20 Red Years (Vietnam War Short Story)

Change

    November 14, 1967

When my whole family moved to Vietnam, life was about to change. It was up to me whether it would be for better or worse.

*******

The sky was dark, blanked in an opaque haze that looked as if the entire world was covered in a thick, black, sheet of ice. Like the clouds in the sky, my eyes produced small droplets of water that caressed my red, blotchy face, mixing in with the sweet raindrops that fell silently across my cheeks. Into the dark, dreadful Vietnamese soil. I heard the sound of my 18-year-old brother's steady footsteps behind me. Then felt his comforting, brotherly touch on my sagging shoulders. I knew he must be feeling as I do right now. Ma and Pa are very patriotic folk and do what is right in God's eyes. Apparently, they felt as if God was calling them to help with the growing war effort in Vietnam. I graduated high school only a month ago and I was well on my way to entering college when Ma and Pa sprung the news that we were moving to Vietnam. I felt as if my whole world were crumbling apart at the seams. I was forced to leave my comfortable American lifestyle and move to a very hostile Vietnamese one.

Gregory was trying to catch the fat raindrops on his small tongue, while Maria was criticizing everything she saw. Peter, as strong as ever, was staring forward, his chin held high and eyes set on something in the distance. Beyond the foreboding woods that lingered behind the small wooden shack I was to call home. Panick spread through my veins as I thought of what I truly feared; the unknown.

"Well, this is it," Pa stated as the six of us stood there looking at our new life.

"Ugh, it's so ugly," Maria complained

"Then you should get along fine in it." I joked. Maria didn't like that, she stood there staring daggers at me. "It was a joke, jeepers!"

It was as dark and unwelcoming as a bears cave, and I wanted to run back home, but that wasn't an option. As we unpacked our scant things, Pa started singing the song "Old Dan Tucker" and I couldn't help but join in.

"Old Dan Tucker was a fine old man, washed his face in a frying pan, combed his hair with a wagon wheel died with a toothache in his heel. Get out the fer Ol' Dan Tucker he's too late to get his supper, suppers over and dinners cookin', Ol' Dan Tucker just stand's there lookin'." We sang that over and over until it was so fast you couldn't even hear the words anymore. All of us laughed until tears brimmed our smiling eyes. That was the first feeling of pure joy I'd felt all day and probably the last for the next couple years.