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By Root 527 0

’t believe in Vietnam. He remembered the years it encompassed, but he’d always said that it was part of the past and the best thing all of us could do was try to put it as far from us as possible. In campaign speeches in ‘76, he’d said: “I think America should forget Vietnam ever happened.” Privately, to her, he’d said, “That's the only way. Just push and push it away until it disappears, dies, becomes a myth like the Battle of New Orleans or the Monitor and the Merrimac. Make it history. When it is history, when it really is, we’ll be able to handle it. Not now. We have to erase it so we can go on. Either that or wallow in it. Make tasteless violent movies, dozens of them, bathing in the blood until it all becomes meaningless. One way or the other, we got to get it off our backs.”

“What about all the crippled vets,” she’d said, “or even the guys who just felt displaced, like they lost years out of their lives? Which they did.”

“They’re all on heroin anyway,” he’d said. “They don’t count.” She felt a sudden sense of revulsion that stormed through her body in one rancid wave: revulsion with their sex, with him, with herself, her memories, with life in any form, with how coldly life can be snuffed out and how the survivors continue, choosing consistently to block out what's in front of their eyes, because otherwise they would all go mad. Yeah, go crazy, she thought sarcastically. That's the answer. Then when they’ve got you they can really do a job on you, open-ended. She jumped up and pulled on her clothes as quickly as possible. Checked herself in the mirror: a slightly rumpled, near middle-aged schoolgirl. Well, there were worse things to look like. She clambered off the bed and crossed the room with a brisk, firm stride, out the door, down the marble stairs, into the clear black-lined sunlight of Washington, D.C., a ghost town. A few minutes later, driving past the Lincoln Memorial, trying to keep from staring at the tourists trooping solemnly up to pay their respects and cuff their kids into doing the same, she thought: And now even the ghosts are retiring. They prefer not to cast their shadows on the likes of us.

Previously Unpublished, 1980

Trapped by the Mormons

Noh it's this way! Why in the hell do you think everybody else does it exactly alike? What are you, a moron? There's rules for reasons and they’re the only way anybody that knows anything does it! So grow up! Be a professional! Look sharp! Get your act together! Shave off all the loose ends! Learn the hairstyle! Fix those nails! Knot that tie right! That shirt's not Arrow, you’re a loser! Mind that blow-dryer! Wrong cologne! You wore WING TIPS! Here's that gum that spurts in your mouth! Just grit your teeth, smile, and be polite! Where's your condo? Where's your Trans-Am? Where's your BABIES? Laugh sincerely! He's important! She's got money! There's a good job! Chance of a lifetime! Grab it now, it's never coming back! No you damn fool that electric guitar's not played that way! How I know? I been to school! Do it like this! Just like this! Practice makes perfect! Over and over! On forever! So what if it's the same solo? Can’t you hear those TASTY LICKS! Just like George Benson! You’re the greatest! You’ll go far! No, you can’t sing! Don’t even try! You’ll be a laughingstock! Stick to what you know! What you’re good at! Stop playing around with all this nonsense! Some people WORK for a living you know! In fact, everybody does! Only Commies don’t have bosses! So what if he's an asshole! I gotta take his shit too! You’ll get a pension! Those jeans are OUT this year! You’re such a fool! Now THEY all know! Act unconcerned! Don’t let her know you like her or you’ll lose her! That's just the way it is! Everyone's like that! No exceptions anywhere! Take it, shut up, there's nothing else! You’re no artist, that's for queers! You’ll never make a living writing books unless you’re Harold Robbins! And you’re not so give it up! Nobody will publish that! Exhibition? Those’d get you laughed out of every gallery in Soho! Your band can’t play and you can’t dance