20 Red Years (Vietnam War Short Story)

Shock

November 12, 1967

One of the biggest turning points in my life was when President John F. Kennedy was assassinated. He was a role model in my life. Although he graduated from Harvard, he still had the urge to protect his country. He ended up joining the navy and Kennedy's PT boat was sunk by a Japanese submarine. Nothing short of amazing, J.F.K, who had grave injuries at the time, managed to lead his crew through rough, perilous waters to safety. He was a brilliant President with an excellent vision for our country.

*******

"Did you hear about this, Bee?" Peter called out in a shaky voice while I was in the kitchen making Mac and Cheese in our small kitchen. When I looked up to see what Peter was talking about, the first thing I saw on the TV was in big, bold, haunting, terrible, letters that read the devastating headline 

JOHN FITZGERALD KENNEDY

ASSASSINATED IN DALLAS TEXAS

NOVEMBER 22, 1963. 

 My mouth dropped open as shock coursed violently through my veins.

"WHAT?!" I screamed as I ran over to the remote and turned up the volume as the news reporter proclaimed the terrible news of 'Jack's' death.

"John F Kennedy, well know as JFK or Jack was tragically assassinated today from two bullet wounds. One through his back and the other in his head. Being the youngest President ever elected, he was hardly in office for a thousand days when he was killed. His Presidency lasted from1961-1962 and most of 1963. Although he only had 3 years in office, Jack achieved an exponential amount of good works." Everything the reporter confessed after that was a blur. Kennedy was an amazing president, why would someone want to kill him, why, Why, WHY? I thought to myself.

"Bee, Bee," Peter asked, shaking my shoulders. "You okay?"

"What?" I brought myself out of my daze. "Yeah, I'm fine. It's just hard to believe that one human being can have so much hate for another. I smelled a burning aroma in the air and heard the distinct crackle of water hitting a hot stove.

"Oh man." I breathed as I swiftly ran to the stove, "Shoot."

"What?"

"Sorry, I didn't mean that literally." Gregory came down the stairs with a look of disgust on his small features. He looked as I felt, full of disgust and confusion. Only, our reasons for the feeling were completely different. Being six and the youngest in our family meant getting the most attention. Maria had had that honor for four years of her life, but then little Greg came along a ruined that for her. As envious as she was of Greg, Maria couldn't help but love her little brother and all his goofy ways.

"Liz, Peter, help hide me. I have to hide! Now, please?" A very much disturbed and desperate Greg pleaded.

"Why, whats goin' on Greg?" Peter inquired, looking over to his little brother. Still as shocked as I was.

"So much. Too much."
"No kidding," I mumble under my breath. Peter heard me but Greg was too distraught to pay attention to what I said as he continued, "Maria is trying to dress me up like a baby doll and Mama wants me to take a bath. Why are two of the worst moments in my life colliding on the same day... did you burn the mac and cheese Liz?" Greg complained, looking as though he was about to cry.

"Um... yeah, I did. You can hide in the bathroom. That is probably the last place Ma will look. But you owe me one!"

"That actually sounds smart, who knew you had it in you." He jokes as I scowl at him. I swatted my little brother with a hot mitt as he ran off, and finished making lunch. Then I quickly ran to my room for cover. After about ten minutes had passed Peter came up the stairs and quietly slipped into my room to sit on the edge of my bed.

"Hey Bee, you okay?"

"Yeah I'm fine, but I've never been very good at coping with someone dying even if I didn't know them personally." Tears threatened to fall from my eyes, but I held them back the best I could. When a few did finally fall Peter gave me tight hug, then gave me the cold hard truth.

"War's coming to Bee, many innocent people are gonna die and we can't do nothin' about it. The best we can do is help those needin it, and be there for those who ain't gonna make it through. So you better toughen up or your gonna be no good for anybody."

Ouch, He hit it right on the head, my strong 17-year-old brother knew me too well. Ever since there was any talk of war, he'd been training to fight. He didn't want to be a surgeon anymore. Though I started down that path  and enjoyed it tremendously. We had all changed recently. I grew quite a bit and now stood taller than my mother. The childish freckles across my nose had blended into my skin after I started working on getting a tan. I was fit and filled out, yet still didn't like the way dresses looked or felt, so I avoided them at all cost. I had streaks of sun-bleached hair, highlighting my thick brown hair, and mother swears I'm as pretty as any princess.

"I know, but why are we getting involved? It's not on our soil, nobody's threatening us?"

"Bee listen..." Peter starts in a quite, reasoning voice. I cut him off,

"Stop it! Stop treating me like a baby, I can handle it myself! I'm 16, have a boyfriend who cares about me, I'm a straight-A student and I'm on my way to become a surgeon like Father. So I don't need you treating me like a baby!"

"Don't be so naive Elizabeth, the world's changing. Your dead beat of a boyfriend doesn't deserve you and if you want to be a surgeon you're gonna have to learn how to deal with death, it's in the job description. If you don't want me to treat you like a baby, then stop acting like one." With that, Peter walked out of my room leaving me to my thoughts. After I got my bearings I realized that Peter was right. We have to fight. If we don't, it's like we're turning our backs on our neighbors, not loving them. And God calls us to love them, every single one.