Memorial Day

We both shook our heads and Amy said, "No."

"Good. You've moved in and as of right now, you are my daughter. You cannot have sex with Alex, you're too young."

Amy sat up straight and said, "I'm not a virgin."

Mom asked, "Your father?" Amy nodded. "Anyone else?" Amy shook her head.

"Did you move into the guest room or Alex's room?"

"My room." I answered.

"When is your birthday?"

"The eighth of May." Amy answered.

"The laws say you're not supposed to have sex until you're eighteen. I know you have already had sex, but I'm asking for you both to wait until Amy is eighteen before you do anything sexual."

"Mom, Amy just became my sister! Three days ago I didn't even know her. We're not even thinking about having sex!"

Amy looked at me and said, "Speak for yourself. I thought about it last night. My sister loved you and wanted to be with you for the rest..." She stopped. Tears fell. She squeezed my hand tighter and looked down for a moment. When she looked back up she locked on my eyes and said, "My sister was my best, closest friend in the world. She loved you. I love you. Because your Mom asks, I'll wait until I'm eighteen but don't buy me a present. The present I want is already here."

"Ok. Mom, we promise. Wait! We promise my penis won't go inside Amy's vagina until she's eighteen. I promise to always use a condom after she's eighteen. We can still sleep together, can't we?"

Mom nodded and so did Amy. Amy said, "We have to go back to school tomorrow. What do we say?"

Mom said, "The official story is that Maria and your parents all died this weekend. No one at school needs the details. I took you in and you'll live with us until you graduate. First thing in the morning, go into the office together and change Amy's address. If the school needs to talk to me, have them call here. After school go home and make the guest room look like Amy's room. One day your friends will visit and I want them to believe you live in that room."

Amy nodded. She said, "So, we shouldn't walk around school holding hands and all the lovey stuff kids do."

Mom said, "That's the stuff kids do who don't live together. For now, Alex is your brother. It will make life easier for both of you. I think."

I believe she was right. School was uncomfortable for about three weeks. The police closed their paperwork on the event. We had a funeral for Maria and the county handled whatever was done with Amy's parents. Lots of kids from the high school came to the funeral for Maria. I sat to Amy's right and Mom sat to her left. We held her hands and all three of us cried.

In the first week of May a package arrived. That package had been arriving in May every May since I was little. It was a box with small American flags in it. No one had notified them that Dad died. Memorial Day was coming and the box of flags was now mine.

Amy asked about them. Mom and I explained the ritual and told her what Dad said was the reason he planted the flags at the graves of his "brothers". She asked, "Can I go with you? I'll carry the backpack for you."

She just knew I would be taking Dad's place in the ritual. On Saturday of Memorial Day Weekend we got up, had a good breakfast with Mom, got dressed up and took the backpack of flags to the cemetery.

I knew where each and every one of Dad's "brothers" was buried. I also knew that for the first time there was a marker in the cemetery for my Dad as well. I stepped to the first marker and said, "Sergeant William Douglas, "Doug" to us. Died November 5th, 1969 near Da Nang." Amy handed me a flag and I planted it, just as I had seen my Dad plant it every year. I told Amy Dad's story about Doug.

We planted flags and I told her stories for hours. We circled the spot where Dad was buried many times. When we had honored all his brothers we walked together to Dad's grave. I was shocked when we got there. Six inches from his marker a tiny flag had been planted. I looked around and didn't see another flag like it anywhere. It was about three inches by four inches and tied just below the flag on the stick was a pink ribbon. A pink ribbon!

I said, "Master Sergeant Alexander N. Peterson. "Dad" to us. Died October 21st, 1977 somewhere doing his duty as he saw it." I pushed the flag into the ground next to the tiny flag with the pink ribbon.

Amy held my hand as we walked back to the car and she asked, "Who put the other flag there by Dad's grave?"

"I have no idea."

Over the next year Amy and I both graduated. I graduated two weeks after Memorial Day and Amy graduated on the last day of school before Christmas break. We both went on to college and lived at home with Mom. Both of us dated a few times, to give the impression that we weren't more than brother and sister. I knew Amy intended to be mine for the rest of her life. I also knew I was fine with her beside me. Comfortable, loved and able to love her. We even double dated twice.

The first week of May brought another box of flags. Mom asked if I wanted her to see if the order could be cancelled for the next year. I couldn't bring myself to say yes. Dad expected me to do my duty.

On Saturday of Memorial Day Weekend we got up, had a good breakfast with Mom, got dressed up and took the backpack of flags to the cemetery. Amy wore a sundress and looked both wonderful and sexy.

I knew where each and every one of Dad's "brothers" was buried. I stepped to the first marker and said, "Sergeant William Douglas, "Doug" to us. Died November 5th, 1969 near Da Nang." Amy handed me a flag and I planted it, just as I had seen my Dad plant it every year. I told Amy Dad's story about Doug.

Just as we had done the year before we retraced our steps to each grave. I found it hard to breathe. I realized the odds were good that from year to year I was the only one who said their name or told their story in a year. They were all but forgotten.

When we got to Dad's grave an identical small flag with a pink ribbon was waiting for us. I didn't touch it. I planted our flag next to the tiny flag and we walked back to the car.

Amy and I returned home for Memorial Day weekend every year for three more years. Every year we planted flags and saw the small flag with a pink ribbon. Amy did so well in school she got a scholarship to a big university a thousand miles away. She came home three times that year. She came home for her birthday. She came home for Memorial Day weekend and she came home right after Mom died.

We slept together every night she was home after Mom died. She knew and I knew she wasn't mine any more. She came home wearing another man's ring on her left hand. Our first night at home together I wondered where she would sleep. Her room was there, just as it was before she left. My room hadn't changed much. I showered and went to bed. Amy came out of the bathroom and came to bed with me. She said, "I loved you when you loved my sister. When my family died you and Mom opened to me and there was never a question. You loved me. I will love you every day of my life. Robert knows I'm in bed with you and he knows we will love each other while I'm here. Please love me."

She got what we both wanted. Three days later she left. That November I flew to Boston to attend her wedding. I went alone. She introduced me to six single women she thought I might like. I did like them but I didn't take any phone numbers or email addresses home with me. Of the six, I had one sit on my lap and I kissed her. The spark wasn't there.

I lived in Mom's house. I attended school and I worked. I wanted more. Every time I went to bed I ached for Maria and I ached for Amy. I hated waking up alone. I hated that I lived in that house alone. I missed Mom, Maria and Amy every day. In March 1980 I was heating a TV dinner in the microwave and realized I was going to be alone forever if I kept heating TV dinners. The odds of meeting a wonderful, sexy, marriage potential in my kitchen were less than zero. I took the TV dinner out of the microwave and tossed it in the trash. I spent an hour on the phone talking to every friend I had giving all of them the same message.

"I'm six months from having my PhD. I already have a great job, a three-bedroom two-bath house that's paid off. I'm a good guy and I want to get married!"

I ate alone that night, but not a TV dinner. Within a week I started getting referrals. I met and seriously dated. Unfortunately, there were no fireworks. I dated Donna three dates. After three dates she was ready to talk about the relationship. I wasn't.

I dated Connie twice. No sparks. Mary made it to spend the night with Alex Friday night. I woke up with her in bed with me and wondered if we could have a relationship without the waking up together part. The answer was no. I dated three school teachers, a CPA, a lawyer, a librarian and the owner of a gift shop. Mary came the closest, she saw the inside of my home and had breakfast there, once.

The first week of May arrived and so did my box of flags. I got depressed. I had been planting those flags since 1971, first with Dad and then with Amy. Now Amy was with Ben back in Boston. I remembered the little flag with the pink ribbon.

The first Saturday of May I drove to the cemetery. Dad's grave had no flag, nor did any other grave anywhere near Dad's grave. The next day, Sunday, I went and there was still no flag. I sat in my car all that Sunday and watched the few people who came to the cemetery. None went near Dad's grave.

The next weekend I packed an ice chest, made sandwiches and watched both Saturday and Sunday. Nothing happened.

The third weekend of May I was there again. Rather than just sit for the weekend I got out of my car and walked all over the cemetery, all over where I could still keep watch over Dad's grave. On Sunday afternoon a VW bus pulled into the cemetery. It parked near Dad's grave. A young woman got out. She was all dressed up: a sundress, nylons and heels. She carried a small flag. I got out of my car and headed for her VW van. I watched as she knelt and planted the flag in front of Dad's grave. She used a tissue and dabbed at a few tears, stood back up and slowly walked back to her VW.

When she got close I stepped out from the shadow of her van and said, "Can I ask you for a favor?"

She jumped, startled and said, "I don't have much money."

Then she looked at me. I saw by the look on her face that she knew me. The fear and startle disappeared and she said, "What favor?"

"Next Saturday I need to come back here and put flags at the graves of my Dad and his brothers. I need your help to do it."

"Been doing this a long time?" She asked, smiling.

"Since I was young and my Dad came back from Viet Nam."

"So, it was his ritual and you helped him?"

"Yes. I carried the flags."

"Is that what you want me to do, carry the flags?"

"Yes. After Dad died my sister carried the flags. Now she's married and lives in Boston."

She smiled wider and said, "Alex, I know all this. I've known you all my life. Amy wasn't your sister and neither was Maria. My Mom made me promise not to find you, not to tell you who I am until after your Mom passed on. I've thought of how to tell you a thousand times. Here and now seems to be the right time and the right place."

I was in shock. She knew my name. She knew about Amy and about Maria. She took my hand and led us to a bench not far from where we were standing. She sat us down and said, "Years ago, your Dad and Mom had a disagreement about their life together. They agreed to stay together, stay married, for you. Your Dad needed an anchor. A something or a someone that would keep him surviving in the harsh, dangerous world he lived in. You were that anchor and years later he realized it wasn't enough. He needed a wife who wanted him in every way a woman can want a husband." She took a big breath.

"He found her. She's my Mom or more accurately, she was. She died the same year Dad died."

"You're my sister?"

"Not quite. Your Dad and my Mom never married. Your Dad was already married to your Mom. They stayed married, but their relationship wasn't a passionate one. Their relationship was all about you. When Dad was off being a soldier your mom focused on you. When he came home he focused on you. They never focused on each other after you were born. When he was not off being the soldier or with you, he was with us. I am his daughter."

"That makes you my half-sister."

"No, it doesn't. Two years before Dad died he uncovered evidence that his wife, your Mom, had an affair. The affair had happened the year before you were born. You are not biologically his son."

"I am his son!"

"You are! I agree. Just not scientifically. The love, caring and devotion were always there for you. They were there for me, too. The difference is that we are both his children and we aren't related."

"I need to just sit here for a minute, Ok?" I asked. She nodded and then totally surprised me. She straddled the bench we were on, scooted close to me and held me. I closed my eyes and thought about everything she had said.

I turned my head towards her and asked, "You can prove all this?" She nodded.

"Mom's been dead months. Why didn't you come tell me before now?"

"If I knocked on your front door and told you all this you'd have thought I was nuts. You may anyway. I know you love your Mom and Dad. I don't want to damage those memories. My Mom didn't want us to damage what you had with your Mom in any way. She loved you. She loved you more than anything. Because your Dad loved you my Mom also loved you, even though she never spent one hour with you. The closest she ever was to you physically was at your Dad's funeral. I was there too."

I sat in her arms for a long time. I realized she was right. Mom loved me and focused on me. Dad loved me, too. Now I knew he loved me enough to protect me, enough to make sure I learned how to be a man like him.

Suddenly, I realized something else. I was totally comfortable in her arms. I turned my face to hers and asked, "May I kiss you?"

"Depends."

"On?"

"You intend to kiss your sister?"

"No." I shook my head, "I want to find out if Cher was right."

She unwrapped her arms from me and backed up a few inches. "What?" She asked.

"Isn't she the one that sang that song about you can tell about love because it's in their kiss?"

"And you want to kiss me to see if I love you?"

"Yes! Do you?"

She took my face in her hands and we kissed. She loved me! I felt all the things I knew had been missing with Donna, Mary, the librarian, the teachers, everyone else.

The kiss ended and she laughed. "Why are you laughing?" I asked.

"Someday our kids will ask where we were the first time we kissed. We have to tell them we were in a cemetery!" We both laughed and kissed a few more times.

As we walked back to her VW van I asked, "So, will you carry the flags next Saturday?"

"I've wanted to carry the flags with you and honor Dad and his brothers for as long as I can remember. Of course, I'll do it!"

Our oldest child is now ten. Last year the box arrived and he helped me open it. He looked at me and asked, "Why don't we get more flags?"

This year we planted two hundred American flags in our cemetery. The first twenty-three were for Dad and his brothers. The rest were planted next to them to honor the men and women who gave their all in our service. We also planted a tiny flag with a pink ribbon attached next to the flag at Dad's grave. We tell the stories of Dad's brothers and Dad. We read the names of their brothers. Our son and our two daughters get all dressed up for that Saturday.