Monday, June 15, 1970
Yvonne and I were walking back to the hospital after our lunch break. We had decided to treat ourselves to a real lunch, rather than a meal at the hospital cafeteria. The load in the burn ward had thankfully been light and not too serious.
"Oh, Beth, hon, before we go back to the hospital do you think we could take a turn round the park?" Yvonne asked.
"Sure, Yvonne. It's such a nice day, I'd love the extra walk." I patted her arm; the light glinted off the M.I.A. bracelet. I gently rubbed Al's name again, to feel the engraved letters beneath my fingertips. I know you're coming home to me, Al, but when? I blinked away the tears that threatened to spill, and once again forced the memory of my supernatural visitation to the front of my mind.
Yvonne's plump arm snaked around my shoulders. "He's coming home, Beth. He will come home."
I let out a shaky sigh and nodded. "I know. It's just so hard being without him. Especially today. Did you know today's his birthday?" Yvonne nodded sympathetically as I wiped away tears. "I just wish that . . ." My words were cut off when we noticed the crowd at the newsstand.
"What's going on?" Yvonne asked the proprietor.
"The last pictures from that photographer that got killed in Vietnam just got released in Life. What was her name? Maggie Dorlin, or something like that?"
"Maggie Dawson," one of the patrons corrected him.
"Yeah, that's it! She got a shot of some of our boys that those damn Vietcong were moving to a POW camp. The photo's on the cover if you're interested." He handed a copy to Yvonne.
She looked down at the magazine and paled. She handed the proprietor a dollar for it and stepped back, grabbing me by the wrist as she did.
"What is it?" I asked. She wouldn't answer. Wordlessly, she led me to a park bench across the street.
"Sit down," she said. Her eyes were starting to get misty.
"Yvonne, what is it?" I repeated. "What's wrong?" I craned my head to see the magazine cover, but she'd pressed it against her chest. I'd never seen Yvonne act like this before, and her behavior both confused and worried me.
"I said sit down, Beth!" When I complied, albeit with a suspicious look on my face, she sat down next to me.
"What is going on? It has something to do with that photo, doesn't it?" Realization dawned. "Oh, God! It has to do with Al!"
Yvonne nodded. "He's a POW, Beth." She handed me the magazine.
Oh, God, there he was...too thin, haggard, worn . . . but alive! His hands were bound behind his back, and his captors were forcing him along the jungle path. Compliant yet resistant, he, unlike his fellow prisoners, looked back. Albert Calavicci...alive. I blinked away sudden tears to focus on his face. Even after three years of imprisonment he still had a strong spark of life. You could see it in his eyes. In the strength of will to look directly into the camera lens. I gasped when I realized that he must have seen her! He must have known how close freedom was when he saw the American reporter hiding in the bushes.
I traced his face with my finger. "Oh, Al," I managed to get out before I dissolved into tears. I fell against Yvonne's shoulder. She wrapped her arms around me and gently rocked back and forth.
"Shhh. You know he's alive. You knew that even before you saw the picture." Yvonne smoothed a lock of hair off my face. "He's coming home for you, Beth. You can see the determination in his face."
"Oh, God, Yvonne, he's had to put up with three years of their torture! How can he stand it?" I began crying harder. "How much longer can he stand it?"
"Stop it! That line of thought will do nothing to help either one of you," Yvonne was firm. "Al is strong. If anyone can outlast those damn Vietcong it's him." She forced me to sit up and face her. "Your job, my dear, is to stay strong for him. Pray for him every night. Cry yourself to sleep, if you have to. But you stay strong for him. When he comes home he's gonna need you just as much as you've needed him, if not more." She pulled a small packet of Kleenex from her purse. "Here, hon." She drew me into an embrace. "Go ahead and let it out. Let it all out."
Yvonne and I were walking back to the hospital after our lunch break. We had decided to treat ourselves to a real lunch, rather than a meal at the hospital cafeteria. The load in the burn ward had thankfully been light and not too serious.
"Oh, Beth, hon, before we go back to the hospital do you think we could take a turn round the park?" Yvonne asked.
"Sure, Yvonne. It's such a nice day, I'd love the extra walk." I patted her arm; the light glinted off the M.I.A. bracelet. I gently rubbed Al's name again, to feel the engraved letters beneath my fingertips. I know you're coming home to me, Al, but when? I blinked away the tears that threatened to spill, and once again forced the memory of my supernatural visitation to the front of my mind.
Yvonne's plump arm snaked around my shoulders. "He's coming home, Beth. He will come home."
I let out a shaky sigh and nodded. "I know. It's just so hard being without him. Especially today. Did you know today's his birthday?" Yvonne nodded sympathetically as I wiped away tears. "I just wish that . . ." My words were cut off when we noticed the crowd at the newsstand.
"What's going on?" Yvonne asked the proprietor.
"The last pictures from that photographer that got killed in Vietnam just got released in Life. What was her name? Maggie Dorlin, or something like that?"
"Maggie Dawson," one of the patrons corrected him.
"Yeah, that's it! She got a shot of some of our boys that those damn Vietcong were moving to a POW camp. The photo's on the cover if you're interested." He handed a copy to Yvonne.
She looked down at the magazine and paled. She handed the proprietor a dollar for it and stepped back, grabbing me by the wrist as she did.
"What is it?" I asked. She wouldn't answer. Wordlessly, she led me to a park bench across the street.
"Sit down," she said. Her eyes were starting to get misty.
"Yvonne, what is it?" I repeated. "What's wrong?" I craned my head to see the magazine cover, but she'd pressed it against her chest. I'd never seen Yvonne act like this before, and her behavior both confused and worried me.
"I said sit down, Beth!" When I complied, albeit with a suspicious look on my face, she sat down next to me.
"What is going on? It has something to do with that photo, doesn't it?" Realization dawned. "Oh, God! It has to do with Al!"
Yvonne nodded. "He's a POW, Beth." She handed me the magazine.
Oh, God, there he was...too thin, haggard, worn . . . but alive! His hands were bound behind his back, and his captors were forcing him along the jungle path. Compliant yet resistant, he, unlike his fellow prisoners, looked back. Albert Calavicci...alive. I blinked away sudden tears to focus on his face. Even after three years of imprisonment he still had a strong spark of life. You could see it in his eyes. In the strength of will to look directly into the camera lens. I gasped when I realized that he must have seen her! He must have known how close freedom was when he saw the American reporter hiding in the bushes.
I traced his face with my finger. "Oh, Al," I managed to get out before I dissolved into tears. I fell against Yvonne's shoulder. She wrapped her arms around me and gently rocked back and forth.
"Shhh. You know he's alive. You knew that even before you saw the picture." Yvonne smoothed a lock of hair off my face. "He's coming home for you, Beth. You can see the determination in his face."
"Oh, God, Yvonne, he's had to put up with three years of their torture! How can he stand it?" I began crying harder. "How much longer can he stand it?"
"Stop it! That line of thought will do nothing to help either one of you," Yvonne was firm. "Al is strong. If anyone can outlast those damn Vietcong it's him." She forced me to sit up and face her. "Your job, my dear, is to stay strong for him. Pray for him every night. Cry yourself to sleep, if you have to. But you stay strong for him. When he comes home he's gonna need you just as much as you've needed him, if not more." She pulled a small packet of Kleenex from her purse. "Here, hon." She drew me into an embrace. "Go ahead and let it out. Let it all out."