Ugh, was I hungover? My head throbbed, and I felt I would throw up at any moment. No, apparently not, because I found myself in Valley Forge’s Sick Bay on a bottom bunk when I opened my eyes.
Men coughed and groaned around me, but my worries faded when I saw Ted sitting beside me on a chair. He held a camera and lowered it, his eyes glowing. “Cheeky!” Ted dropped his camera on my bandaged leg, and my cheeks puffed out. He threw his arms around me. “You’re finally awake!”
“Ow!” I yelled, pushing him off.
“Oops, sorry.” Guilt flashed across Ted’s face, and he blushed, covering his mouth.
“Ugh,” I said, resting my aching head on my pillow. “What happened?” I vaguely remembered a plane crash, but not much after that.
Ted removed his hands and sat back in his chair, picking up his camera. “You were hit from behind and crashed on the Flight Deck. I saved you, but...”
“I lost my airplane,” I finished when the memory returned.
Ted fell silent and then smiled feebly. “Yeah, but that doesn’t matter when you’re alive. The doctors said you were fortunate.” He patted my leg, and I flinched. “A bruised leg and a minor head injury. That’s all. Remarkable for a plane crash, if you ask me.” A tear flickered in Ted’s eye. He stood and hugged me again. “I’m just glad you’re safe, Cheeky.”
Honestly, I was, too. Other men weren’t as fortunate.
Ted released me after another minute and lowered his cap. “Well, I have a watch standing, so I’ll see you later.”
“Ted, wait,” I said when he turned around. I didn’t want him to leave me here with sick and injured men. I wanted my Roosevelt.
He stopped in Sick Bay’s entrance hatch and said, “I’ll be back, Cheeky. You focus on resting.” From there, he lifted his foot and left me.
“Ted!” I shouted after him.
***
I attempt to free my mind from the memory by studying the calm, blue waters of the Charleston Harbor.
The boat follows the line of the Battery, where Yorktown is located, and the city on the harbor’s opposite end.
My eyes land on Castle Pinckney, an abandoned fort and island in the harbor’s heart. It’s overgrown with plants, but I barely see the broken structure of the fort when we pass it. It almost makes me wish to pop a tail and look closer.
In your dreams, Bill.
I sit back in my wheelchair and cross my arms.
Feet soon stop behind me, and I hear Natalie. “Daddy, I got us a famous Southern treat from the snack bar.” She plops into a chair and offers me a bowl of soggy-looking hot peanuts. “Boiled peanuts, the State Snack of South Carolina. I’ve always wanted to try them.”
I’ve heard of boiled peanuts but never understood their delicacy.
Natalie sets the bowl on the table between us and chooses a peanut, opening it. She pops it into her mouth and grins.
“Is it good?” I ask.
“Good?” Natalie returns, picking out another peanut. “It’s delicious! Here, try one, Daddy.” She renders me a peanut, and I thank her.
Warm juice spills onto my hands while I open the peanut and slurp the seeds out of it. “Oh, my gosh,” I say. While the taste isn’t sweet, it’s not bitter or sour, either. It’s just right.
“I know, right?” Natalie pulls a few more peanuts from the bunch and finishes them within thirty seconds. Before we know it, the peanuts are gone, and Natalie heads off to buy more. We eat through three rounds of peanuts before even hitting the halfway mark of the tour.
When we finally pass Fort Sumter, where the Civil War started, my mind is in two places simultaneously. I see the open ocean behind the fort and channel and feel I’ve missed something at Patriots Point today. I don’t know what, but something, especially since I’m thinking about the day Ted saved me from my plane crash.
On our way back toward Yorktown, I tap Natalie and ask, “Natalie, what time will we be docking?”
She checks her phone. “Around four. Why?”
“I need to check something on Yorktown,” I reply. “Please, Natalie?”
“Of course, Daddy.” Wow, she didn’t hesitate when I asked her, even though we have a date with Tallulah at 6:00 PM.
I try to relax during the rest of the tour, but it’s difficult when I’m stuck in a wheelchair when I don’t need one. I just want out of the damn thing, but it’s not easy with Natalie right here.
To distract myself, I watch the city beside Natalie and me and casually listen to the boat’s tour guide while he explains Charleston’s history and landmarks.
Finally, Yorktown returns to my peripheral, and I sigh. It’s time to get out of this wheelchair. However, I’d be lying if I said it wasn’t a thrilling tour. If anything, I learned there is still much for Natalie and me to learn about Chucktown (have I started speaking Southern now?).
We catch the shuttle back down to Yorktown and ride the elevator to the Hangar Bay. The museum closes at five, so it’s beginning to slow down.
A few Volunteers behind the Information Booth wave when Natalie and I slip by it.
“What do you want to check, Daddy?” Natalie inquires.
I stop before the Medal of Honor Museum and gesture at it. “I just want to peek in the Medal of Honor Museum since we’re here and everything.” I may be wrong about this, but I want to say that I at least tried.
For some reason, the Navy didn’t keep up with me about Ted after the Incident. I’ve always assumed he died, but I want to see if he at least got something from saving me that day.
This may be a long stretch, but it’s worth a shot. Therefore, I grasp Natalie’s wrist and hike up the slight ramp to the museum’s entrance—two glass doors on either side of us.
We enter through the right door and stop before a TV sharing a short presentation about the Medal of Honor. It’s the highest award any military personnel can earn, with 3,500 recipients and nineteen double recipients. It comprises of the values of courage, commitment, citizenship, integrity, sacrifice, and patriotism. Ted was all those things—a leader from childhood and onward.
After Natalie and I watch the video, the first thing I notice about the museum is that it’s interactive. Training bars are in this room, and paintings of men training are behind them. I spot a training schedule on the wall and study it while Natalie heads to the bars. I don’t think she can do the high bars anymore, but she can do the low ones. I know for sure that I can’t do either. I will break my arms if I try.
Natalie and I walk through a steel Quonset hut next, where we’re greeted by a few TVs and videos of soldiers in action. It starts with the beating of drums, and then the guns fire.
My hearing aid whines, and the flashbacks return. “Stop!” I yell, grabbing my head, which fills with the sound of Korean guns.
“Daddy!” Natalie snatches my arm and drags me out of the hut into the main Medal of Honor Museum. She hugs me and pats my back. “It’s okay, Daddy. We’re out of there.”
“Guns! They’re all over!” I shake my head, and Natalie tightens her grip.
“Breathe, Daddy, it’s okay. I’m right here.”
I did this to myself, so I don’t know why I’m upset. I calm down once I hear the videos ending behind Natalie and me and inhale, releasing myself from my beloved daughter. “I’m sorry, Natalie.”
“It’s okay.” Natalie kisses my cheek. “I’ll stick with you while we look around.”
I swear, what would I do without her?
“Oh! Over here, Dad.” Natalie tugs me to the Civil War section of the museum, when the Medal of Honor was first introduced, and we hover over a drum with a sign of signals under it.
The museum is divided into different sections: the Civil War, World War I, World War II, the Korean War, the Vietnam War, and the War on Terrorism. Each section carries a theme from the war, such as a trench for World War I and this drum Natalie and I found for the Civil War. Memorials for the Medal of Honor recipients surround us.
“Let’s try this one, Dad.” Natalie points at the forward signals on the sign and begins banging the drum to the beat.
Bang... bang, bang, bang, bang. Bang... bang, bang, bang, bang.
Natalie chuckles and says, “Now, you try, Daddy.”
“Oh, no,” I protest, but I sigh when Natalie gives me her version of “puppy” eyes. I approach the drum, open my palm, and bang to the beats like Natalie just did.
Bang... bang, bang, bang, bang. Bang... bang, bang, bang, bang.
I giggle like Natalie and try the rest of the commands: commence firing, cease firing, and halt.
Natalie playfully nudges me. “Wow, William Beckington, you’re a natural at this.”
I wouldn’t say that, but playing with the drum does help me recover from the Quonset hut.
Natalie and I’s next stop is a computer beside the Civil War exhibit, dubbed the “Valor Trail”.
I stare at it and say, “Natalie, may you help me, please?” I don’t know anything about 21st Century technology.
Natalie takes the lead, and we scroll through the names of the Medal of Honor recipients, their wars, and the locations of their acts of valor. I don’t see Ted’s name, but the font is small.
Natalie catches onto what I’m looking for and sweetly inquires, “Are you trying to see if Ted earned the Medal of Honor?”
“He saved me, Natalie,” I respond. “Threw himself into danger to do so, too.” I leave the computer and trudge into the Korean War exhibit, where the font is larger, and there are pictures of a few recipients. Not my Ted, though.
Regardless, I see a few cups sitting on a box and grip one, shivering when I feel how cold it is. Yep, that was the Korean War—frozen coffee, heavy coats, and a man who deserved the Medal of Honor. Where is he?
I hustle out of the museum, not bothering to study the remaining exhibits, and stop before one of the plaques on the museum’s outer ring that lists the names of those who received the Medal. The Korean War is on the bottom, but I can’t kneel to read it. It’s now my turn to showcase my puppy eyes to Natalie. “Natalie?”
“On it.” Natalie hands me her beach bag and tucks her hair behind her ear, kneeling on the steel plates. She uses her finger to scroll down the Korean War Medal of Honor recipients list and mutters their names to herself.
Yorktown’s PA turns on and announces, “Attention, Patriots Point guests, the Yorktown will close in thirty minutes.”
Come on, Natalie, I mentally beg, and then I let the question slide. “Is he there, Nat?”
My heart snaps when Natalie stands and brushes off her hands. “I don’t see him, Daddy.”
“No, he has to be,” I argue. “He saved me, Natalie.” Blood rushes to my face, and my cheeks flush. I want to cry, but I bite my lip and taste blood.
“William Beckington, listen to me.” Natalie grips my shoulders, and we meet eyes, a warm summer breeze passing through the Hangar Bay as we do so. “Just because Ted didn’t receive the Medal of Honor doesn’t make him—or you—any less of a hero,” Natalie adds. “Sometimes the undiscovered are the most remarkable people of all. Do you understand?” She gently jiggles me. “You and Ted are heroes, regardless of whether or not one of you earned the Medal. That’s your legacy and more important than a little award.”
Natalie wipes a few tears from my face—hers, too—and rubs her finger across my lip. “You’re lip is bleeding. Why don’t we go home and get ready for Tallulah?”
“Yes, please.” I’ve never been so ready to see Teddy.
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