Death Coming Up the Hill Read Online Free Page B

guts
    Â 
    to sacrifice my
    life to save my buddies? If
    a live grenade rolled
    Â 
    into camp, it would
    kill me if I covered it
    or if I didn’t.
    Â 
    In my heart I knew
    that if I went to war, I
    wouldn’t make it back—
    Â 
    or if I did make
    it, I’d be in pieces, a
    ruined, useless shell.
    â˜…  ★  ★
    Angela knew my
    stupid dream, too. I used to
    think that a baby
    Â 
    sister would heal my
    family, and I hoped and
    prayed that Mom would get
    Â 
    pregnant and that a
    new sister would bind all of
    us together: two
    Â 
    males, two females: a
    perfect balance. “It sounds dumb
    now. I realize
    Â 
    my family is
    too fractured to be fixed, too
    off-kilter to be
    Â 
    balanced, but growing
    up, I was desperate for
    a little sister.”
    Â 
    Angela’s eyes turned
    soft, and she touched my cheek so
    gently I almost
    Â 
    melted. “Be careful
    what you wish for, Ashe. Sometimes
    girls can create more
    Â 
    problems than they solve.”
    It turned out she knew what she
    was talking about.

May 1968
    Week Twenty-Two: 438
    Â 
    I’m an idiot.
    Mom wasn’t smoking dope, though
    I almost wish she
    Â 
    had been. I see now,
    the symptoms were obvious:
    she was
pregnant,
not
    Â 
    stoned. Some guy she met
    at an anti-war rally;
    she wouldn’t tell me
    Â 
    anything about
    the man, not even his name.
    â€œLater,” she said, “please.”
    Â 
    At first I’d assumed
    it was Dad, because even
    with overwhelming
    Â 
    evidence to the
    contrary, I still had my
    childish hope that they
    Â 
    might work things out. Well,
    they did work things out, but not
    how I had hoped. Dad
    Â 
    moved out, furious
    at Mom’s betrayal, but he
    also seemed almost
    Â 
    relieved that he could
    leave and blame their failed marriage
    on her. When she talked
    Â 
    to me, she didn’t
    make excuses or try to
    explain; she pulled me
    Â 
    into a hug and
    whispered over and over,
    â€œI am so sorry.”
    â˜…  ★  ★
    The last day of school
    felt like a wake before an
    Irish funeral.
    Â 
    Everybody was
    signing yearbooks and talking
    about parties and
    Â 
    summer jobs. All the
    hallways looked like a whirlwind
    had blown through, strewing
    Â 
    crumpled worksheets and
    notebook paper everywhere.
    Students wandered in
    Â 
    and out of classes
    without hall passes because
    everyone knew that
    Â 
    summer vacation
    had begun even if school
    wasn’t yet over.
    Â 
    I felt the happy
    vibe, too, but bittersweetness
    dogged me all morning.
    Â 
    Seeing Angela
    turned the bitter to sweet, and
    the fog began to
    Â 
    lift. Like everyone
    else, I looked forward to our
    summer vacation,
    Â 
    but I knew I’d miss
    the routine of school. Classes,
    homework, sports—it gave
    Â 
    me something to do
    besides worrying about
    the chaos at home.
    â˜…  ★  ★
    Before he turned class
    over to yearbook signing,
    Mr. Ruby told
    Â 
    us he’d be teaching
    a new senior course next year,
    Contemporary
    Â 
    Civilization,
    it would be called, and it would
    focus on current
    Â 
    world affairs. He glanced
    around the room. “It will be
    challenging, even
    Â 
    controversial,” he
    said, “but I guarantee that
    it will be a real
    Â 
    education.” His
    gaze settled on me when he
    said, “I sincerely
    Â 
    hope some of you will
    enroll.” Angela’s pat on
    my shoulder confirmed
    Â 
    what I already
    knew. When fall rolled around, we’d
    both be in that class.

June 1968
    Week Twenty-Three: 380
    Â 
    My mom loved Bobby
    Kennedy. He stood up for
    everything Nixon
    Â 
    didn’t, and even
    though he couldn’t possibly
    replace JFK,
    Â 
    he could pick up where
    his older brother had left
    off when his life was
    Â 
    snuffed out in Dallas
    in 1963. When
    Bobby entered the
    Â 
    presidential race,
    even pregnancy couldn’t
    slow Mom down. She