Part Four
One Friday night at a football game,
The Lord's Prayer said and the Anthem sang,
A man said folks would you bow your heads,
For a list of local Vietnam dead.
Crying all alone under the stands,
Was a piccolo player in the marching band,
And one name read but nobody really cared,
But a pretty little girl with a bow in her hair.
The man Mary had come to know as her principal, Mr. Davis, (she'd started paying more attention to school official when they started giving update on Vietnam) stood at the podium. He cleared his throat.
"Ladies and Gentlemen, it is with a heavy heart that I speak today. I have just received some devastating news." Mr. Davis cleared his throat again and spokes shakily, "Folks, if you could all bow your heads with me as I read from the list of local Vietnam dead, boys who went to school here, who went to work here, boys who went to church and sat next to us in the pew."
"Private Arthur David Adams."
"Staff Sergeant Martin Lance Chambers."
"Master Sergeant Calvin James Earp"
"Private First Class Alexander Wayne Grayson"
"Sergeant Patrick Seymour Jackson"
With each name read, sobs could be heard. Mother's who no longer had son. Father's who would soon bury their child. Sisters and brother's remembering a time when the never said "I'm sorry" or "I love you". Wives, children, grandparents, aunts, uncles, whenever a name was read a loud burst of crying could be heard from the family. All except for one.
"Corporal John Eric Winchester."
When that one name was read, there was no burst of crying from the crowd, there were no screams. When that one name was read nobody really cared. Nobody, except that one young girl.
"NO!"
All alone, tears pouring down her cheeks, the thought of a world without her John hurting too much to bear, stood Mary. Hidden under the stands, where she had stopped after running away, she gasped for breath between sobs. She tore the bow from her hair and clenched it to her chest, wishing in some way she could reach inside and use it to hold her heart together.
"No, John, no…"
I cried,
Never gonna hold the hand of another guy,
Too young for him they told her,
Waitin' for the love of a travelin' soldier.
Our love will never end,
Waitin' for the soldier to come back again,
Never more to be alone when the letter said,
A soldier's coming home.