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

’That’s one hell of a foxhole,’ Jeff thought while watching the sunrise over the Grand Canyon.

He woke at zero-dark-thirty that morning for the drive from Winslow, Arizona to Grandview Point. The view made every second of lost sleep worth it, as did his stop in Winslow. His mom was a big Eagles fan, and Jeff made sure someone there took a picture of him standing on a street corner.

Jeff captured the sunrise as it rose over the landscape, using a full roll of film: thirty-six shots. He changed rolls as fast as he could. Pictures of the Canyon itself as the first sunlight spilled into it would fill this next roll. 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 documented his trip well. He’d spend a small fortune in processing, but he didn’t care.

He turned from the observation point and allowed 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 out from Fayetteville during the drive to the restaurant. The trip had been a leisurely one, one he could have made in two days. The trip took four days instead. Fine by him. With no deadline and no one expecting him, he limited himself to eight hours of driving per day.

He rubbed a hand across his face. The unaccustomed feeling of stubble greeted him. 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 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 appreciated 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 four 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 died in the Gulf War. 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. His hotel reservation was for four nights. He wasn’t sure how long researching the location of Ken’s gravesite 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?”

“Your buddy’s death was the only death Spokane had during the war, so it was a pretty big deal. They showed the procession from the church to the cemetery on live TV back in March. I remember because my grandfather’s buried at Holy Cross, too. I’ll write down what plot your buddy’s in for you.” Jeff looked at the woman behind the counter and raised an eyebrow. “What? I was curious.”

Jeff secured his belongings in his room before preparing his uniform. The next morning a different desk clerk referred him to a barbershop nearby. Jeff specified he was looking for a ‘barbershop’ and not ‘a place to get my hair cut.’ The shop was a short five-minute walk away. A bell rang when Jeff opened the door.

“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 gravesite.”

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 John used electric clippers exclusively. A whirring sound echoed through the shop. John applied warm shaving cream to the sides of Jeff’s head and the 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 next.

John surprised Jeff when he laid the barber’s chair flat like a recliner. John’s next surprise was when he extracted an honest-to-goodness hot, wet towel from a special cabinet, and draped it over Jeff’s face. A few minutes passed before Jeff heard the shaving cream dispenser whir again. John pulled the towel off and tossed it in the sink. He applied shaving cream to Jeff’s face and stropped the razor again. The cream and Jeff’s stubble disappeared under John’s 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-As 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. Jeff spent a few minutes checking his appearance in the mirror after he finished changing. He walked down to his truck once assured everything was in order. He drove the ten minutes to Holy Cross Cemetery. It took him another five to find Ken’s grave.

Jeff stared at Ken’s headstone after he parked his truck. He sat there for many minutes, gazing at the stark, white stone. Ken’s family had opted for the traditional white marble headstone common to military cemeteries like Arlington. Jeff climbed out of his truck, rolled up the window, and locked the door.

Jeff approached the grave in a daze. He stopped a pace away and crouched. His chest began to tighten as 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 to 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.

Jeff’s breath caught in his throat.

Keiko stood six feet away, crying, her hand over her mouth to muffle her sobs. 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.

Keiko wiped her face minutes later after she calmed down. “When did you get here, Jeffrey?”

“I got to Spokane 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, but then he goes and introduces me to you. And not that I didn’t want to see you today, but how did you wind up here?”

“I felt I needed to come to 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, and 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 be his mother-in-law one day. He no longer doubted that fact.

“Takahashi-sama, 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 drive 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 talked about visiting the Canyon someday,” Jeff shrugged. “My family understands why I needed to come 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.”

“You are out of the Army, then?”

“Functionally, yes, Ma’am. I’m on what’s known as ‘terminal leave.’ The Army will pay me until the second of August, but my duties are complete.”

“How long will you be here?”

“I’ve reserved a room at the hotel I stayed at last night for three more nights, Ma’am. I wasn’t sure how long it would take me to track down Ken. Last night’s desk clerk knew where he was buried, which allowed me to be there for Keiko to find me this afternoon.”

“Your things are at the hotel?”

“Yes, Ma’am.”

“You must stay here with us instead. We have a guest room and Hiro will not object.”

“Ma’am, it was not my intention to impose on you in such a manner by coming here.”

Mayumi ignored his comment. “Return to your hotel and collect your things.”

He and Keiko did as ordered. Jeff changed out of his uniform before loading the truck again. He explained what was happening to the same desk clerk who checked him in the night before. She marked the room as available but needing cleaning, and handed Jeff his invoice. She charged him for only one night and didn’t charge him for staying past checkout time. The young couple returned to his truck for the ride back to the Takahashis’ house.

“Jeffrey, there is an alumni event at my former high school tomorrow night, one I never would have considered going to before. Now that you are here, however, I wish for you to escort me to that event. I also wish for you to wear your uniform.”

“I would be honored to escort you, Keiko-chan. What time?”

Mr. Takahashi was in full agreement with his wife on the subject of Jeff staying at the house. Dinner that night was a simple all-American cookout.

“We can say it’s hibachi if you prefer?” joked Mr. Takahashi.

Mrs. Takahashi showed Jeff the guest room after dinner. He found himself looking into Ken’s room from the hall after he brought his things upstairs. His best friend’s room looked like he’d just left for Basic Training. Not a speck of dust was visible. Ken’s diploma sat on the desk, and his academic and athletic awards were scattered around the room. Jeff expected Ken to trudge up the stairs any minute. Jeff turned to rejoin the Takahashis. He froze in his tracks before taking a step. Keiko and her parents stood at the top of the stairs, smiling sadly at him.

“I apologize. I meant no intrusion.”

“Jeff, if we thought you would be an intrusion, we wouldn’t have extended the offer for you to stay here,” Mrs. Takahashi said. “You were remembering your friend – our son – and being respectful about it.”

he and Keiko spent the next day exploring Spokane. It was good to see her smiling again. They returned to her house at 1700 hours – five p.m., he reminded himself – to get ready for the alumni gathering at her school. Jeff was ready in less than an hour. Keiko took longer to get ready, but it was worth it.

She wore a calf-length dress in midnight blue which hugged her lithe frame. Her years of karate – something else Ken didn’t tell him about – showed in her visible muscle tone. Mr. Takahashi snapping photos before they departed reminded Jeff of his high school proms.

Jeff paid for professional washing and detailing of his truck while he and Keiko were out earlier in the day. The black paint gleamed in the late evening sun. The only issue was that Will Clement’s bumper sticker came off during cleaning. Jeff would have to find another to take its place. The truck looked incomplete to him without it.

He and Keiko drove to her high school. His uniform drew as many stares that day as when he escorted Miranda Pelley into her school in ‘87. Keiko’s appearance at this event was as unexpected as Miranda’s had been at hers. Jeff wondered how the Pelleys were doing.

The event was already underway when they arrived at 7:30. A DJ played music from the late ‘80s and early ‘90s in the background while they served dinner. The other alumni from Keiko’s school were polite enough, but Jeff again felt a feeling of déjà vu as people barely spoke to them. He and Keiko kept each other company, speaking privately in Japanese.

A few couples drifted out to the dance floor after dinner, but not many. The spacious dance floor with a sparse crowd gave Jeff an idea. Jeff approached the DJ while Keiko was occupied in the ladies’ room. He asked the man for a specific song.

“Yeah, I’ve got that album,” the man confirmed. “When would you like me to play that song?”

“Give me a few minutes. I’ll give you a sign, and you can add it to your list of requests then. Would you be able to let me know before you play it? Maybe as you start the song just before?”

“Sure. As you can see, I’m not exactly swamped.”

Jeff thanked the man and returned to his table. Keiko returned a few minutes later. He gave the DJ the high sign.

It was only a few minutes before Jeff heard, “Sergeant Knox!”

“YO!” Jeff called back.

“Stand to!”

“HOOAH!”

Jeff rose. Keiko looked at him like he’d grown another head. The DJ started the song that would play before his. It was an okay song: short, easy to dance to. He held his hand out to Keiko. She looked at that with a raised eyebrow. She didn’t dance.

“Do you trust me?” he asked.

Keiko’s answer was to put her hand in his. She rose from her chair and Jeff led them both to the floor. He held Keiko in a traditional dance hold and moved gently to the song.

“Okay, folks, here’s a request from someone who served with Ken Takahashi, Class of 1986,” the DJ said as he readied Jeff’s song. He nodded to Jeff and started the turntable.

Jeff held Keiko motionless in a ballroom dance pose. The song started with ... violins?

Her look asked, “What are you doing?”

He winked at her. “Wait for it,” he whispered.

The violins rose to a crescendo, then transitioned to a short guitar solo. When the guitar started Jeff began to move in a slow, sweeping step. His speed increased when drums signaled the arrival of the rest of the instruments in the song. Jeff pictured the Ginger Rogers and Fred Astaire movies his mother made him watch on TV growing up. They danced in soft dancing shoes. He glided across the floor in his jump boots.

’Eat your heart out, Fred.’

Jeff sang softly to Keiko, his voice blending with the band’s voices.

You wanna get close to me,
the feeling’s so clear.
But I need some time to see
[the] vision through my tears.

You wanna get next to me,
I need your intrusion.
I don’t need to be
blinded by confusion.

At the end of the first verse, Jeff slowed to a stop, swaying while he continued to sing to her.

Love will find a way.
Love will find a way.
Love will find a way.
Love will fiiiiiind...

In the space between beats of the song, his gaze transfixed her as they stood motionless. The music paused, allowing the next beat of the song to be just the lyrics:

... a way.

And they were off again, sweeping across the now-empty floor when the music returned. The other alumni had cleared the floor, to give Keiko and Jeff all the room they could have wanted. Jeff continued to sing to Keiko while they danced. There was a brief change in the tempo in the song where Jeff brought them to a stop again. He then ‘danced’ to that different tempo by himself. This allowed something no one who knew Keiko never heard during their days at school: the sound of Keiko Takahashi laughing.

Jeff swept her up again when the original tempo returned. He kept up that pace until the final line of the song:

Will love find a way? Love will find a waaaaay.

The crowd’s applause thundered through the hall while Jeff dipped Keiko at the end of the song. Jeff heard none of it, concentrating on the young woman in his arms. The song was his promise to her. He believed.

He helped her stand upright. They kissed with all the passion both possessed.

“I love you, Keiko Takahashi,” he whispered. “I don’t want to wait until it’s our time, but I will. Our love will find a way.”

Keiko’s tears of joy flowed down her cheeks. She found a reserve of passion and kissed him with more intensity than ever.

“What is the name of that band, Jeffrey?”

“‘Yes,’” he smiled. “Appropriate, isn’t it? The second verse doesn’t fit us as well as the first, but...”

“Where did you learn to dance like that?”

“Arthur Murray Dance School, on Bragg Boulevard in Fayetteville. Your brother and I took some classes after your visit. Ken was pretty good. He was a favorite of the ladies in the class.”

“And you were not?”

“Well, I didn’t say that.”

Another kiss. “We may leave now.”

Jeff spent the next day in the Takahashis’ driveway, performing an oil change and other preventative maintenance on his truck. He put thirty-five hundred miles on his truck on the trip from Fayetteville, and the trip home would add about another twenty-eight hundred. Keiko was right there with him. The work caused the sleeve of his t-shirt to ride up his arm.

“Jeffrey? What is that on your arm?” Keiko asked when Jeff reached for the air filter. Jeff looked down at his arm.

“This?” He pulled his sleeve over up his right shoulder. Tattoos covered his upper arm.

On his shoulder appeared the design he and Ken had gotten after Panama. 1/504th’s jump status oval was there, behind a pair of jump wings. The 82nd Airborne patch lay superimposed over the risers, and a bronze-shaded star in its center signified the combat jump into Panama. Above the design, three gold stars commemorated the lives of John Tyler, Frank Breckenridge, and Cory Song.

Below the original tattoo sat the one Jeff added before leaving Fayetteville. Trailing down the remaining length of his upper arm was a larger gold star, and then the kanji of Ken’s full name: Kenji Isoroku Takahashi. Keiko sobbed while she reached for Ken’s name, her fingers brushing across the characters. She looked into Jeff’s eyes while tears fell.

“I will never forget Ken, Keiko. ‘For he to-day that sheds his blood with me shall be my brother.’”

Covered in grease they hugged, in full view of Keiko’s neighbors.

Jeff placed the last of his belongings in the back of his truck two days later. The trip home would take him about four or five days, depending on how many times he stopped. Mrs. Takahashi handed him a small styrofoam cooler with lunch and dinner for that day, plus drinks. She hugged him as she did when he first appeared in her house.

“Please call us when you arrive home, Jeff. Safe travels.”

She bowed and went back into the house. Mr. Takahashi shook his hand before doing the same. Jeff and Keiko stood alone in her driveway. Their kiss could only be described as volcanic. It needed to sustain them for ‘many years’ as Keiko said last year.

“Remember, Jeffrey – live. We will be together soon. Do not deny yourself a life in the meantime.”

“‘If you love someone, set them free?’”

“In a way, yes.”

“Be well, Keiko. I love you.”