Diane Payne
Love Prevents War
Rudy rises with the rest of the audience and feels a sense of relief when Janice also stands up, but he notices her unmoving lips and vacant stare as the conductor directs the orchestra to play the national anthem and the people in the audience sing along. Fortunately Janice’s seven-year-old son is with them, and he believes his presence will prevent her from ranting about the war, at least not during the performance. She remains standing, a few tears emerge from her eyes, but at least she’s silent.
He feels a pang of jealousy and dislikes himself for it. Still, it’s there. Rudy’s cried in front of Janice, begged her to marry him, begged her to move one step further in their relationship and at least live together. But Janice refuses. Instead of giving up and looking for a new partner, he tolerates this gap in their intimacy. What pains him the most is that he’s shed tears over their distance, over Janice’s need for solitude, and she’s never cried about hurting him, about being afraid their relationship won’t work out; yet, she cries listening to the “Star Spangled Banner”, and he knows she’s not moved with patriotic fever, but with real sadness. He knows Janice well enough to know how she’ll respond to a song about rockets bursting in the air while we bomb the life out of Iraq. He hopes she won’t say anything after the concert, that she’ll just let this anthem pass, that they can just have a pleasant afternoon without any anti-war tirades.
He looks at Louie and wonders how long he’ll remain a happy kid not having a dad and having a mother who’s so unlike all the other mothers of his friends. Rudy is both repelled and attracted to Janice’s intense array of emotions, her offbeat approach to routine, her unwavering honesty. But Louie’s just a kid. Rudy doesn’t see why Louie needs to hear the adult truths to everything that’s going on. He gives Louie a squeeze on the shoulders and wishes they were outside doing something fun instead of sitting in the dark auditorium listening to the local symphony. Janice thinks it’s healthy to expose the kid to choirs, folk concerts, blues, symphonies. She exposes him to music like she exposes him to her opinions about politics. It’s never ending.
The choir is singing songs in Latin, or so Rudy thinks, and his mind wanders throughout the concert. He can’t believe Louie is sitting still, and wonders what’s going through his mind. Louie likes imitating hip-hop musicians, rolling on the floor rapping; yet, he remains seated and attentive. Louie’s the main reason Rudy waits patiently for Janice to invite him to move in. At first Rudy thought he’d want Janice to have a child with him, but no more. He’s content with Louie, and knows Janice won’t have another child. At intermission, Louie leans over and asks Janice if they can leave. She nods her head and they stand up. Before they reach the aisle, Janice says, “That anthem was really depressing.”
“I know,” Rudy agrees quickly.
Pointing to the title on the program, she adds, “A spiritual journey is what got us into this mess. I hope I never become friends with Bush or Saddam’s God.”
“I don’t think you need to worry,” Rudy says desperate to keep things light.
“How could they sing about rockets and bombs?” she says shaking her head.
“Poor taste,” Rudy says before running up to Louie and hauling him into the bathroom to devise a quick plan before they get into the car. Anything to avoid her rant, even if she’s right.
Standing outside waiting for the boys, as Janice calls them, she thinks about the human shields in Iraq, wondering if they’ve left the country or if they’re still strategically placed across bridges and around important buildings waiting for the soldiers to kill them. She remembers dreaming about people being human shields during Vietnam, night after night that same dream, all these people doing a Hands Across Vietnam, and then the visits to the school shrink for getting so worked up about the war. Her teachers ratted on her, told the shrink how she was writing letters to all the teachers’ sons who were in Nam, all the boys listed in the church bulletin. He didn’t think that was so bad, but the teachers insisted it wasn’t normal for a ten-year-old kid to be this disturbed about a war that isn’t fought in our country. “Good grief, look how many family members and friends we lost during the war? We kept busying ourself to help our country, not writing stories about becoming human shields,” Mrs. Holkstrum told him. “And she’s writing all the boys, not just her cousins.” He figured Janice would be an interesting girl to talk with, and he opposed the war, so it wouldn’t be a complete waste to hear what Janice had to say. Thinking about her time spent out of class to be with Dr. Vanderkolk gets Janice smiling. All the pictures she’d draw of her dreams, all his grunts of pleasure, his head nodding, his advice to not talk to others so much about Vietnam, but to tell him her concerns on Tuesdays. “No need to worry the teachers,” he said. “I think you’re a sensible girl. Maybe a bit too sensitive, but that’s better than being vicious.” Janice liked thinking of herself as being a tad too sensitive, a tad into the dangerous zone.
Louie runs up to Janice and asks if they can go to the beach and climb the dunes.
Rudy loves Louie for saving him during times like this, for giving them lively things to do together, for being their human shield.
“Let’s stop by my house and get a cooler,” Rudy suggests.
“Yeah, we can have a cookout,” Louie says winking at Rudy.
“I was thinking about picking up a few brewskis...”
“Beer! What about something for me?” Louie feels betrayed. This wasn’t part of their plan.
“And, I was going to say whatever you want, you can take along, Louie.”
“Anything? We need to go by our house so I can get the Frisbee,” Louie says.
“See why we need to live together?” Rudy doesn’t expect an answer. “Be so much easier going to one house instead of two.”
Louie’s heard this conversation enough over the past two years and tells them he doesn’t need the Frisbee.
“I have one at my house, Louie.”
“Good. Can we pick up Frank?”
“You can call him from Rudy’s.”
Rudy puts in a Doc Watson CD, hoping Janice will start singing along, but she doesn’t. Louie does though. Rudy looks at him through the rearview mirror and says to Janice, “Louie’s a great kid. I love him. I really do.”
“Me, too,” she says. “I really do.” Janice finally smiles. “Maybe we should get a bottle of wine? Get some bread and cheese at the market.”
“Sounds good to me.”
“Wine? What will Frank and I drink?”
“You can grab what you want when we go to the store.”
“Let’s pick up Frank first so he can help pick things out.”
“Okay, but it’s a picnic, not a candy festival.”
“I know, Mom.”
The concert cloud finally lifts and Janice starts singing along with the boys.
“See, there still can be love during war time,” Rudy says patting Janice’s leg.
“Guess that’s what they mean by war time relief.”
Louie races to the phone when they enter the house. Rudy and Janice embrace in the hallway. “You know, I really do appreciate you,” Janice tells Rudy.
“I know.”
Rudy gets the cooler, asks if he should bring a blanket, and Janice helps him gather the stuff, realizing this is turning into a production. “Don’t forget the corkscrew,” she says.
“It’s on my knife.”
When Louie hangs up the phone, Janice asks if Frank’s ready to go.
“He can’t. His dad just got called to war.”
“What?” Janice asks.
“Frank says his dad’s packing his bags now.”
“Shit. I forgot he was a guard. Maybe he’s not going to Iraq. Maybe he’s going to help the Coast Guards and do something in Michigan.”
Louie starts crying. “But now Frank can’t come to the beach with us.”
Janice is relieved this is all he’s worried about. “Next weekend he can. He can sleepover and everything.”
“Now I know why you hate this war, Mom. It ruins everything.”
“It sure does. Everything.”
“Come on, let’s get to the store and head out to the beach,” Rudy intervenes. He gives Louie a hug. “I’m not as fun as Frank, but I’ll try.”
And Janice knows he will try. Rudy’s always trying.
“There’s got to be love during war time,” Rudy says driving toward the beach. “Think I’ll make a bumper sticker with those words.”
“You’d put a bumper sticker on your fancy car?” Louie asks.
“If it said those words. Otherwise, there’s no way I’d put a bumper sticker on my car.” He laughs, watching Janice roll her eyes, since her truck is covered with bumper stickers.
“You should make one for Mom, too.”
“Oh, I will. And for your bike.”
“Make one for Frank, too.”
“Looks like I got a project for tomorrow.”
“I didn’t know you could make up bumper stickers, just like that.”
“I have a friend who makes them in his shop. He may print out hundreds.”
“You’ll be famous!”
“I won’t be famous, but my friend will earn a few more bucks if people buy them.”
“I think it should say 'Love Prevents War',” Janice suggests.
“Way a minute. You’re doing that Make Love Not War slogan. Think I’ve heard that one before!” Rudy laughs.
“Gross!” Louie screams. “Hey, Rudy, don’t forget to stop at the store. There it is!” he screams.
“Maybe we need two bottles of wine. One for later,” Janice says.
“Sounds good to me. Someone’s gotta to make love during war,” Rudy whispers.
“Dream on,” she says.
“I always am.”
They haul their cooler and blanket over the dune, miles from CNN and anthems, make a toast for Frank’s dad, toss the Frisbee, and dive into the sand, unaware that they they’re on their own spiritual journey.
“Wow! The sun’s turning red,” Louie says lying on the sand. “It’s really really red. I wish it could always be red like now.”
“I wish things could always be just like this,” Rudy agrees.
“There goes the sun,” Louie sings.
There goes the rocket’s red glare, Janice thinks, but says nothing. Knows it’s better this way. She pulls Louie and Rudy together and gives them a deep hug.
©2004 by Diane Payne
Diane Payne's book, Burning Tulips, is finally scheduled
to be released in May from Red Hen Press. Her agent, Erin Reel, is looking for a publisher for her short story collection. Diane lives with her daughter and a lot of cats and dogs in the
Delta region, smack dab in the world of Bible Belters.
