Page 33 of Echoes of a Silent Song
It wasn’t unusual for us to be quiet when we were together.A companionable silence, I’d heard it called.But this silence seemed different.Victor’s jaw was set, his eyes straight ahead, and his stride so long, so fast, that if I didn’t know better, I’d think he was trying to get away from me.
Wait,washe?Had I done something to upset him?
I flipped back through the few minutes we’d spent together, but I couldn’t come up with anything.Maybe it had nothing to do with me.He’d been in this mood before.Preoccupied, like his mind had ventured to another planet.
Well.He wasn’t the only one having a bad day.Mother and I hadargued again just before Victor arrived.But Victor’s issue was clearly more than a little parental disagreement.I’d learned over the last few weeks to read his moods, how to be just what he needed.In fact, he’d told me several times that I was the only one who truly understood him.
And he understood me too.Sometimes I felt exposed around him, like his gaze was a spotlight and I stood at center stage.Maybe that was just part of being in love.Caring so very much what Victor thought of me.I didn’t feel this way around anyone else, that was for certain.
No, best not to bring up my argument with Mother.I didn’t want to add to whatever burden Victor carried.
“Victor?”My breath came fast from trying to keep up with him.“Are you okay?You’ve barely said a word.”
He stopped at the entrance to Sammy’s, his eyes strangely blank.He looked in my direction, but it didn’t feel like he truly saw me.“You haven’t heard?”
I frowned.“Heard ...what?”
He tugged the door open and gestured for me to walk through.“The protests yesterday in Washington.Some say it was the largest anti-war demonstration yet.”
Oh.Right.The protests of the war in ’Nam.Anti-war demonstrations had been happening more and more lately.Lots of students had even missed class Friday so they could participate in a protest on campus in Champaign.My parents had talked about it at breakfast this morning, but I had so much music in my head that I’d tuned them out.Not that this was unusual.
“I’d have given anything to be part of it.”Victor balled up his fists as we waited for a table.“Because the war is pointless.So many thousands of lives sacrificed, and for what?We have no reason to be there.Nixon promised to pull out the troops when he took office.You know as well as I do, he hasn’t done it.Guys leave here to go over there and then come back in boxes.Like Richie Martin.”
Victor walked toward our usual booth in the corner, and I followed him.I knew Richie—though not well.He was three years ahead of us, into sports and not much else.But I still remembered the day theybrought his casket back to Peterson.All the flags in town and the patriotic ribbons tied around lampposts and porch railings seemed to make a mockery of the prayers that had been offered up on his behalf.
We slid into the booth, and Victor leaned across the table, his gaze intense.“And now there are rumors that Nixon wants to send even more.That he wants to lower the draft age to nineteen.”
I glanced up.“But you’re not nineteen.”
“I turned nineteen in September.”He avoided my eyes.“We moved around a lot when I was young, and I had to repeat first grade.”
I gulped.I hadn’t realized Victor was almost a year and a half older than me.Nor had I realized how dire his situation truly was.“But that doesn’t mean you’ll automatically get drafted.Not everyone does.”
“With my luck, I will be.And that’s why I need to get into Whitehall.Why I have to write the piece of a lifetime.But I can’t come up with an idea that’s good enough.”
I placed my hand on top of his.I’d never seen him this agitated.“Even if Whitehall doesn’t pan out, surely you have other options.We’re not that far from Champaign—doesn’t the U of I have good composition professors?”
“I’m sure it does.But it’s not an option.”
“Why on earth not?”
“Because not everyone has the same advantages you do, Iris.”He smacked the table, making the silverware jump.“Not everyone was born with a silver spoon in their mouth.”
“What isthatsupposed to mean?”My family had money, sure.But it wasn’t like we were the Kennedys or the Bouviers.What was going on with him?
The waitress returned to take our orders, and Victor was all smiles and politeness with her.When she bustled back toward the kitchen, he turned his gaze to me.“I’m sorry, my flower.”His voice was sweet as honey, as though his mini-explosion never happened.He laced his fingers in with mine, and his touch was so soft, so tender, that I wondered if ithadhappened.Maybe it hadn’t.Maybe I’d overreacted.
“The truth is, my parents can’t afford to send me to college.Anywhere.Not even U of I.”He glanced around, but nobody was paying anyattention to us.“My father has never been able to hold down a job.He drinks.A lot.”
The last traces of my irritation melted away.“Oh, Victor.I had no idea.”He’d alluded to his family not being as wealthy as mine, though honestly that applied to a fair percentage of families here.But it explained why I’d never been to his house.Why I’d yet to meet his parents.
He reached for his straw wrapper and coiled it around his index finger.“It’s not something I share with most people.With ...anyone, really.”His eyes met mine.“But you are where the other half of my soul lives.”
I melted into the booth.Utterly melted.
“My mother says my dad was a totally different man before the war.She’s spent her entire marriage trying to coax him back to life.Iris, the war changed him.I think the things he saw over there, the things he did ...I think the man he used to be is gone forever, and he drinks to try to escape the memories.”His eyes shone with unshed tears.“And I don’t want that to happen to me.You get it, don’t you?”
I rose, slid into the booth next to Victor, and took his hand in both of mine.“Of course I do, Victor.Of course I do.”My heart ached for him.
