“I never fully understood the saying ‘No news is good news’ until the day Johnny wrote me the first letter. Then again, I never thought the saying could have so much impact on me. It dug in deep; so deep that it’s been over forty years and I can almost remember his letter verbatim, not that it was long or anything. I suppose it’s true that when something in your past delivers a direct blow to your life, it remains crystal clear in your memory. Well, the letter was all but four sentences, I think, written in his very sloppy handwriting. I adored the childish touch to his scribbles and loops in his letters. It was so brief, but it was so significant. I believe it ran along the lines of:
My Dearest Virgie,
I have something very important to tell you. It’s best if we speak in person. Can you meet me by the old barn on the first of next month? Send me your reply as soon as you can.
Yours faithfully,
Johnny
Before I go on, I should probably explain to you what the old barn was. It was what you would call the “hang out” place of our day where many of the young neighborhood kids would kick off their shoes-if they had any- and do a bit of dancing. Times were desperate then, but dancing was a good way to forget that the farm was waiting to be tended to at five in the morning back home. I was a decent dancer, not bad, but painfully shy. Then, of course, there was Johnny. Oh did he ever take the stage when he was out there on the floor. Every girl wanted to be his partner. He was never short of one anyway, and whenever he was challenged to a dancing duel, he always outdid himself. Most people risked a good whippin’ just so they could sneak out at night to watch Johnny dance.
Well, naturally enough I got to liking Johnny, and his dancing, and I’m not being fair when I say he was handsome. Handsome doesn’t even begin to describe his good looks. He was so very very handsome. I was absolutely taken aback when he strode right up to my table and made small talk with me, but I was less worried about how I looked and more worried about him asking me to dance, which, he did of course. I tried to brush him off with all the excuses in the book, but they were no use. He insisted. Thankfully he said nothing about my clumsiness, sparing me a huge embarrassment, but Johnny was a gentleman. Always was. He was as much of a gentleman as he was handsome.
Believe it or not, I went to that old barn every Sunday night even when my parents forbid me to. It wasn’t much like me to go on and do something against my parents’ wishes, but Johnny was worth the punishment of getting caught. I never did, though. I’d sneak out in my beautiful lacey Sunday dress with my hair pinned up in large banana curls or sometimes I’d have a really pretty braid wrapped around my head like a crown. And let me tell you, my hair was not the easiest to tame. All the other girls had nicely curled hair that fell perfectly into place, but mine demanded the effort of calming down the frizz and wild curls. Ah, but what importance is time to a girl who wants to impress the boys she fancies? I was young and entirely in love, and he loved me back, but there was one small detail about Johnny that presented a slight problem. He was Indian, and Mama and Pa wouldn’t like that one bit. He’d never be able to set foot in our house as a potential future relative! Oh, I don’t dare think of what Mama would say or Pa would do if they found out about me and Johnny going steady let alone dancing in the dirty barn in my Sunday best! I had to polish my Sunday shoes every single time I wore them because they were my only pair, but I didn’t mind running around barefoot. All the neighborhood kids did, too. There was no shame in it. We were all poor and making do.
Well, time went on and eventually Johnny was obliged to write his four lined letter. I had a rush of mixed emotions as I held it in my hand unopened. I was so excited to have heard from him after he had missed four Sundays at the old barn. I missed him something terrible, you see. Then there was the feeling of panic as I thought of what may have kept him from me so long. Another girl? Moving? The Depression left everyone and everything unstable. It was highly possible that he had to move away from me. The anxiety was too much for me and I ripped it open as fast as I could. His short letter didn’t quite satisfy me. There was still a deep concern in my heart about the purpose of our meeting, but I responded in haste then waited impatiently for the 1st of September to come. I waited ages since time has a tendency to slow down when you least want it to.
At last September 1st came before I could get a wink of sleep. I was sick to my stomach with worry. After waiting all that time for the day to come, I nearly chickened out for fear of the news I was going to receive. Hiding under my big quilt where I was safe from heartache was awfully tempting, but despite the draw to my bed, I couldn’t resist the urge to see him. So I pulled myself out of bed, put on my face quickly, and left with some convincing excuse to feed to my parents. All the way through the walk I shook; through the woods, over the makeshift bridge above the swamp, and down the dirt road lined with a field that once harvested okra. I shook. Then finally the old barn came into view with Johnny leaning against it as if he were John Wayne himself. My heart was in my throat and when I saw him standing there, more handsome than ever with his disarming smile, I swallowed it like honey. I must have still been shaking because he pulled my shawl tighter around my shoulders and began to rub both my hands in his. I waited for him to speak first since my nervous would have me blurt out something foolish, but before I even had the chance to think of something ridiculous, he took my breath away by dropping to one knee and saying, ‘Virgie Irene Crawford.” I remember his handsome face perfectly. He was smiling a big ol’ smile. I thought I was still shaking, but it was actually him. “Virgie Irene Crawford, will you be my wife?” I thought I was going to fall to the ground in a tizzy after his grand gesture, but a voice that didn’t sound all together like mine kept saying yes and yes over and over again. There was the taste of salt in my mouth from my tears as he slipped the ring on my finger. Perhaps this picture would have been painted perfectly if he hadn’t followed his proposal with, “I had to ask you, Virgie. The regret of not knowing your answer would have killed me before I left to fight. There’s no other girl I want. You’re the only one.”
That was the one and only time his smile failed. Three of his words stuck out in my mind: regret, killed, and fight. I don’t know why it came as such a shock to me. All four of my brothers had already been shipped away to war. I suppose the courage to stay strong for Johnny seemed a bit more possible after I had gone home. Besides, it was the woman’s job to stay calm and supportive for the men. Lord knows they needed something steady and grounded to relate with home. Nevertheless, I thought my heart was ready to burst when the day of his departure came, and I thought right. It did break. Home just wasn’t the same without Johnny. I wouldn’t dare step into the old barn, and I managed to be productive on the farm, but I just couldn’t take it anymore. I loved him. It’s as plain as that. Letters from him were too few, which lead to me thinking the worst, which then lead to me joining the medical field to be that tiny bit closer to him.
Boy was I ever wrong! My plan completely backfired. Months went by with no word from him. The massive amounts of dismembered and mangled bodies didn’t do much for my imagination either. The casualties were being dragged in sometimes in a matter of minutes. The only way I could keep my sanity was to bury myself in my work, keeping our men alive, and reminding myself that not seeing him meant he was still alive and fighting. Thinking like this helped in that it kept my hope alive, but it didn’t ease the ache in my chest at all. I would have taken anything during those days, even if it was a quick note that said the one liberating word: alive. Nothing of that nature came; instead I received a letter after some time written by Johnny himself. My eyes devoured his sloppy handwriting, his large loops, his ‘c’ that was often indistinguishable from his ‘a’, and his incapability to spell the word ‘necessary’ correctly. His letter was a bit longer this time, but I can’t remember most of it because the only parts of it that stand out in my mind are his last sentence and his valediction:
I hope you can find it in your heart to forgive Mary Beth and me and one day realize that my engagement to her was for the best.
Johnny
It was then that I truly understood ‘No news is good news.’ I would have liked to have let out a wail so loud that even Johnny would have heard it while he fought. My heart shattered into pieces, leaving me with the fear of making my patients think it was their bones breaking. Mary Beth was my dearest and best friend of 18 years, but I could never bring myself to hate her or Johnny. Certainly not Johnny. Now that I had heard from him, I was able to put my mind into my work and postpone the pain during the day. When the nights rolled around, though, I cried myself to sleep silently. How senseless it would seem if I was heard crying over a lost, living lover compared to a dead one who had fallen.
All my feelings for Johnny, all the love I held for him, was stowed away forever until now. As to what became of the ring, I have no recollection, but I do still have a handsome picture of him looking very smart in his uniform. He sent it with his second letter in hopes to keep my friendship. Ah, well, I did keep it secretly, and I got on by making peace with the situation, but I never saw him again. It would have undone me, I think, to see the man I love loving none other than my best friend. If it hadn’t happened, I would have never fallen for your grandpa of course, but that meeting is worthy of another story. I thought you would like to hear about Johnny since my time is coming to an end and it’s one of the stories I keep close to my heart. I’m eighty-three years old now, and I married a man whom I loved and raised a family with, then I cried bitterly when his time came. I don’t regret my life for one second. I love you all to death, and I’m lucky to have found a wonderful man like your grandpa, but I’m also lucky to have loved with no reservation. Giving of the heart so freely does have its consequences, though. I thought my heart was finally shielded from love pangs the day your grandpa had passed, but just five years ago I received a letter from Mary Beth who sent a newspaper clipping about Johnny’s death. Well, do you know, it broke my heart all over again.”
© Mikal Minarich
© Mikal Minarich
No comments:
Post a Comment