The Gift

Waves lapped gently at the rocks, broke around them and strolled quietly to the shore, then retreated. Gulls dived from the cliffs, submerging briefly, then triumphantly soaring toward the blue canopy with a meal held firmly in their beaks. His eyes filled with wonder as he took in the sights before him. For a boy just short of his fifth birthday who had known nothing but tenements it was truly wondrous. Tugging at his Uncle’s hand for freedom he was given a warning, “Stay away from the water unless I’m right by you Aaron, those waves can get big in a hurry”. Scrambling down the beach, trying to see everything at once while chasing an inquisitive sea bird. “Look Uncle Bob, look! Can I touch it?” “That’s a seashell honey, pick it up.”

Endless questions flowed from him, Bob had an answer for every one. He’d lived here since 1920’s, ever since he’d left home, and figured he knew every inch of the beach from San Francisco to the Baja Peninsula. “Wait Aaron!” The boy ran back to him. “Want to go swimming?” “Ya! I never did that before! “You have to promise to hold my hand. The boy gave his word. Half a mile farther, to a small cove he’d visited many times, they splashed in the warm Pacific. Aaron squealed with delight as the waves caressed his feet and the sand oozed between his toes. Bob lifted, then let him fall back into the water, he was having the time of his life. The problems at home, his father wounded in some place his mother called “Normandy”, while he was in something called a World War, all forgotten for now.

Aaron was light skinned, his uncle didn’t let him stay in for long the first time, trying to explain to him what sunburn was. Dressed again but barefoot like the giant of a man he loved so much, the child continued to explore, picking up shell after shell, fascinated by the brilliant colors and different shapes. Then he spotted it. Slipping free at of his uncle’s hand he ran toward something only he could see at first. Grasping it firmly, then handing it to the man for his inspection. Black as coal, no, blacker than that. A rock, but an extraordinarily beautiful one with a teardrop shape, about the size of his thumb. He handed it back to the child, who immediately put it into his right pocket, patted it to make sure it was safe and announced that he was hungry. For several months he stayed with Uncle Bob, though he was young, it was a visit he’d look back on as the best time of his life. There were other visits later, all very special, but none as magical as the first one, when he found the rock.

At the airport he begged his uncle to allow him to stay. Had it been his choice the boy would never have been let go, but it wasn’t his decision to make. A stewardess took his hand, they told of’ their love for each other, tears flowed freely down his tanned cheeks as she led him on the plane. His one comfort on the flight was the smooth orb in his pocket, his treasure, his black rock. Once home he met a stranger, a man with one leg who walked with sticks. His mother told him this was his father but he had no recollection of him, he clung to her and would have nothing to do with this person.

In time, as they got to know each other, they became as friendly as father and son can be, though he was nearly seven before he truly felt comfortable around him. The rock was his constant companion, living in his pocket by day, on his lamp-stand by night. Freely shown to friends but jealously guarded, and never out of his sight.

His mother worried over this attachment to the point that she asked a doctor about it, he assured her it was normal. To be certain she consulted the highest authority of the time, Doctor Spock’s baby book. It confirmed what the doctor had said, she equated it to a security blanket or imaginary friend. By age eight he and the rock were still inseparable, His mother made the mistake of hiding it one night, “Just to see what would happen”. His reaction was near panic! She awoke to find the boy ripping his room apart, crying and shaking! She pretended to find it under some of the things strewn around the floor, It increased her worry but also taught her never to even think of taking it away again. Her concern was redirected to other things though. There were problems with the marriage, both financial and personal, It wasn’t easy for a one legged men to be gainfully employed ii 1~4B. In truth, he hadn’t really been employed much at all since returning from the war, Aaron was again sent west to stay awhile with Uncle Bob, a trip he’d wanted to make ever since the last time.

It was a reunion of two people who truly cared f or each other, Through the years letters had flowed between them, gifts, phone calls on holidays and birthdays, The boy was with the one person he fully trusted. Days walking the beach, swimming, examining shells, nights spent listening to his uncle tell of the stars, constellations and universe. If his uncle had been of a later generation he would have been labeled a “Hippie’, a free spirit, Aaron learned most of his “real” knowledge of the world from Uncle Bob, he told it like it was and pulled no punches. When the boy asked about his parent’s problems he got straight answers and went home with a better understanding of what was going on in his world.

His father had started drinking heavily, things were worse than when he left, It didn’t help that he begged to return to California and live with his uncle. Unknown to him, it made his father’s depression even worse. A year later he left the house never to return. The boy and his mother were devastated, more so when he completely vanished from their lives, No calls or letters, he simply disappeared, never to be heard from again. His mother got a job, they moved to an even seedier apartment. Her brother Bob offered them his help and house but pride got in her way, she refused. Aaron excelled in school, his one escape from the ugliness of the neighborhood he must live in. Still, the rock never left him. He dared not tell of it, his few friends wouldn’t understand though some carried rabbit’s feet and talismans of every description, and some that defied any description!

At eleven he was again allowed to go to California, on seeing his uncle he felt a pang of fear, he was not well. Pale, gaunt, his powerful stride now a stooped shuffle, In spite of his age and his thinking that he was now a man, he wept openly at the airport. Others thought it was from happiness, Bob knew better and questioned the wisdom of bringing the boy to see him one last time. But in the end both were happy, they talked as two grown men would. Bob explained that even in death he’d be with the boy, still be his best friend and guardian angel so to speak. A tearful good-bye and once again he was on a plane back to the windy place he hated, but vowing that one day he’d live where his uncle did, in what he called, “Paradise by the sea.” Less than a month passed before the phone call, his uncle was gone. His legacy to them was a few thousand dollars that vanished as fast as it came on overdue bills and necessities.

Now the rock meant even more, It was a link between him and the man he worshipped. It was not only his friend and good luck charm, it was the keeper of his memories as well. All of this still puzzled his mother, not to mention a little concern on her part, but it seemed to do him no harm so she didn’t bring it up. In high school he did well, was athletic and had several fairly close friends. His love interest was a girl named Sharon, petite brunet with soft voice and quick mind. She knew of his affection for the rock and understood the memories it held or him, and above all, she was his trusted confidant.

Senior year was his best, fifth in the class of 1958, captain of the football team with a record of ten and two, the best they’d done in twenty years. His crowning achievement was a full scholarship to Northwestern University, his mother was jumping out of her skin with pride. “Bob would be so proud of’ you” His uncle, not his father, he was never mentioned by either of’ them. It was as if the man never existed, but that was fine with him. College was a shock, he wasn’t prepared for the freedom it gave, nor the privacy it took away. Sharon went to school in Michigan, just far enough to make it impractical to see her very often, She wrote daily at first, then weekly, then seldom. Finally the dreaded letter came, she was engaged, wished him well and hoped they would always be friends. A standard “Good bye, it’s been swell, but don’t bother me anymore” type of letter.

It took less than a semester to figure out that college wasn’t for him, not now anyway. He stayed and finished the year, then went home to have a long talk with his mother about his plans. She was livid when he announced he was joining the army. No amount of pleading, crying or screaming would make him change his mind. On her knees, she begged him the day he went to sign the papers, but he was determined.

Visiting home after basic training, showing off his neatly pressed uniform just made it all the worse for her, brought back memories of her husband and what had happened to him. Aaron was of’ course aware of all this and tried his best to smooth it over, they parted friends, with words of love and promises to be careful. “Don’t worry Mom, the rock will keep me safe”, She thought this small consolation, and in fact was surprised he still had the thing.

On his return to duty he was offered a chance to tryout for Special Forces, he jumped at it, finishing his training in April of 1961. He wrote his mother and told her of his accomplishment, she was proud of course, but unsure what it all meant. At the same time she worried about the little pieces of news she'd been hearing about a far off place named “Vietnam”. In May, President Kennedy sent 400 Special Forces soldiers and 100 additional military advisors to this place in Asia that few had ever heard of, and even fewer cared about. Aaron wrote to tell her he was going but not to worry, they were simply watching over things, She actually didn’t worry all that much, his letters were reassuring and the photos he sent back certainly looked peaceful. By the years end she read of 14 U.S. casualties. Aaron continued to write that all was well. Then there were times she heard nothing for long periods, and that concerned her. Vietnam was beginning to creep into the news more and more.

His tour there was supposed to last six months, it turned into a year and more men went off to war, advisors they were called, by the end of 1962 there were 11,300 of them. He came home for Christmas and stayed until the third day of’ the New Year of 1963, He was a Sergeant now and wore all kinds of ribbons on his chest, and of course the coveted Green Beret. Her inquiries about the ribbons were answered tersely, shrugged off. “Its nothing really Mom, honest.” He held up the rock again, “Still with me. All of us have a good luck charm of some kind, it hasn’t let me down yet” She pointedly asked if he was in combat, he said no but knew she didn’t believe him, he’d never been able to lie to her very well.

Another year went by, for a time he was back in the states, she breathed a sigh of relief. Twice he came home on leave, more ribbons decked his chest. He told her he was training others now, she couldn’t help but notice how much older he looked and the way his mind seemed to wander. Words like “Viet Cong” and “Gooks” crept into his vocabulary. In December of 1963 his commanding officer summoned him, sat him down and handed him a telegram. His mother, the only person left that he cared about, had been hit by a car while crossing a street, she’d died instantly. He returned to the empty apartment, buried her, gave away her few belongings and vowed never to return to Chicago, his life there was over.

When his time was up he re-enlisted. August of 1964 found him headed back to Vietnam with some of the man he’d trained. They arrived in country just as the United States began bombing in the north. He would serve three more tours there doing the governments dirty work. Some of the things he did were unspeakable, he dared not think of how many deaths he’d been responsible for, both directly and indirectly. As a reward he received many honors, medals and ribbons, all of them meaningless to him.

An excerpt from one of his reports in 1964 reads: Three Huey’s dropped my squad 3 miles north of Quanh Tinh, Terrain was mostly rice paddies. T-28’s reported the best bet was a farmhouse HQ said was deserted, Objective was to secure a VC intelligence officer captured by ARVN regulars. The regs came out of the woods with the VC, followed by two adult and five civilian children, We waved them back. The regs said they were friendly and needed to evac because they’d helped in the officer’s capture. It was my call, I Okayed it. The family was split between the first two choppers, I took the VC and four regs with me, As we began lifting off the family jumped out running for the woods, Both choppers exploded, all aboard were lost. Pfc. Wilson and myself disembarked and neutralized the entire family.

The story was much more than that. In truth Pfc. Wilson hadn’t been able to fire at them, he froze because they were civilians and children. Aaron had dispatched them all when the father, mother and two older boys pulled weapons from under their clothes. He held the trigger and swept them. The father and mother fell first, then the older boys. The others stopped running when the parents went down. The last one, a girl about six with long hair and huge brown eyes, looked at him in terror, tiny hands raised as if to stop the deadly projectiles. He was less than ten feet from her, the entire midsection of her body disappeared, and he had literally cut her in half. Blood from her still beating heart splattered him. It was his last kill, his mind went numb, and the war was all over for him. Pfc., Wilson pulled him into the chopper, on the way back he sat staring out the door, not moving until Wilson nudged him to get out. He went on patrols, made the motions of doing his job, but it was impossible. Every time he saw a child, he saw that little girl, the surprised look as the bullets ripped her apart. Lying on the ground, eyes blinking, mouth still moving even though the bottom half of her body lay several feet away.

Because of his training he acted as if nothing had happened, this wasn’t the first child killed, nor would it be the last, it was the way the war was being fought. When his tour was up he went back to the states, finished his hitch and separated from the army. West to San Francisco, he rented a shack north of the city, got a job in a gas station repairing cars and tried to forget. For a time he became highly religious but found little comfort in it. His reasoning was that God could not possibly forgive what he’d done, This was reinforced by the tumult beginning in the country over the war. The hatred of anyone in uniform as if it were their fault and not the politicians,

He held on until 1969 when he went berserk over some small problem, The only one who could even guess what he was going through was another vet he worked with. He spent a year in the VA hospital but try as he might he could not talk about what happened at Quanh Tinh, The sight of a small child sent him into fits of depression and remorse. He moved up into the hills, away from civilization. His only contact with people was when he’d come down at night for supplies about once a month. For a time he tried drinking but that only made the nightmares visit him more often. Hours on end were spent looking down the barrel of a .45 automatic, begging for the courage to pull the trigger. Through all of this his only comfort was the rock, still securely held in his pocket, worn even shinier by the fabric.

Some park rangers found him sitting alone in a ravine In August of 1973, he was holding the rock and talking to his Uncle Bob. He’d obviously been there a long time, he was dehydrated, had pneumonia and was sitting in his excrement. Again he was in the VA hospital but no matter how many drugs they pumped into him, the dreams and visions never left. He stayed seven years, four of them locked in a high security room in the psychiatric ward. During the last few years of his stay he busied himself helping some of the newly returned, the ones with no arms, legs or hope for the future. He discovered he wasn’t the only one with nightmares, and in that at least, he found a little comfort.

In late 1980 he left the hospital, not his idea, his doctors more or less forced him back into the world. Through the kindness of a fellow veteran he secured a job as a stock boy in a bookstore in San Jose. A very menial job, one well below his abilities but a funny thing happened, he loved it. The owner, an ex-hippie, went out of his way to understand this strange, intense man, If there was a book that interested him he was allowed to take it home and read it. On occasion he’d take over the counter and proved very knowledgeable on a variety of subjects, none of them having to do with war.

It lasted six years, he lived in a one-room hovel and never once asked for more money, though the owner gave him regular raises. He probably would have been content to stay there the rest of his life but a large company made the owner an offer he couldn’t turn down. His biggest regret was Aaron, he gave him a parting gift, which he called separation pay, of ten thousand dollars. More money than he’d seen at one time in his entire life. Cashing the check, he held the black rock in his hand, maybe his luck had changed for the better. It was 1987 and he wouldn’t work again for several years.

He bought a backpack, a few supplies and walked from San Francisco down to the Baja. Stopping at the cove he swam in so long ago with his uncle, he tried to camp there for a few days but was jailed for trespassing. It was all private land now. After serving thirty days he continued his trek, more wary than before. On the way back he went inland, it was safer, less people. The return trip took him a year and a half, he was just looking around he’d tell anyone he happened to run into. The nightmares continued as bad as ever. There were times when he stood on the edge of a cliff or the side of a busy road and contemplated ending it all, but he’d touch the rock in his pocket, think of Uncle Bob or his mother and back away from the abyss. He knew the rock didn’t have any special powers or magic, maybe he’d thought that when he was little but now he knew better. Its power was in the memories it contained. When it was in his grasp he could remember his uncle, his mother, and Sharon, good times that he’d had. He didn’t allow the rock to keep any bad memories, they were stored in his mind.

It was 1991 before he found work again, living in the meantime off his disability checks. He tried washing cars, pumping gas, cleaning tables, and sweeping floors, any odd job that came along. His arrest record lengthened, all minor things, loitering, simple trespass, which amounted to being caught sleeping In an alley or on a park bench. He probably could have afforded a small room but preferred the outdoors. He was an avid reader, picking up discarded newspapers, reading them all the way through, then using them for covering at night. His one steady purchase was a weekly newsmagazine that he respected for its honesty. He’d make the trip faithfully to an outdoor newsstand halfway across town in a better area just to purchase it. There was more than one reason for the trip, the owner was a veteran also. They’d talk in generalities about Vietnam, mostly good times in Saigon, men they’d both known.

In 1994, Gene, the owner of the stand, offered him a job. He wanted to open another one in the financial district and asked Aaron to take over here. He hemmed and hawed, gave a bunch of reasons why he wasn’t any good far the position, but ended up taking it anyway. After a few weeks he got a room nearby, no sense in going all the way across town just to sleep in a particular allay. He got along well with the customers, he could discuss most any topic with a fair knowledge and was always current on world politics, but his health was failing. He didn’t have to go to a doctor to know something was wrong and he had no thoughts of doing so. Whatever they found, they’d want to put him in the hospital, no more of that, not for him!

He remembered the day and time exactly. The November 16th New York Times was spread out on the shelf, he was reading about the latest incursion into the no-fly zone by Iraqi planes. “HI mister!” He looked over the counter, his heart skipped a beat, he couldn’t breath, and for a moment he thought he was going to pass out, She was about six with big brown eyes and long hair. He flashed back to Quanh Tinh and quickly sat dawn. “Mister, do you have any comic books?” “No! Go away!” There was silence, he breathed a sigh of relief that she’d gone. “But I see some over there!” Her hand came up over the top of the counter, she pointed, “Can I look at the one on the end?” His hand shook as he gave it to her. “Take it, go!” Again the hand appeared and dropped a dime on the counter. “Is that enough?” “That’s fine, now get on home.  “ Thank you mister.” He got up the nerve to look, she was heading into the apartment building next door.

When Gene came that night he told him it was time for him to move on. “What are you doing tonight Aaron?” He confessed he had no plans. “Come to my place, I’ve got a couple of nice steaks in the fridge.” Reluctantly, he accepted. Gene’s apartment wasn’t much more than his, He handed him a beer and talked while he cooked. “In Nam my usual weapon was a flame thrower, I think the devil himself invented that thing.” He watched Aaron’s reaction, there wasn’t any. “A green Lieutenant sent us up to a farm, it was supposedly a VC command post. A few of us questioned him, no guards, no radio antennas, and just a peaceful looking place. In the end I did my duty and torched the house, barn, all the outbuildings.” He stopped and took a deep breath. “I never told this to anyone before. All we found afterward were twenty or so people hiding in the cellar, the youngest looked less than a year old, at least from the size, all there was were ashes. That night I came close to blowing my brains out, have to admit I’ve damn near done it a few times since.” Aaron was now staring at him in disbelief, “I don’t know what happened to you over there, ain’t none of my business. But what I can tell you is that you’re not alone. It took me all these years to even begin to forgive myself, its time you did the same Aaron.” Nothing more was said of it, the rest of the evening was spent in good conversation, he went home feeling better than he had in a long time.

A week later she returned. “Can I see another comic book mister?” He put out two that had just come in. She looked through them, obviously having a hard time deciding, she sighed, “I guess this one.” “Take them both, they’re on sale today.” Her face lit up, the dime she’d been clutching so tightly was placed on the counter. When she’d gone he dug in his pocket, made up the difference and put it in the till.

It happened once a week like clockwork, finally she told him it was her allowance. “My name’s Megan, what’s yours?” His throat felt like it had swelled shut, finally he told her. Two more comics in hand, she scurried to the apartment holding on to them like they were gold. One afternoon he was browsing through a bookstore, on the sale tables were various children’s books. He picked out three in her age group, wondering all the time what the hell he was doing. On her next visit he handed her one. “You might like this better.” “How much is it?” “Same price”. The dime appeared on the counter. The next week she raved about the book, telling him she’d read it four times and that it was the first one she’d ever owned. He gave her another the following week. It was time to visit the bookstore again, this time he bought six.

During the week a woman came to the stand and stood looking him over, eyeing his beard, shabby clothes and unkempt appearance. “May I help you?” She looked flustered, unsure what to say. “Are you Aaron?” Nervously he answered yes. “My daughter Megan, she says you’re the one she gets the books from, for a dime.” He felt like running, getting away as fast as possible, she looked very unhappy and couldn’t possibly understand his intentions. “Yes, that’s me.” “Why? Those books are expensive and comics certainly don’t cost ten cents.” “I … I just kind of took to her, she’s very bright. I didn’t mean to cause any problems.”  “ Well, no, I mean you haven’t. My husband and I just wondered…“ Abruptly, she thanked him and left. He assumed he’d seen the last of Megan, in some ways it was a relief, but then why did it make him feel so bad?

Several days later Megan returned, dime In hand. This time he gave her a book a bit above her reading level, one he’d seen reviewed in the newspaper. She came back a few days later, not to buy anything, but to tell him it was her favorite book and, with her mother’s help, had almost finished it and when she did she was going to start all over again. Several days later Mr. Sadler stopped by for his daily paper. Although he owned several jewelry stores and was obviously quite wealthy, he treated Aaron with respect and never seemed to notice his appearance. There weren’t enough quarters in the till and Aaron reached into his pocket for change and accidentally brought out the rock. The man glanced at it, then did a double take. “May I see that?” Aaron was more than happy to show it to anyone interested. He stared, then took a magnifying glass from his coat and looked closer, looked at Aaron, then the rock again, “Do you have any idea what this is?” “Just a rock”. He shook his head no, “Anything but that my friend! I’ll give you a check right now for two and a half!” Aaron laughed, “It’s not for sale Mr. Sadler.” “Three then, and that’s without even checking it any further.” “Three dollars huh.” He grinned, “Hard to pass up a deal like that!” “Sorry, I’m talking to you like a jewelry dealer. I mean three million.” Aaron sat down heavily, his heart pounded, but once he came to his senses it didn’t take long to make a decision. “No, it means more to me than money.” Despite his best sales job the man went away empty handed, leaving his card and begging him to reconsider. Aaron was tempted but not for long, he couldn’t think of any use for money, he was content with the way things were.

His life went on as usual. Instead of dreading it he began looking forward to Megan’s weekly visits and the occasional stop to or from school. In time she’d sit and talk about the books she’d read, and things that happened in school or with her family. He discovered that her father was a janitor and got the impression they were just getting by financially. In December more than a week went by without seeing her, he thought perhaps it was because he’d been off a day or so, His cough was getting worse, harder, and more painful. In January of 1995 he chanced to see her mother and inquired about her. Tears tilled her eyes as she told him about the tumor they’d found, her eyesight had started to fail and she had trouble keeping her balance. A series of expensive, very delicate operations were her only hope but they could only be done in Boston by one of two specialists. He asked if he might visit her, she said yes,

It took several tries for him to enter the building, the place terrified him! He got some nasty looks, a bearded old bum, shabbily dressed, how dare he come into their nice clean hospital! Megan looked pitiful and small in the big bed. She was in a room with eleven others, obviously the charity ward. She was delighted he’d come to see her. They talked awhile, then he read to her until a nurse came in and snootily told him it was time to leave. He asked if he might speak to her doctor, after getting the run around for more than an hour he was allowed a few minutes with the resident. He couldn’t tell him specifics of course but said the operation was ninety percent successful. Though not malignant, the tumor was pressing on her optic nerve, blinding her and would continue growing. It was a slow, painful death sentence.

He returned early the next day, she was finishing breakfast. He watched from the doorway as she poked around on the tray for the food, she was nearly blind already. Her face lit up when she heard him. “Will you read to me again?” “Of course, but first I’ve got something for you.” He fumbled in his pocket for the rock, held it tightly a moment then pressed it into her hand. “I’ve had this since I was four years old, it’s very valuable. Give it to your parents.” He also gave her Mr. Sadler’s business card, “ Tell them to take it to the man whose name is on the card. It will make you well. Please Megan, make sure they do it, no matter what they think. ”I promise Aaron.” She felt it and asked what color it was, He told her, then explained how he’d found it, even telling her something of his Uncle Bob. He read to her awhile, she began nodding off, still holding the rock clenched tightly in her hand. He kissed her cheek, amazed that he could do it, then left quickly when he felt a coughing spell coming on. It was happening more and more, he was feeling weaker by the day. Just getting out of bed in the morning was a major chore.

He visited again the next day, she told him she’d given the rock to her parents and made them promise to see Mr. Sadler. “But”, she admitted, “They kind of said they thought ,,,“ He laughed, “That I’m just a crazy old bum?” “No, not the bum part”, “It’s all right, I don’t blame them, Just make sure they do It”. Again she promised she would. For the next few days it was a struggle to get up. The hacking cough made it impossible to go to work. He called Gene and told him he’d be off a few days. His first act when he felt better was to visit the hospital, Megan wasn’t in the bed, and another child had taken her place. The nurses would tell him nothing but one little boy had overheard that she was “Going on a plane somewhere to get an operation”. He felt much better and went to work. Mr. Sadler came by as usual, he stood looking at Aaron with a funny grin on his face. “How much did you give them?” “Three point two million. That was a wonderful thing you did Aaron. They came in expecting me to laugh, poor Mrs. Bailey almost passed out when I told them. Your a real hero my friend. Aaron bristled, “Don’t call me that! In fact, I’d appreciate it if you never mentioned it again!” He looked at him oddly, almost knowingly, then nodded and left.

Seven weeks later a cab pulled up to the newsstand, a lady got out and went to the counter. “Is Aaron here?” The man was Gene’s nephew, he was filling in for a while. “No Miss, he passed away about three weeks ago.” She burst into tears. The man stood watching helplessly, then came out and tried to comfort her. She asked how he died, where he was buried, “I don’t know for sure but he and my uncle were friends, he handled everything. I can call him.” She made arrangements to meet him at the cemetery. Gene was astounded! He’d known nothing about it. Aaron had shown him the rock and told him a bit of it’s history, but nothing else, He took her to his grave, a simple marker with only a number to show where he lay, “I wanted to give him a military funeral. I know he’d have liked that, but they couldn’t find his records or something. She knelt and prayed, Gene awkwardly followed her lead. She went with him to his apartment, he took a box out of the closet marked, “For Megan Bailey”. I didn’t know how to find you, called every Bailey in the area but none of them knew who you were,” It was filled with odds and ends, some new hooks for Megan and a worn soft leather case. They opened it carefully, inside were a bunch of medals, ribbons, his discharge papers, birth certificate, some pictures and a neatly folded Green Beret.

Gene admired it, “He never told me he was Special Forces.” “What’s that?” “The army’s elite, the best of the best”, Then he saw the Purple Heart and explained it. Under his high school diploma, almost as if he was trying to hide it, he found the other case. He opened it and gasped. “Never seen one up close before. Reverently he whispered, “Oh my God!” She looked over his shoulder, “Is that the Medal of Honor?” He nodded, handing it to her like it was delicate china. It made her feel even worse, and then she got extremely angry! “And the damn government can’t even find his records!” After talking a while and packing the box again, she hugged him, “Thank you for being his friend, I wish I had been too, When Megan’s better I’m going to make sure they do the right thing by him, we owe him so much!” She promised to keep in touch and let him know how Megan was doing, she’d had one operation so far but more were needed.

More than a year and a half later, after five operations, months of physical therapy, plus the arrival of a baby brother, Megan returned, Her parents bought a home in the suburbs, nothing pretentious, a simple four bedroom place. Her old classmates came to the airport to welcome her. She stepped off the plane like a celebrity, wearing Aaron’s Green Beret. Gene was there, as was Mr. Sadler. Her hair had yet to fully grow back and she walked with a limp, her eyesight was gradually improving, the tumor was gone and she would recover fully. Her only wish was to go to Aaron’s grave. Her mother tried to convince her to wait but she was adamant. So she was late for her coming hone party, so what? She knelt at the grave for almost an hour, thanking the man who’d saved her life and telling him all about her operations, knowing he could hear her from heaven.

Months later, after making numerous phone calls and writing dozens of letters, a man showed up at the house, He introduced himself as Mark Wilson, a civilian who worked with the army records department in St. Louis. “They couldn’t send an officer or something?” “Please let me explain Mr. Bailey. I asked for this assignment, actually I begged for it, I served under Aaron in Vietnam, I have the greatest respect for him. He saved my life more than once. “Your Special forces?” He nodded, “I was”. “Well, I’m glad your here then.” Mrs. Bailey called Megan out and introduced them. He opened his briefcase and took out a folder filled with pictures. “I took some of these and contacted others he’d served with, a lot of them had photos also.” Looking through them Mrs. Bailey commented, “He was very handsome. I never saw Aaron without the beard.” They asked all manner of questions as they went through them. Megan then insisted on showing him her room, pointing out the books he’d given her. His medals were arrayed on a piece of red velvet, centered on the Medal of Honor, all enclosed in a plastic case. He was impressed with her understanding of what each ribbon meant. Her knowledge of the Medal of Honor was amazing! She told him things he didn’t even know,

Just before dinner the baby woke up. Mrs. Bailey proudly handed him to Mark. “Let me introduce Aaron Peterson Bailey, it’s a mouthful but we took a vote and it was unanimous. After the children had gone to sleep Mrs. Bailey asked the question he’d expected. “We have to ask this Mark, if we’re out of line just tell us,” She watched him nervously, “What happened? Why was he … you know.” He was more nervous than they were, he’d wondered about this moment for weeks and how much to tell them. He decided they had a right to know everything. First the better parts, the men he’d saved, how good a leader and teacher he was, even about his stay in the psychiatric hospital. Then he told them about Quanh Tinh, the helicopters blown up, the men that died. The Vietnamese family and finally about the little girl. He admitted he’d frozen, unsure what to do. He’d been in Nam only a few days and nothing had prepared him for anything like this. The three of them wept silently, no more questions were asked, “That poor man, dear God! The hell he must have gone through all those years?”  “ If he’d hesitated a half-second longer he wouldn’t have done it, but hesitating could get you killed, we all knew that. He trained us for it, he’d seen civilians, children, walk up to American soldiers and blow themselves up just to kill a few of us. That’s why we lived through it and why part of him died that day.”

Mark Wilson made all the arrangements, filled out endless forms, contacted everyone he could find who’d ever known Aaron and finally got everything in place. On a bright October day in 1997, Aaron was re-interred on a hill overlooking the Pacific Ocean in a full military funeral. Seven shots times three broke the peaceful silence as several hundred people looked on, most had never known him in life. The flag covering the casket was neatly folded by the honor guard, then solemnly presented to a tearful Megan, who was again wearing the Green Beret. A granite stone was put in place days later, it read, “Master Sergeant Aaron Peterson. Megan’s guardian angel. A true hero!”

Glenn Forter 3/2000