The "Unluck" of the Draw
"Where to?"
I stopped to ponder this. Where was I going?
"Where are you heading?" The lady slowed down her question as if I couldn't understand her.
"I don't know," I answered honestly.
"Well come back when you do," she said sourly. "Next!"
As I walked away, I realized it didn't matter where I went. I should have told her to give me a ticket to the farthest place away from here. I tugged on my miniskirt and sat down on a hard plastic seat. I look down at my now empty ring finger and tried to remember how it became empty. The simplest thing I could come up with was Scott broke his promise and gave me exactly what I asked for. I don't really blame Scott for us not being together anymore. The truth was we were never meant to be. Fate had played a cruel joke on us.
Scott and I were high school sweet hearts. It was like The Princess Bride, a poor farm hand fell in love with a farmer's daughter. Scott really was a farm hand, and I never deserved my farm boy. Any time I'd ask him a favor he'd whisper, "As you wish." Scott never cared how little I had and I never cared about how poor he was. We were meant to be. He was Ying and I was Yang.
I was always reading the news. Scott worried for our troops and winced at the photos. He celebrated with me when Robert Kennedy declared his presidential candidacy and mourned with me when he was shot. He prayed with me when Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. was assassinated.
When Scoot and I met, I was a freshmen and he was a sophomore. I thought he was cute, but I knew he was not my type. He was into all sorts of trouble. He was like Ponyboy, good on the inside, but not knowing how to show it. I was like Cherry knowing he was good, but not wanting to be seen with him. I pretended he didn't exist.
Unfortunately he didn't do the same. Friday after school he stood leaning against my locker backed by his gang. "Will you go to the movies with me tonight?" Scott asked.
"Maybe another night," I said looking at the ground. I was too much of a chicken to plain out tell him no, or maybe part of me wanted to say yes. I wouldn't say yes though because I'd only get hurt.
"Have it your way." Good thing he could take a hint, and with that he walked away.
In the following week Scott cleaned up his act. He dumped all his friends and started acting like the good man I knew he was. He seemed really depressed about it so, I wanted to cheer him up. When Friday rolled around I waited at his locker.
"Is that movie offer still up?" I asked.
"Sure," he said with out any enthusiasm, "just not tonight."
I frowned, didn't that cheer him up at all? Men! "What's up?" I asked.
"Well my dad died and I have to go to his funeral, sorry."
"Oh-" Oops, "I'm sorry." Wow. How could I have not known? Surely somebody at school would have told me.
Later Scott explained it all to me. He could never meet his dad's impossible standards, so he gave up completely. When his dad died, he felt guilty about disappointing him. He decided to try and be a better person in memory of his dad.
So, Scott and I fell madly in love like Anthony and Cleopatra. It was his senior year and we were outside the train station when he proposed. He grabbed my hands in his and knelt down on one knee. Then he pulled both my hands together and held them in his. His words melted me, "Miss Samantha Sanders, I love you more than anything in the world, will you marry me?"
"Yes," I gasped.
He stood up and wrapped me tight in his arms, "I don't have a ring yet."
"That's okay I don't need one. It's just a piece of metal and a rock. Our love is enough for me."
He chuckled, "An expensive piece of metal and rock." Then he kissed me softly on the cheek. This was the happiest moment of my life.
When Scott dropped me off I ran inside and told my mother everything. She rejoiced with me. She knew how much Scott and I love each other, even if it wasn't how she raised me. At least he had a job even if it wasn't the best paying job.
Scott graduated and I was left to finish high school. We wanted to both be out of high school before we actually got married. Scott was living in a singles apartment and I was still living with my mother. Scott was always good to me. Not once did he look at the neighbor girls. When he wasn't working long hours he was with me.
It was an evening like any other Scott had come over to help me struggle through homework he'd completed last year. After I slammed the book shut in frustration, he stood up and said, "Miss Sanders, it looks like you could use some good news."
"Lots of it," I muttered.
"I got your ring."
"Scott-" I began.
"Shh-" he murmured, "I want to do this right. It was my mom's."
"Okay," I agreed. Then he slipped a beautiful diamond ring onto my finger.
"Now I have some bad news too. I don't want to put off telling you." He took a deep breath and said, "I've been drafted."
My first thought was he was joking, but I knew Scott was perfect for the draft. I was stunned, shocked into silence, so many things were going through my head. All along I knew this was coming, but I refused to face it.
"Samantha!" Scott exclaimed, "are you okay? Please don't cry, it's going to be okay."
"Is it?" I shrieked. I hadn't felt the tears in numb eyes. "You can get out of it. Please don't go."
"No, I'll go." Scott had already made up his mind.
It was this moment that made me wonder how anybody could support this war, and despite his request I began to cry. Flower power didn't seem so stupid now. I asked childishly, "Why you?"
If it would have been me, I would have laughed at the question, but Scott was sweet and gentle. He smiled kindly at me and explained something I refused to believe, "This is just how things go. It's the luck of the draw."
Between sobs I choked out, "More like the unluck."
He smiled and pulled me into his chest rocking me slowly. "I'll come back. I'd never leave you. It's going to be alright," he promised.
I buried my head in his chest and let his arms wrap more tightly around me. He rocked me back and forth softly reassuring me. Time was frozen we could have stood there five minute or five hours. I didn't know nor did I care.
A week later Scott left for training and I was left a wreck. We had spent so much time together it was difficult to be apart. It wasn't just the idea that Scott may not come home, but how he may come home. I still wanted him to be my kind loving Scott. My mom wanted to take time off from the factory to be with me, but we couldn't afford it.
Letters came from Scott. To me they all said the same thing, he was okay. That was all that mattered to me, but that didn't stop me from reading and rereading each letter, before adding it to my pile. Soon the letters started coming from Vietnam. Each time I saw that he was okay, I sighed with relief. Scott was with a great group of guys. Danny was the youngest of them by a little and was having a hard time adjusting to war. He had an older sister who was die hard hippie, and a younger sister named Sandra that was a hippie want to be. Both of course strongly opposed the war and didn't support Danny. Danny worried about his older sister's drug use and didn't want his little sister picking up the habit. I pitied him. Johnny was fun and had a lot in common with Scott. They both girls waiting for them at home, who they loved very much. They both really didn't want to be there but were going to make the best of it. Scott and Johnny quickly became best friends. With each reply I begged Scott to find a way to come home. Even though I knew he was in too deep. Every time he'd write back,
"Samantha, I can't make another man take my spot. My father wouldn't have wanted it that way.
Love forever and for always,
Scott"
Each day I'd eagerly check the mailbox, and one day I found a letter addressed, "Miss Samantha Sanders." My heart pounded as I checked the return address. I swore, something Scott would have frowned at. Vietnam. I swore again. I ran inside. That wasn't Scott's hand writing. Why wasn't Scott able to write to me? I couldn't take this anymore! Howmanysoldiers would have to come home in body bags? How many families would have to lose loved ones? Why wouldn't somebody stop this war?! I loved him. Every emotion, every thought I ever had came bursting out of me. I screamed, and I screamed, but nobody was here to hear my screams. Not anymore. He didn't want this! He wanted us to be together. Forever. I yelled every swear word I knew and made up new ones. Nothing helped the pain I felt. It was eating me from the inside out. Why wouldn't it hurry up and destroy me so I wouldn't have to feel it anymore? Why wouldn't the pain leave me alone? I couldn't think any more. I only saw that handwriting. I closed my eyes and it still haunted me. Why couldn't that have been Scott's handwriting on the envelope? I had gone insane. It was that simple. I was completely crazy, maddened by grief. Why was this happening to me? To him?
When my mother came home, she found me curled up in my bed, sobbing. I didn't remember how I got there. She glanced at the letter and then at me and said, "Oh, baby."
I looked up at her and a fresh wave of tears came. She sat down next to me, "Read the letter. It will be easier."
"I don't need the letter." I couldn't bare to see it put into words. It would make this nightmare all too real.
"Yes you do," she said and handed me the letter.
I'd try anything to ease this pain. With trembling hands I opened the envelope.
"Dear Samantha,
This is Johnny if you haven't already guessed. This is difficult for me. I'm guessing you might already know what this is about. Something happened here in Vietnam. All of us are pretty upset about it, especially Danny. He blames himself. Anyways we were headed back to base camp to get more supplies. Well, we were attacked by Vietnamese soldiers only five miles from the camp. One of our men (I won't mention who but you can probably guess) froze up, scared at the thought of ending another man's life. Scott, not being afraid stepped in front of him just before Danny was shot.
He's dead, Samantha. Scott's dead. He died saving us. And I know you're probably crying because I know I am. We're all shocked so I decided to write to tell you instead of writing to my family and Kelly. Please send my love to them. I'm sorry, I should have done something to stop Danny but it happened so quick I didn't have time to think.
Don't worry Samantha, Scott's up there with the big man now. I know he's watching over you, protecting you. We won a small battle but we lost Scott's life so it doesn't feel like we won. I know of countless times when he told me that he loves you so much he'd do anything for you. Well, he did, he died to protect America and to protect you. If it's any comfort he died a hero, with his boots on.
Sincerely,
Johnny"
I hated Danny for taking my Scott from me. I hated him with a passion almost as strong as the passion I had felt for Scott. I was jealous of Kelly for getting the letter that I would send her. She would freak when she saw my handwriting instead of his, but at least I'd be able to tell her that Johnny was perfectly fine. Nobody would ever be able to tell me that. I would ask her to not to write back to me. No she couldn't write back to me it would hurt too much.
I died the day that letter came, and a new Samantha Sanders that was born. She was nothing like the old me. She never smiled and she never made friends with anybody. She never cared about anything, goals, hopes, dreams were are all lost when I died. The new Samantha Sanders was my empty shell.
The rest of the school year passed slowly, I saw Scott everywhere. Whispers followed me in the hall. They all said the same thing, "She got the letter…" People smiled at me, but I just looked at the ground.
A week after graduation I was sitting at home. Listening to the radio with out hearing. I was thinking about my mom and how much we were alike. There was no generation gap when it came to us. We both knew a pain that nobody should feel at our age. My mom and dad were like Scott and I. They were a teenage love that was meant to be. My dad had no idea at the time what his feeling for my mom were because she was dressed like a guy hiding in a hobo jungle. My mom knew exactly how she felt about my dad, but was afraid to admit she was a girl. Fate had brought them together. When my mom was pregnant with me my dad died in a factory accident. As soon as I was born she had to get a job to pay the bills. She wouldn't risk my life in those conditions. My mother had me though to get her through., and now I had her.
No! I wouldn't live here forever with my mom. I ran upstairs and grabbed the little cash I had. I would go somewhere and start over. I pulled off my ring and left it on my table. My mom could sell it, and use the money to get herself something nice. She would know I moved on, as she would want me to.
My plan seemed flawless, it was only when the lady at the station asked, "Where to?" That I realized I had no idea where I was going. No matter where I went I knew I was heading to start a new better life. This pain could only be eased, but not forgotten. I would never get over Scott.
END NOTES:
Off-the-rack, the simple, almost childish miniskirt became the uniform for young women, sold in boutiques and chain stores from Athens to Alaska. (Connikie, Yvonne).
January 30th, 1968, North Vietnamese and Vietcong troops, began attacks in South Vietnam during the Tet Offensive, temporarily overwhelming many U.S-held positions. Camera crews send pictures of bitter fighting home daily via satellite. Public support for the war declines from 62% to 41%. (Writers of the Associated Press).
March 16th, 1968. Robert Kennedy declared his presidential candidacy, saying, "At stake is not simply the leadership of our party, and even our country. It is our right to the moral leadership of this planet." (Holland, Gini).
June 5th, 1968. In June, Kennedy won the California primary. He greeted cheering supporters with a brief victory speech, stepped away from the microphones, and was fatally shot by a Palestinian immigrant among the crowd, Sirhan Bishara Sirhan.(Holland, Gini).
April 14th, 1968, Dr. Martin Luther King Jr. is assassinated in Mephis, Tennessee. Riots erupt in 125 cities. (Holland, Gini).
Most young people were raised on the belief that their highest ambition should be to get a good job, with a good company, and spend the rest of their lives there. (Editors of Time-Life Books).
The ultimate setup for young unmarrieds was the singles-only apartment complex, formally described in promoters' parlance as a "residential-young adults." (Editors of Time-Life Books).
The year 1970 began with the introduction of a new draft lottery system. This system assigned the numbers I-365 to the dates of the calendar drawn at random in a method similar to WWI and WWII lotteries. (Welsh, Douglas).
The young men who did not resist the draft were often right out of high school, working in factories or on farms. Many were poor men who didn't plan to go to college. (Writers of the Associated Press).
Young men called up for the draft tried stranger and stranger ways to fail the induction physical. Many psychologist, ministers, and doctors helped them-claiming the young men were mentally or physically disabled, or spiritually opposed to war. (Welsh, Douglas).
By no means all Americans-even young Americans-opposed the war. As protests against the Vietnam involvement increased, a counter wave of prowar feeling arose from youth groups such as the young Americans for Freedom, the established military boosters like the American Legion and Veterans of Foreign Wars. (Writers of the Associated Press).
The Beatles and their cardboard cutouts in a publicity shot for the movie Yellow Submarine, which cunningly packaged the psychedelic mood for mass public. The Beatles began their "Flower power" phase in designer outfits, but seemed bored by it all by 1969, when they began to dress more like the average hippie next door. (Connikie, Yvonne).
As a result of their traumas, many veterans readjusted badly to civilian life. Some never fit in. As many as twenty thousand veterans committed suicide in the postwar years, They also experienced high unemployment and prison rates for decades. Many also suffered from posttraumatic stress disorder, and ailment whose symptoms included involuntary memories, recurring nightmares, depression, and anxiety. (Welsh, Douglas).
Soon, American soldiers began coming home dead in "body bags." Weary U.S. soldiers slowly filed pass fallen comrades in body bags. Americans were confronted with horrible realities of war when body counts became part of daily television broadcasts. (Welsh, Douglas).
The generation that grew up in the 1960's was famous for its rebellion against traditional American values. It was during the 1960's that the phase "the generation gap" came into use to describe the stark differences in the opinions and attitudes of young people and their parents. (Editors of Time-Life Books).
Works Cited
Connikie, Yvonne. Fashions of a Decade: The 1960s. NY: Book builders Ltd, 1990.
Editors of Time-Life Books. This Fabulous Century: 1960, 1970. USA: Time-Life Books, Inc., 1970.
Holland, Gini. A Cultural History Of the United States: The 1960s.Sand Diego: Lucent Books, Inc., 1999.
Welsh, Douglas. A History of the Vietnam War. NY: Bison Books Corp., 1981.
Writers of the Associated Press. 20th Century America: From Woodstock to Watergate 1968-1974. USA: The Associated Press, 1995.