Chapter 1: Tram Ton Pass, Sa Pa
September
The men in the photograph come from a different era. When war became visible. When every face encountered wrote another part of the conflict story.
I touch my father’s silver gelatin features, consider his American companion. Had he lied to the chaplain just to get points with the U.S. Army? Or did he, for a time, want a different life? I pocket the picture again, glance out the window of the SUV as it clips over the pass toward Paso.
Is lying ever justified?
I haven’t lied completely; I have no intention of hanging up my journalism hat just yet. And the guide I met in Sapa needn’t become an accomplice to my plans. As I look out over the vast green valleys and luscious hills, I can’t avoid the question. This place seems so innocent and peaceful. Doubt starts to hedge my thoughts.
The mist that had taunted in Sapa slithers back to leave a highland boast: sunny cerulean heavens close enough to touch. I sigh. Maybe my parents will forgive me one day. Almost a hundred percent certain I already have my father’s pardon, I worry that my mother will cut me off.
That night before climbing into bed at the Lan Anh Hotel in Paso, I ease my journal out of my bag and settle in for a release from my turbulent thoughts.
Maybe it’s too early, but I’m starting to doubt my decision to come here. Am I willing to pay the cost? Do I want to upset the balance here? It’s been a lifetime since my relatives have seen me; will they feel...betrayed?
I wish Siobhan were here. She’d tell me to just get into character and follow through. I miss her so much. Why did she have to die? Are You ever going to answer that question, God? It’s been almost a year, but I’ll never get that morning out of my mind.
I was only gone for a week and I came back to find her gone forever. If only there was a way to make them pay for what they did to her.
I drop my pen, and allow myself to do something I rarely do: fall asleep to the pain.
