FOR LOVE

Mavis always knew, even as a child, which side of the bread had the butter. A future valedictorian, she was smart, in both her studies and in her life, and was always prepared to seize an opportunity when it came along. Which was why, when Brad Travis, the best player on her high school's football team, finally began flirting with her from afar in study hall, she knew that time was of the essence. She acted. She thought she might be in love with the boy, though she knew him only slightly. Love was the most important thing of all, she thought. So she'd strike while the iron was hot. She walked over to where he sat.

"Hi, Brad," she said demurely, biting her lip and batting her long lashes outrageously at the unsuspecting jock. Somehow, a pen managed to work its way free of her notebook and plopped at Brad's feet with a little click. Brad promptly retrieved the errant pen and presented it like a trophy to Mavis.

"Here ya' go, Mave'," he said, like a friendly puppy.

And so it went. Within minutes the student athlete had been manipulated into asking for Mavis's phone number. When she gave it to him, he fecklessly slapped at his pockets, but, turning up no writing instrument, gratefully accepted the very pen that Mavis had dropped only moments before.

"I'll call you," he promised, as she made her way back to her seat.

. . . . .

On their first date, a movie, of course -- Brad loved movies -- Brad confided to her that he wanted to fall in love, serve in the Marines, and be an auto mechanic, in that order. "Love," he intoned gravely, "is the most important thing there is." Mavis smiled; knowing she'd found her soul mate.

The couple dated for two years and were, against all odds, selected King and Queen of the Prom, Class of 1968. Mavis had gone on the pill two weeks after their first date; but that was fourteen days too late, practically speaking.

After the birth of their baby -- christened Mary after Brad's mother -- Mavis and Brad continued with their high school courtship and careers, despite -- or perhaps in defiance of -- the rampant disapproval expressed by the parents of their fellow students. After graduation, the young people were promptly married in a modest civil ceremony. Times were tough for both families. They opted to live with Mavis's widowed mother, Ellen.

"Mom," said Mavis one afternoon, "Brad wants to take me to the movies on Friday; can you watch Mary?" Her mother, an indulgent grandma, nodded and smiled. "Thanks, mom." It would be their last date before his enlistment.

"What is this movie you're so set on seeing?" asked Mavis as they made their way through traffic to the theatre.

"The Green Berets," replied her husband.

When they walked out of the theatre and into a December snowstorm, Mavis turned to Travis and blurted, "I don't want you to join the Marines!"

Travis frowned. He had this all planned out: after high school he would join the USMC, as had his father before him, serve three years, and attend college on the G.I. Bill. No one in his family had ever gotten an education and Brad certainly didn't have the resources to attend college on his own. What other option did he have? Flipping burgers? The job market was tough. They looked for their car in the driving storm.

"But, Mave', we decided," he protested. "You know that tomorrow I have to head out to Parris Island." The South Carolina training facility was a 16-hour bus ride from their home.

"But, that was before I got a glimpse of what the war was about," she came back at him. "Why didn't you tell me what it was like?" she demanded petulantly. They found their car and climbed inside.

He shrugged. "My old man made it through three years of service in WWII, and he came out without a scratch," he pointed out.

"I don't care," she snapped. "I don't want you to go!"

"But I enlisted already, the day after graduation. It was that or get drafted. If I don't report, I'll be AWOL, and they'll arrest me."

Now Mavis broke down in sobs. "Mary will never know her dad," she said tearfully.

"She knows me already," said Brad.

"But she's a baby; she doesn't know what a good, kind, loving man you are. She can only learn that as she grows older with you. You're all about love," she told him.

They sat in the car long into the night, discussing their possible futures, till at length Mary glanced at the clock on the dashboard and said, "Mom will be crazy with worry. Let's get home."

That night they made ardent love, as if for the last time.

. . . . .

All through the ensuing 18 months, Mavis Travis was alert to all news pertaining to the war and the military, particularly the Marine Corps. She watched the nightly news -- particularly Walter Cronkite on CBS, since he, like her, was against the war. She read comprehensive articles in Time and Newsweek and even subscribed to the New York Times. She cried at stories of love lost, and when Brad received his inevitable deployment to Viet Nam, Mavis cried again. Mavis and Brad wrote letters almost constantly. Eagerly she'd tear open the featherlight blue envelopes his letters came in. She could sometimes tell they had been opened by censors, but she thought little of it.

"I'm lonely, Mave'," he'd mourn. "I miss you so much!" One day Brad wrote something which frightened her. "If I don't make it back, as a man, a whole man, you find somebody else. Mary needs a father, and you need a husband." Had he been injured?" she wondered wildy. In the news every day were accounts of men returning from Viet Nam as mere shells of their former selves. In 'Nam, Brad was a "tunnel rat," who explored caverns and tunnels and unleashed a hellish inferno from a flame thrower to incinerate the "enemy." And he summarily shot to death "gooks" with his M-16. he wrote her.

Brad was ambivalent about his job, at best. "Like Ali says, 'these North Vietnamese never done nothin' to me," wrote Brad, referencing the former heavyweight boxing champion, stripped of his title and presently in court for failing to report for active duty. While Brad was abroad, Mavis enrolled in the local college, studying pre-law. She got an accelerated course of study, due to her perfect marks on her admissions test. She could finish in just two years.

. . . . .

At long last, Brad's tour in Viet Nam concluded and he went to Hawaii for R & R. Mavis got a letter from him, postmarked Honolulu and with a return address that read: "The World." She was so happy she could have cried.

Everyone was relieved and glad when Brad returned home. He had about 18 months remaining on his enlistment, but he would spend it stateside. As she sat with family in the Travises' living room for a celebratory dinner on Brad's first night home, Mavis regarded him proudly. He seemed fit and alert and happy and so her anxieties were allayed. It wasn't until they spent their first night together in bed that her fears came back.

"I can't do it, Mave'," muttered Brad, sitting on the edge of the bed, his head in his hands.

"What is it, baby?" asked Mavis, running her hand over his well-muscled shoulders. "You still thinking about the war?" She was determined to understand, to be of help to her man.

"It's not so much the war itself," said Brad.

"Then what is it? Do you feel guilty being home while your buddies are still in Asia?" Mavis had read a plethora of books regarding soldiers' reactions to returning home after active service. In college she was also taking a degree in psychology.

Brad hesitated for a long moment, before he said, "It's more someone."

"Um?" Mavis didn't understand.

"Lien. It means water lily," he said warmly, his face suddenly lighting up. "I met her at Chu Chi." Mavis stared at him. "I was so lonely, Mave', and she had lost her husband in the war. I...we, fell in love." Her hand fell away from his shoulder.

All Mavis's dreams and expectations and hopes came crashing down upon her. Her husband, for whom she had prayed every night and lighted a candle every Sunday, and who had fathered her child, was in love with another woman. She fairly swooned.

"There's more, Mave'," said Brad. How much more could there possibly be? she thought bleakly.

"There's Lieu," he said. "She was born two months ago. She's my daughter, Mave'," and he grinned stupidly, unaware of the toll it was taking on the woman he'd promised to love forever and above all others.

When Mavis didn't respond, he put his hand on her shoulder, but she was too stunned to shake him off. "I want you to meet them," he went on, oblivious to her pain. "I'm petitioning the State Department to allow them to immigrate. It's complicated, but I think we can swing it. Eventually." They didn't make love that night, nor for most nights after that.

. . . . .

When he got out of the Marines, Brad went to a trade school on the G.I. Bill and became an auto mechanic. Mavis, meanwhile, finished her undergraduate degree and enrolled in law school and was an honors student. Their lives went on apace, but it was never quite the same after Viet Nam. Mavis knew that Brad tried, but he wasn't the attentive husband and lover she had known before the war; his heart just wasn't in it. They had no more children.

"Brad cheated on me, Mom," Mavis told her mother one spring afternoon. "He fathered a child by another woman." They had had this forlorn discussion many times before. They all still lived together at Ellen's house.

"Men get lonely in war, honey," murmured mom. Ellen's father had died in WWII and she held soldiers in high esteem.

"I got lonely too, but I never cheated," remarked Mavis crossly.

"You just have to forgive him, baby," said Mom. "It's what love is all about." Mavis sipped her coffee and said nothing. "You graduate tomorrow!" said Mom buoyantly, changing the subject. "You'll be a lawyer!" she exclaimed.

"If I pass the bar exam," Mavis corrected her, with a little smile.

"You aced every test you ever took," Ellen reminded her with a twinkle.

"We'll see," replied Mavis, thankful anew for her mother's unfaltering love.

. . . . .

Mavis, Ellen, 13-year-old Mary and Brad stood at the gate for international flights at the airport, expecting two long-awaited arrivals. Mavis glanced at her husband of 12 years; he seemed anticipatory, edgy. He didn't look at her. Suddenly the huge aircraft deplaned. Mavis recognized Lien and Lieu, from the hundreds of photos she'd seen, even before Brad did. They were petite and beautiful, but seemed so small, so vulnerable. At last they caught Brad's eye and as they entered the concourse, he rushed up to them, swept them both into a warm, loving embrace. Mavis swallowed. It was as if they had never been parted. The love that the three of them shared was manifest and nothing more need be said, she thought.

Ellen turned to her daughter. "What'll happen now?" she asked.

Mavis shook her head. "I don't know."

Suddenly Brad signaled for Mary to join them, and she did, relishing the idea of a younger sister and curious about the strange little woman accompanying her.

"You know," remarked Ellen, "this never could have happened if you hadn't negotiated with the State Department on behalf of Lien."

"I'm an immigration lawyer, Mom; it's what I do. And it knew it was what my husband wanted -- to have his family back."

"You did it for love," said Ellen simply.

Mavis only nodded and continued to watch the welcoming ceremony -- and the expressions of love -- at the gate.

Bill Tope was raised and continues to live in the American Midwest, a stone’s throw from the St. Louis Gateway Arch. He worked for many years as a public aid caseworker; as a line cook at the Hilton; as a construction laborer and even for a while as a nude model for university art classes. He has been writing in earnest for the last four years and has been published in about 35 journals and anthologies. He publishing credits include Children, Churches and Daddies magazine; Wordgathering; Fiction on the Web Short Stories; State of Matter Magazine; Humor Times; and others. He has a degree in Psychology from SIUE, is a person with disabilities and lives in a home he inherited from his parents, with his mean little cat Baby.