with sand. Beach and the twins showed up. We told them about Jerry. “Our brother’s number came up, so he joined the Navy,” said Charlie. “You have to wonder when this thing’s gonna end,” said Beach. “It won’t be too long before our numbers’ll be up and it’ll be us.” “Our brother said we’re getting our asses shot off over there,” said Marty. “Bullshit!” said Drummer. “America never has lost a war. We damn sure ain’t gonna lose this one.” “My old man says this one is different,” said Beach. “Your old man’s full of it,” sneered Drummer. “Well, we’ll see,” Beach shot back. “Alright, Alright, knock it off! It’ll be dark soon. We’ve still got a lot of work to do,” said Mitch. I held the bags while Mitch continued filling them up with sand. I was still in a state of shock and didn’t talk much. After Mitch and I filled the bags, Beach and Strongarm handed them to Drummer and the twins, who stacked them one on top of the other. We had a few left over for the sides, so we stacked them on top of piled-up pinestraw. By dusk we were finished and the fort was sturdier and stronger than before. As I was leaving to head home, Mitch called out, “Hey, Tommy, thanks for your help! Tell Joe we’re sorry.”
“Okay, thanks.”
I’ll be sure and tell Bubba-Bubba you’re a traitor!” I managed to smile and said, “Please, don’t! He’s a lieutenant, you know!” We both laughed and I walked down the hill, crossed the creek and climbed up to our house. When I walked in my mother was sitting at the kitchen table, crying. We looked at each other and I started to cry. She jumped up, hugged me and I began sobbing uncontrollably. Not a word was spoken between us. She rubbed the back of my head and my shoulders. After I composed myself and let go of her, she asked, “Have y’talked t’ little Joe?” She prefaced all of our names with ‘little.’ “Yes, ma’am,” I said. “I saw him this afternoon.”
“How’s he a-doin’
“Not good, I don’ think.”
“No, I wouldn’t imagine so. He loved his brother so much. Oh, I just cain’t imagine what poor Sarah and Johnny must be a-goin’ through,” she said. Sarah and Johnny were Joe’s mom and dad. “I’m a-fixin’ ‘em some food right now,” she continued. “Th’ Sunday school class is a-takin’ it over to ‘em t’morrow. Supper’ll be ready soon, Sweetie. We’ze a-havin’ meat loaf.” “I’m not really hungry right now,” I said. “Oh, Sweetie, ya gotta eat,” she replied. My mother was one of those southern women that thought that food fixed everything. “Maybe I’ll eat something later,” I said, knowing full well I wouldn’t. My mother’s meat loaf was terrible.

My father was sitting in the den watching the CBS Evening News. I stuck my head in the door on the way up to my room. “Hey, Daddy,” I said. He took a long drag off his Lucky Strike, exhaled blue smoke, looked at me and said, “Damn commies.” He turned his attention back to Cronkite. I went up to my room and shut the door. I hung up my clothes, pulled on my sweatshirt and sweatpants, turned out the light and got into bed. I lay there for a long time, thinking about Joe, Jerry, the fort and the rocket hitting the bunker. I started to cry again, a little at first, then a lot. I pulled the covers over my head because I didn’t want my mother to come in and hover over me. I just wanted to be left alone. I cried myself to sleep and didn’t wake up until morning.

Joe didn’t come to school the next day. In the afternoon, I went next door and rang their doorbell. Nobody answered. I waited a couple of minutes and rang it again. Still nobody came. I left the front porch, walked past the front carport and King was lying on his side on the concrete floor next to the Super Hawk. I walked up to him and knelt down. He raised his head, looked at me and laid it back down. He let out a long sigh. “Hey, big fella,” I said, rubbing behind his ear. “I know you miss him, don’t you?” King whimpered and sighed again. “You’ve gotta take care of Joe now, boy. You know that’s what he’d want.” He thumped his tail twice on the concrete. “You hang in there, buddy,” I said. I stood up, choked down the emotion in my throat and headed back toward the house. As I walked through our gate, I looked over and saw Joe’s dad sitting in a chair on their back patio. There was a half-empty bottle of Jack Daniels and a big ashtray full of cigarette butts on the table next to the chair. He had a glass in his hand and was staring out into the woods beyond the creek. I went into the house, shut the back door, went up to my room and started struggling through my math homework. The front doorbell rang. I opened the door and it was Billy, Brain and Snail. “Hey, Tommy,” said Billy. “We heard about Jerry. Did a rocket really hit his bunker?” “That’s what Joe said,” I answered. “Wow,” said Brain. “How’s Joe doin’?”
“Not good. He wasn’t at school today.”
“Yeah, we know,” said Billy. “We heard you helped ‘em rebuild their fort,” said Brain. “That was really cool of you. Are we on for this weekend? Weather’s supposed to be good.”
“I don’t know, Brain. I guess so. If Mitch says otherwise, I’ll let you know. I do know Joe won’t be playing anymore. I’ll see y’all later.” I closed the door, went back up to my room and tried to concentrate on the pre-algebra I didn’t understand in the first place.

In the lunchroom the next day I went down the line with my tray, picked up my carton of milk, paid the cashier and spotted Joe sitting all by himself. I walked up to the table and said, “Hey, Joe, mind if I sit down?” “Sure, but I don’t think I’ll be very good company,” he said. There was an awkward silence for a minute before I said, “How are you doing?”
“A little better I guess. Tell your mom thanks for the food.”
“How are your mom and dad?”
“Not good. Mom closed herself up in the bedroom and hasn’t come out. Dad hasn’t spoken since Wednesday. He just sits on the back patio. King laid down next to the Super Hawk and won’t move. He won’t even eat or drink.
“Yeah, I stopped by yesterday. I petted him when I was leaving.”
“It’s funny how dogs know, y’know? I camped out in the woods by myself for a couple of days. I came back this morning.”
“So, what’s gonna happen?”
“Jerry’ll be back home today. The funeral’s tomorrow at the family plot out in Conyers. I think we’re gonna move out there. My parents can’t stay here. I don’t think I can, either.” Tears welled up in his eyes. “I gotta go, Tommy,” his voice cracked. “Take it easy, you’ve been a good friend.” He got up, dumped his food in the trash and walked out the door. I just sat there and stared at my tray. After a few minutes I stood up, dumped my uneaten lunch in the can and walked back to the classroom. I sat down at my desk, folded my arms, put my head in them and I prayed. I prayed hard, for Jerry, for Joe, for their parents and for King. I prayed for the other soldiers in the bunker and for their families. I felt a gentle pat on my shoulder and raised my head. It was Mrs. Peebles. She had returned early from lunch. She sat down at her desk and began grading papers. I sat and stared out the window. Not a word was spoken between us. There was a cardinal in a tree out in the courtyard. I watched him for a long time and as I was watching, I prayed that somehow, someway the war would come to an end.

As I rode my bike home that afternoon, Joe’s dad was coming the other way in his pickup. King was with him in the cab. The Super Hawk was strapped in the back. I waved at him. He didn’t wave back. When I got home there was a For Sale sign in their front yard. All of the patio furniture was gone. I went into the back yard and walked down to the fort. Lying up against the wall was the bazooka and the slingshot. The rubber cord on the slingshot was still broken. I picked up the bazooka, took it home and stashed it in the garage. I didn’t want Bubba-Bubba to get his hands on it. I left the slingshot where it was. In honor of Joe, I felt it was the right thing to do.

The next morning was Saturday. I got up, watched Looney Tunes, put on my fatigues, boots and helmet. I strapped on my tommy gun and left the Daisy in the closet. I went outside, stopped at the water hose, filled my canteen and looked at my Timex. It was five ‘til ten. I walked into Joe’s back yard and down to the fort. There was a new American flag at the back, along with their Misty Waters Eighteenth flag. “Nice to see you could make it,” said Bubba-Bubba.   I just looked at him. “Did you hear about Joe’s brother?” I asked. “Yeah, that’s too bad,” he said. “Here’s the plan, I’ve already told the others. Billy’s on the right flank, Brain’s on the left. I’m at the fort with the Mighty Mo. You and Snail are in the middle. Brain’s little brother Jack is in the middle with y’all.” I looked down at Brain’s little brother. He smiled back up at me. He was five years old, wearing a plastic Army helmet and holding a pop gun. “It feels weird being in Joe’s back yard with them not here,” I said. “Well, they won’t mind, they don’t live here anymore,” replied Bubba-Bubba. Billy and Brain went out on the flank and Bubba-Bubba crouched behind the cannon. Snail, Jack and I walked down the hill and then crawled to the creek. Charlie blew the police whistle, Bubba-Bubba whistled back and the battle was on. Brain and Billy advanced to the trees ahead of them. As they were advancing, the unmistakable sound of the skeet thrower flung the opening salvo of golf balls.

As Billy was advancing, a ball hit him in the chest and took him down. “Brooks!” barked lieutenant Bubba-Bubba. “Get up there and tag him!” Never mind that he was closer to Billy than I was. He couldn’t leave his position and risk getting hit. As an officer, he was just too valuable. Besides, if he got hit no one would tag him back in. I stood up and walked over to Billy with golf balls flying all around me. One of Drummer’s Johnny Seven bullets whizzed past my face. I bent down, tagged Billy and stood up. “You know, I can’t do this anymore,” I said. I started walking back up the hill. I was going home. “Get back in position!” yelled Bubba-Bubba. I held out a middle-finger salute for the lieutenant without even looking at him. “Mister, you get back in position right now! That’s an order! Do you understand?” he screamed. I was even with him now at the Mighty Mo. “Screw you, Bubba-Bubba,” I said and kept on walking. “Traitor!” he yelled and a sweetgum ball hit me in the middle of the back. I stopped walking and a slow rage settled over me. I dropped my tommy gun and turned around. He was standing by the cannon with the slingshot drawn back. Apparently he had tied the rubber cord back together and it was now his. I strode toward him. “What did you call me?” I yelled. “Traitor!” he yelled back and let go of another sweetgum ball. This one flew over my head. He reached down for another ball and as he stood up, I slammed my hands into his chest and lifted him up by his fatigues to where his face was even with mine. I stuck my nose against his. The fronts of our helmets were against one another and the backs were cocked off of our heads. The voice that came out of me did not sound like mine. “If you ever hit me with anything again, if you ever even touch me I swear to God I will kick your sawed-off little ass into next Tuesday!” I growled through my clenched teeth. Then, I lifted him up even higher so that his head was above mine and his feet were off the ground. “You got that?” “Ah, ah, ah,” he stammered. I threw him back down on the ground and stood at his feet. He rolled over and pushed up with his right arm. “Get up, Bubba-Bubba!” I yelled. “I dare you to get up!” He went back down on his elbow and looked up at me. “Yeah, that’s what I thought!” I said. Everybody was standing and watching us. The woods were still and quiet, except for the coos of the mourning doves and the calls of the blue jays. I looked around at the guys, then across the creek at Mitch. He raised his right hand in a salute. I saluted him back, turned, walked up the hill, picked up my tommy gun and went home. The next week I packed up my fatigues, ammo belt and combat boots and sent them to my cousin in Texas. I gave my helmet and tommy gun to Brain’s kid brother Jack.

The couple that bought Joe’s house was an older couple. Their names were Mr. and Mrs. James. They had to have been in their late forties, maybe even their early fifties. They were real nice and friendly and had an English Bulldog named Sluggo. Mrs. James filled in the fort with dirt and potting soil and planted blueberry bushes in it. Sluggo didn’t dig in it, and the bushes grew big, full and healthy. She and Mr. James would pick buckets full of the berries and bring containers of them over to our house. Mrs. James and my mother became good friends.   Mr. James picked up all the golf balls that were strewn around the yard and practiced hitting them to the Misty Waters Eighteenth flag. Jack, Mitch’s little brother Rusty and their friends took over the fort in Mitch’s back yard. They guarded it from imaginary marauders coming across the creek and up the hill.

That summer I started cutting Mr. and Mrs. James’ grass once a week. After I had finished one Saturday, she paid me and said, “Oh, Tommy, I completely forgot. There’s a portable stereo and some tapes in the carport closet that the young man who lived here wanted you to have. I’m so sorry, I forgot all about it until I saw them in there earlier this week.” We went to the closet, opened the door and sitting there against the left-hand wall was Jerry’s stereo. There was a box of eight-track tapes next to it and Creedence’s Willy And The Poor Boys was in the tape door of the stereo. “Wow, thank you, Mrs. James,” I said. “Oh, he was adamant that you have it,” she replied. “Wasn’t that terrible about his brother?”
“Yes ma’am.”
“That poor young man was so pitiful. So were his parents. I pray for them every day.”
“Yes, ma’am. They were a special family.”
“Well, you enjoy that stereo. He wanted to be sure you got it. He said it hadn’t been played since his brother left.”
“Yes ma’am. Thank you again.”

I picked up the stereo, the box of tapes and took them home. My parents weren’t there. My mother was at the beauty shop and my father was at the flying field with his model airplanes. I walked back over to the James’ house, brought our lawnmower, gas can and string trimmer home and put them in the basement. I took the stereo up to my room, cleared a spot off the dresser, put the stereo on top and plugged it in. I pushed Willy And The Poor Boys in the tape player and out of the speakers came the bass and drum beat, followed by the guitar licks and finally John Fogerty’s unforgettable voice singing Fortunate Son, the last song Jerry heard before he went off to war a half a world away, where the bullets were real and there was no tagging back into the battle.