On ‘Plainview 8’ I struggled with this scene, not because I didn’t know what to write, but that I didn’t quite know how to write it. Aged twenty, Marty is a man. He’s even got a rifle. He’s about to be sent to kill people. That’s a lot of growing up to do. Remembering back when I was twenty, I was painfully naïve; really, I didn’t have much of a clue. I always answer the question "If you had the chance, would you go back and do things differently?" by saying "Please, don’t send me back. My younger self was a dumb know-nothing schmuck, and it’s a miracle I’ve made it this far. If I did things differently, it would only be to screw up in a entirely new way. I like my life as it is." Marty does better than I would have done.   Plainview 8 – June 2010   My Dad sat on the bench next to me, and handed me a beer. I took it, too surprised at him to refuse. He was drinking too, even though it was only Lite. I guess he was more nervous than he let on. It was a warm night, hot almost. The weather had gotten really screwy – tornado warnings for nine months of the year, rain that should have been spread out over a season arriving in just one week, sudden heat waves in winter. The cicadas were chirruping nineteen to the dozen, all but drowning out the rumble of the air conditioning. When I was young, we didn’t need air con. We had snow then, too. "Do you know where you’re going?" "Yeah, Dad, sure. They give all the corporals classified information." He ducked his head down. "Sorry." "It could be anywhere. South America, maybe; Africa, Arabia. They shot us full of some experimental malaria vaccine a month back. Those who didn’t die are immune." I caught dad’s open-mouthed stare. "Joke, Dad. It was a joke." "I guess I’m not in the mood for laughing. Just go carefully." "I’m in the army. I supposed to have people shoot at me." I swigged the cold, cold beer. "At least that’s what they said in boot camp." He looked sour. "I could have…" "Got me out of it? Reconstruction brought back the draft. Last time I looked, that’s your party affiliation. Never happier than to sacrifice someone else for your ideals. Different when it’s your own son." "Something like that." "It’s a bit late to get second thoughts, Dad. You’re going to be Speaker in the Unicameral next year. You’re young. You could end up State Governor when old what’s-his-face finally keels over." "I don’t think so." And quietly he added: "I’d give it all up just to have you safe at home." "That’s not going to happen. I don’t live here anymore. Haven’t since sixteen. Since you sent me away." His knuckles whitened around the neck of his bottle. "It was either the State Penn or Military School. You were lucky I could sway the D.A.’s office." "Lucky? I was lucky? Same day they found van Hooren guilty, you sent me away! To somewhere I hated, and was hated in return." My words lacked any real force. Four years ago, I would probably have attacked him with the bottle in an incoherent rage. Now, I could have killed him in half a dozen sophisticated and silent ways, but did nothing but drink a little more. I would be gone in the morning, kit bag over my shoulder, off on a journey that started at my front door and would end God only knew where. "I did my best for you." "Sure. Not that I haven’t had plenty of time to think about what happened. I came up with the idea that the mayor after you…" "Eggerling. Bill Eggerling." "Yeah, him: he put those kids up to running the Mayers out of town. Explains a whole bunch of things, like why the cops never came when they called, like when Chris Mayer made their plates they were never traced, like why the kids never ended up in court for what they did. Now, I’m no Columbo, but I reckon shuffling me off to a different state saved a whole lot of red faces." He stayed silent. Perhaps he genuinely didn’t know. Then again, I presumed he did, and wasn’t about to give him the benefit of the doubt. "I still hear from Pete Mayer. His dad got a job in Toronto, looking after the parks. He’s at college, doing well." "I know. I made sure I knew." "Imagine, the Mayers; political refugees. How strange is that?" "Marty, I never meant for any of that unpleasantness to happen." He sounded upset, but I wasn’t in the mood. To tell the truth, I was nervous as well. I wasn’t a G.I., so the likelihood of me actually having to bayonet someone was low, but engineers got up into the forward positions too. There had been casualties. At twenty, I wasn’t quite ready to lose a limb, or my head. And there was my Dad, calling the business with the Mayers ‘unpleasantness’. They were run out of town as sure as if they’d had a burning cross planted on their lawn. I was used to all sorts of euphemisms now: collateral damage – that was dead civilians; friendly fire – dead Americans; police action – invading another country; surgical strike – blow the crap out of anything that moves. Was I this cynical before? I’d been busted back to Private more often than I cared to remember, but they kept on giving those stripes back not because I could fix virtually anything. It was because the other men did what I told them to do. They seemed to trust my judgement. If I’d kept my yap shut, I would have made Sergeant by now, or even been sent to West Point. I’d turned that down the first time it had been offered to me, and would turn it down now. I’d had enough of military school. Military college followed by a minimum of five years in the army just wasn’t me. I didn’t follow orders very well. I guess in that respect I was morally deficient. It would have been so much easier for me if I could have played the game just like I did when I was a kid. When my number came up in the draft lottery, when they handed me a rifle with live ammunition, that was when it stopped being a game and got very real. I could have been a conscientious objector. My feelings were strong enough to have convinced any Draft Board that I would have been damned before I took up arms for Reconstruction. Like I said, I could have gone to West Point. Dad had lined up a whole slew of nominations from Senate. It would have been a shoo-in. I drank my beer and wondered why I’d taken the route I had. "I’m not ashamed of my uniform, if that’s what you’re thinking. I’m proud to be in the Corps of Engineers. I serve with good men, some of the best." "I’m glad, son." "I didn’t even do this to get back at you. But I did do it to get away from you." He looked pained. I didn’t know what it was like. Father and son, on the porch, drinking beer. It should have been a happy time, but we brought a lot of baggage with us, and so much of it was strewn around our feet we couldn’t see the floor anymore. "Stupid as it seems," I said, "it was the best thing that could have happened to me. When I finish my service, I’ll be a veteran. I’ll have the G.I. Bill to help me through college or get me a job. Reconstruction loves ex-servicemen. I’ll have served our country and done my duty, and that’s what seems important these days. And I’ll be free of you. I won’t have to ask you for so much as a dime. I won’t have to rely on your contacts or your influence. I won’t have you trying to move me this way or that. I could even rescue Charlie from the wandering hands of Reconstructionists’ sons." Dad shuffled uncomfortably on his seat. "What’s she been saying to you?" "She’s your daughter. It’s a father’s job to protect her. Even I know that much." He stayed silent, although the sound of compromise hissed through his pursed lips. I might not get another chance to say these things again. I was off to war in the morning. "Dad, she hates it as much as I ever did. But she sticks around because she has to. Where else would she go? All these State of Emergency regulations mean that you can’t fart without a permit. She’d be in a cop’s car and back here before sun-up. You might not even notice she’d gone. Look, just do one thing for me. Don’t leave her alone with your friends. She feels dirty, and she hasn’t even done anything." "But the boys she goes out with are good boys. I know their families. She’s not going to come to any harm." "She’s not a trophy. Let her see who she wants." "But I do." "She feels she has to. She feels like she’s helping your career by going on dates with these good boys. She feels like she’s a whore, and you’re going to send her crazy if you don’t put a stop to it." He didn’t believe me. Why should he? All he got from Charlie was ‘Yes, Dad. No, Dad.’ She had always been such a sparky kid, and now that spark had gone. Her desire to please him had trapped her. "It’s a question of trust, Marty. I trust Charlie to tell me if there was anything wrong." "Yeah, well. She’d kill me if she knew I was talking to you about it. Doesn’t mean there isn’t a problem that you need to fix, and fix it right. I would if I was here, but I seem to be moving further away with every year that passes." "You can’t fix everything, Marty. Not your way." I snorted. "You mean, blow it up? I guess not. When Charlie starts cutting herself, or drinking Draino, that won’t fix it either. Dad, I haven’t been in the army long, and let’s face it, it was never going to be a long-term thing with me. But stuck in a barracks with twenty other men, you get to see what happens when they start not coping. They crack around the edges, and soon enough those cracks go all the way through. They break suddenly, without warning. Catastrophic failure. And considering we’re surrounded by things which go bang, that’s not healthy. You always get one guy who goes postal and ends up juggling live grenades." "And you’re saying that’s Charlie?" "She’s my sister. I love her. Now, I’ll come and get her as soon as I can, but until then she’s in your care…" "She’s been in my care ever since she was born and don’t you forget it." "Then why don’t you act like it? Why don’t you seem to care that your only daughter is acting like an Escort Agency for your political and business friends? You can’t see the problem because you won’t see the problem and I’m telling you now that you mustn’t let anything happen to her." "Marty, nothing will happen to her. She’s fine. Her social life is the envy of every girl in Plainview." "Did she tell you that? Because that’s not what she told me." There was silence again, and finally. "I’ll talk to her." "That’s not going to do any good. She’s just going to say the same things as she has done before. You need to take action. Just do it. Ground her for a year. She’ll thank you." "Marty, I don’t need lessons from you about how to look after my family. When you get one of your own, you’ll understand." "I was never stupid, Dad. Irresponsible, rebellious, scheming, a liar; all those. But not stupid. You’ve got to save Charlie." He finished his beer. "You don’t understand," he said, and I didn’t know whether that was an admission of guilt or a comment on my faculties. He stood up and went inside, the screen door banging behind him. I was left alone, wondering what might become of the Sorenson children in this strange new world.