Chapter 20: Take the Long Way Home

02 June 1991 – Off State Highway 64, Coconino County, Arizona

That’s one hell of a foxhole, Jeff thought while he watched the sun rise over the Grand Canyon.

He woke up at zero dark thirty for the drive to Grandview Point from Winslow, Arizona. The view was worth every second of lost sleep, as was stopping in Winslow. His mother was a big Eagles fan; Jeff made sure someone there took a picture of him standing on a street corner.

He already shot a roll of film of the sun as it rose over the landscape, thirty-six shots. Jeff changed rolls as fast as he could. The new roll would be pictures of the Canyon itself as the first sunlight spilled into it. Jeff knew the colors on both rolls would be amazing, though they would pale beside the real thing. There were a dozen more rolls of film, both exposed and unexposed, in the truck; he’d documented his trip well. He’d spend a small fortune in processing, but he didn’t care.

He turned from the observation point, allowing another tourist to take his spot. He asked a park ranger for recommendations on breakfast spots nearby. Jeff made his way back out to State Route 64 and turned east.

Jeff thought about his trip from Fayetteville during the drive to the restaurant; it was a leisurely one, one he could have made in two days. With no deadline and no one expecting him he limited himself to eight hours of driving per day. The trip took four days instead. Fine by him.

He rubbed a hand across his face; he was unaccustomed to feeling so much stubble. He hadn’t shaved since May 28th, his last day in uniform. He’d have to shave in two or three days, though. Maybe four.

The place the ranger told him about looked like a place the locals kept secret from the tourists. The outside didn’t look like much, but Jeff noted the volume of people streaming in and out of the restaurant. He was able to grab a spot at the counter after a twenty minute wait. He was used to such waits back home at The Lunch Car.

The breakfast spot’s menu contained Southwest-inspired items The Lunch Car’s didn’t. He ordered the huevos rancheros, jalapeño cornbread, and coffee. He looked around while he ate and saw how the decor tended towards the homey. It was a nice change from the in-your-face-Southwestern trappings of tourist-oriented places.

“More coffee, hon?” Jeff nodded to the waitress as he chewed. “Where ya from?”

“Stick out like a sore thumb do I, Ma’am? I’m from Enfield, Massachusetts, originally. It’s out in the western part of the state.”

“How about now?”

“I’ve been at Fort Bragg for the last three years. I got out of the Army last week and drove out here.”

“You lookin’ for work?”

“No, Ma’am. I wanted to see the Canyon before I head north to visit my buddy’s family in Spokane. I’ll be headed home after that.”

“That’s one hell of a detour. You’re visiting your buddy’s family, but not your buddy?”

“Well, him too eventually. Gotta figure out where he’s buried first.” The woman looked at him in shock. “Sorry, Ma’am. Ken was killed in the Gulf; I’m headed to Spokane to pay my respects to his family. I need to go there before I get tied up in life.” The woman put the coffee pot down, shock and sorrow visible on her face.

“One of my brother’s buddies did the same thing after Vietnam. He said he’d rather forget about the war, but he’d never forget Irv.” She wiped a tear from her eye.

“Your brother was lucky to have a good friend like that, Ma’am. I apologize, I didn’t mean to bring up bad memories.”

“Fred’s a good man,” the woman said, twisting her wedding ring. “Has been for the twenty-five years I’ve known him. Your friend’s family will be thankful that you visited them. Do they know you’re coming?”

Jeff nodded. “I told them I’d come by when I left the Army, but I haven’t told them I’m on the way. I’ll call them after I get to Spokane. They’ve had enough surprises.”

Jeff rolled into Spokane two days later. He had reserved a hotel room for four nights; he wasn’t sure how long researching the location of Ken’s grave site would take. The desk clerk at his hotel proved to be a godsend.

“You’re looking for someone’s grave, but you don’t know where it is?” she asked when he checked in.

“Yeah, a buddy of mine from the Army. He was killed in the Gulf War.”

“Holy Cross.”

“Sorry?”

“Holy Cross Cemetery. It’s about three miles from here.”

“How do you know that?”

“His was the only death Spokane had in the Gulf War, so it was a pretty big deal. They showed the procession from the church to the cemetery live back in March. I remember because my grandfather’s buried there, too. I’ll write down what plot he’s in for you.” Jeff looked at the woman behind the counter and raised an eyebrow.

“What? I was curious.”

Jeff ensured his belongings were secure in his room before preparing his uniform. The next morning a different desk clerk referred him to a barber shop nearby. He specified he wanted a ‘barber shop’ and not a ‘place to get my hair cut.’ The shop was a short five-minute walk away. A bell rang when Jeff entered the shop.

“Be right out!” a voice called from the back of the shop.

“Thank you!” Jeff called back while he looked at the items on the shop walls.

The owner was once in the Army as well, a master sergeant. The owner stepped out of the back.

“Sorry ‘bout that. Can I help you?”

“Yes, Sergeant. I need to look like a paratrooper again, not some long-haired hippie freak.” The owner laughed while he walked over and extended his hand.

“I see you speak my language. John Kershaw.”

“Jeff Knox.”

“On leave?”

“Yes, but it’s a terminal condition.”

“Best kind of leave there is. What brings you to Spokane?”

“Paying my respects to a buddy’s family after I go by his grave site.” John nodded, a somber look on his face.

“I had to do that a few times after my tours in ‘Nam. How many?”

“Just Ken.”

“You’re lucky. Well, let’s get you squared away again.”

The cut didn’t take long since it was done exclusively with the electric clippers. A whirring sound sounded through the shop; John applied warm shaving cream to the sides of Jeff’s head and back of his neck. John then took a straight razor and slid it repeatedly over a leather strap. He scraped the foam and remaining stubble off Jeff’s head and neck.

John surprised Jeff when he laid the barber’s chair flat like a recliner. The next surprise was an honest-to-goodness hot towel from a special cabinet; John draped it over Jeff’s face. A few minutes went by before Jeff heard the shaving cream dispenser whir again.

John pulled the towel off and tossed it in the sink. He applied more shaving cream to Jeff’s face. John stropped the razor again. The cream and Jeff’s stubble disappeared under his practiced hand. He sat Jeff upright again. Aftershave soothed and cooled Jeff’s face.

“All set, Airborne!”

“The base barbers never did this good of a job. Thanks, John.”

“My pleasure. When are you heading over?”

“I’m headed back to the hotel now. I’ll get changed into my Class-A uniform and head over to the cemetery.”

“Tell him this old vet says ‘thanks.’ I’ll trade stories with him when I get up where he is one day.”

“Wilco, Sergeant.”

Putting his -As on was like putting on a favorite shirt: comfortable. He spent a few minutes checking his appearance in the mirror after he finished changing. He walked down to his truck when he was sure everything was in order. He drove the ten minutes to Holy Cross Cemetery; it took him another five to find Ken’s grave.

Jeff looked at Ken’s headstone after he put his truck in park. He stared for many minutes at the stark, white stone. Ken’s family opted for the traditional white marble headstone common to military cemeteries like Arlington.

Jeff climbed out of his truck, rolling up the window and locking the door. He approached the grave in a daze. He stopped a pace away and crouched. His chest began to tighten. The writing on the headstone blurred. His hand reached out to touch the stone.

This time he made no attempt to stop the tears. They fell like rain.

Minutes passed before he was able compose himself again. Jeff wiped his face. He pushed the two small flags he carried into the ground in front of Ken’s headstone: Old Glory and the 82nd Airborne Division’s flag. He stood and took two steps back. He rendered a parade-ground quality salute to his friend’s grave. He dropped the salute and executed an about-face.

His breath caught in his throat.

Standing six feet away was Keiko. She was crying, her hand over her mouth. He stepped over to her, wrapped his arms around her and held her. Jeff stroked her long, dark hair while she sobbed into his chest.

“I’m so sorry, Keiko-chan,” he whispered. Her pain cut through him. She wiped her face after she calmed down minutes later.

“When did you get here, Jeffrey?”

“I got in last night. I was going to call after my visit here. How long have you been here?”

“I was walking up when you crouched down. I started crying when you did.”

“He was my friend, Keiko. My best friend. He saved my life in Panama when he took that bullet in his arm.”

“What ‘bullet?’”

“He never told you guys?” Jeff told Keiko about the defense of the patrol base in 1989. “I could have never repaid him for that as it was, and then he goes and introduces me to you. And not that I didn’t want to see you, but how did you wind up here today?”

“I felt I needed to come see Ken today; I cannot explain why. I walked here from our house. Where did you stay last night?” Jeff told her. “You must come to the house.”

“I was planning to. I need to express my condolences to your parents in person.”

“Let us take your truck, then.”

“Do you need to have a moment with Ken first?”

Keiko looked at Ken’s grave and smiled while she held onto Jeff. She felt her brother smiling back at her.

“I already have.”

Mayumi Takahashi heard the screen door at the front of the house close while she finished her meditation. She heard movement in the front hall as she stood, bowed to the picture of her son, then turned.

“Keiko, back so...?”

Her question faded as disbelief crossed her features. Jeff bowed to his best friend’s mother, the woman who would one day be his mother-in-law. He no longer doubted that fact.

“Takahashi-san, words are inadequate to express my sorrow at Ken’s loss.” Mayumi overcame her shock and bowed back.

“Jeffrey-san.”

She approached her son’s best friend and embraced him. It was Jeff’s turn to be shocked; that shock increased when she kissed his cheek.

“My son chose his best friend well. You promised to visit when you wrote to us in April. That you would come the twenty-seven hundred miles to say those words speaks to your character.”

“He came farther than that, Mother.” Mayumi raised an eyebrow at her youngest. “Jeffrey stopped at the Grand Canyon first.” The brow swung in Jeff’s direction.

“Ken and I used to talk of visiting the Canyon someday,” Jeff shrugged. “My family understands why I needed to be here once my obligation to the Army was complete. I’ve been letting them know where I am. There’s no deadline for me to get home.”