V is for Vietnam
A/N : Written for the 2007 FanRush Alphabet Challenge
A/N 2 : I don't know where this came from. I very rarely write about Alan, but this just wouldn't get out of my head.
For Macy. . . I love you, too!
and for Tammy. . . your persistence paid off
Walk three steps. . .turn. . .walk three steps. . .turn. Alan Eppes was used to the routine. He barely heard himself and the others yell out the slogans. . . "Honk for Peace!" "Give Peace a Chance!" The list of memorized slogans went on. He didn't notice when he accidentally walked too close to the police barricade. Reality hit, literally, as a cop, armed with a club, pushed him to the ground and his hands were pulled behind his back. He sighed inwardly. i Great. Another night in jail. Mom is going to kill me. /i
Another set of hands pulled him up and Alan came face to face with an older police officer. The man looked down at him, not unkindly. "Come on, son," he said, over the din of the other protestors who had just noticed that their comrade was in cuffs. To avoid a conflict, Alan was quickly moved beyond the crowd of onlookers and shuffled into a waiting car. As the door shut and the car took off, Alan leaned back and sighed again. This wasn't quite what he'd planned for the day. Looking out the window, he noticed that it had started to rain.
An hour later, Alan was almost comfortable in the holding cell where he'd be staying for the night. Thinking back to the five minutes he'd been on the phone with his mom, he sighed. He'd been right. . .she wasn't happy with him. . .again. This was the third time in as many weeks that he'd not made it home from a protest. She'd yelled. He'd listened. Then the guard had come and he gratefully ended the conversation and went with him.
She didn't understand. He was acting out, and she knew why, but she still didn't understand. Lying on his back on the bunk, Alan replayed the events that had led up to this unfortunate night in a cell…
It had been raining that day, but Alan didn't care. He'd spent the entire day playing baseball and then went with his buddies over to their favorite pizza joint.
"Hey Mario," the boys chorused as they descended upon the almost empty pizzeria. The always friendly shopkeeper held his hand up for the boys to quiet down and motioned that he was on the phone. "Yes. Yes, ma'am. He just came in. I'll tell him." Hanging up, Mario approached the group. Making a bee-line for Alan, he said tenderly, "Alan, that was your mother. She says for me to tell you to come home right away."
Annoyed, Alan turned to look at Mario. She'd promised he could treat himself to pizza and then stay at Bobby's tonight! But one look at the Italian's face and his heart fell. His eyes asked a question and the expression on the man's face answered. Without a word, he bolted from the restaurant and ran in the direction of his house.
It was still raining. He was soaked by the time he reached the ballpark to stop and breathe for a moment. The horrible fear resurfaced, however, and he ran again, past the grocer's, past the meat market, and onto his own street. The lights were on all over in his house. It was shining, like a beacon, all the way down the block where he was.
Alan didn't even try to shake the water out of his hair or wring his clothes out. He just stepped into his house and took in the scene in front of him. Neighbors were everywhere, milling about, talking in hushed tones. He searched the room for his mother. His eyes found her the same moment hers found his. He was at her side in an instant. He didn't even notice the hush that fell over the room as he forced the words out of his mouth, "How bad?"
Wordlessly, his mother handed him the paper. Trembling, he unfolded it and skimmed past who the letter was for until his eyes reached the part that read:
We regret to inform you that your son, Lt. Judd E. Eppes, has been killed in action.
Tears blurred Alan's vision as his mother grabbed his shoulders and held him. He supported her as her small frame shook with sobs.
The next day, Alan had quit the baseball team. Afterwards, he headed down to the place where he'd seen the protestors the week before. They were just starting the rally, and were more than happy for him to join.
Alan knew that protesting the war wasn't going to bring his brother back, but maybe it would cause someone to realize that peace was okay. As he was handed a sign that read "Give Peace a Chance!", he wondered. . .would they ever?
A/N 3 : Trust me. . .this is unlike anything I've ever written. I am totally for our troops, I just have always wondered what got Alan started in protesting. Love it? Hate it? Push the little purple button and let me know what you think!