Death Coming Up the Hill by Chris Crowe Read Free Book Online Page B

was
    only a baby
    Â 
    who still needed her
    mother to love and care for
    her. I’d had my turn
    Â 
    being raised by Mom,
    and now Rosa should have hers.
    I
had
to find a
    Â 
    way I could be a
    hero for Rosa in the
    coming war with Dad.

November 1968
    Week Forty-Seven: 160
    Â 
    Angela gave me
    a copper MIA wrist-
    band with her brother’s
    Â 
    name and the date he
    went missing on it. I was
    supposed to wear it
    Â 
    until he came home—
    or until his body was
    found. I slid the smooth
    Â 
    bracelet over my
    wrist and wished I had something
    to give her, something
    Â 
    permanent like this
    wristband that would remind her
    of me if I went
    Â 
    missing in action.
    Last night, Mom had talked about
    running away from
    Â 
    Dad and the hearing,
    taking me and Rosa to
    California or
    Â 
    Florida or some-
    place Dad wouldn’t be able
    to find us. I tried
    Â 
    to imagine the
    three of us living away
    from home and friends and
    Â 
    trying to pay the
    bills. It wouldn’t work, I said.
    There’s no way we could
    Â 
    earn enough money
    to live on
and
pay out-of-
    state tuition: the
    Â 
    draft would snatch me on
    my next birthday. Mom looked heart-
    broken. “What else can
    Â 
    I do? Marcus will
    send us whatever money
    he can and join us
    Â 
    when we get settled
    somewhere.” I believed her, but
    who’d pay for college?

November 1968
    Week Forty-Eight: 228
    Â 
    We ate Thanksgiving
    dinner at Angela’s house.
    Somehow, her mom had
    Â 
    the energy to
    host a big meal despite all
    their worries about
    Â 
    Kelly. Their home felt
    so cozy that Mom and I
    lingered long after
    Â 
    dinner. Sharing the
    holiday together did
    something for both our
    Â 
    broken families,
    so when Angela’s dad asked
    us to celebrate
    Â 
    Christmas with them next
    month, Mom and I agreed right
    away. The warmth from
    Â 
    Angela and her
    parents filled the room, and we
    floated home on it.
    â˜…  ★  ★
    Mom gasped when she saw
    Dad’s car parked in front of our
    house. I steered into
    Â 
    the driveway and shut
    off the engine. Mom looked mad—
    or scared—and tightened
    Â 
    her grip on Rosa,
    who had started to cry. “Take
    Rosa inside,” I
    Â 
    said. “I’ll deal with Dad.”
    While they left, I got out of
    the car and met him
    Â 
    in the front yard. He
    reeked of beer. “Is that the black
    bastard?” “Rosa,” I
    Â 
    said. “My sister’s name
    is Rosa.” I sounded a
    hundred times calmer
    Â 
    than I felt. A flash
    of pain twisted Dad’s face. “How
    can you consider
    Â 
    her a sister? Do
    you know what your mother did
    to me? To
us?
” He
    Â 
    stepped closer. “Come on,
    Ashe. I can take you away
    from all this right now.”

December 1968
    Week Forty-Nine: 192
    Â 
    â€œOne ninety-two” was
    on the board, and beneath it,
    Mr. Ruby wrote
    Â 
    â€œ30,000.” He
    took a deep breath and told us
    that this week, the death
    Â 
    toll in Vietnam
    since 1961 hit
    that number. He snapped
    Â 
    his fingers. “That’s half
    of all the residents of
    Tempe. Dead.” He snapped
    Â 
    his fingers again.
    â€œGone. The loss is crushing, but
    it doesn’t even
    Â 
    include civilians,
    POWs, or those
    missing in action—
    Â 
    and we can’t even
    begin to calculate what
    we’ve suffered at home.”
    Â 
    I thought about those
    weekly casualty counts,
    the stern mug shots of
    Â 
    local guys killed in
    action, Kelly MIA,
    and the trauma in
    Â 
    my own home. Mr.
    Ruby really knew what he
    was talking about.

December 1968
    Week Fifty: 222
    Â 
    Last week, two letters
    dropped on our house like mortar
    shells. The first announced
    Â 
    that a judge would soon
    end our financial support
    from Dad. Rosa and
    Â 
    Mom would be cut off
    forever; me, too—unless
    I lived with my dad.
    Â 
    Abandon Rosa
    and Mom, and