You were his wife in the 40's through thick and thin, sickness and health, richer or poorer, and through all of the twists of life. Even 70 years later you continued to love him, and stay by his side.
Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
"War continues to ravage Europe. But, help is on the way. Every able-bodied young man is lining up to serve his country. Even little Timmy is doing his part, collecting scrap metal. Nice work, Timmy! Meanwhile, overseas, our brave boys are showing the Axis Powers that the price of freedom is never too high. Together with the Allied Forces, we'll face any threat, no matter the size."
I sat in the crowded theater with Steve, and in the pale blue effulgence his eyes bore into the screen with the longing intensity of a child outside of a candy shop. The unrequited love blazing in his sky shaded gaze, and the rejection smoldering across his countenance.
I understood of course. He wanted to be there, to be apart of something greater, something better than his ailing frail physique would allow.
I held his hand, the lace of my gloves molding with the skin on his fingers. Amidst the congested, humid theater that smelt of stale film reels I focused solely on him, this man who desired so much more than the body of a boys cage he was stuck within.
We went on to watch the cartoon, one that was rejoiced with laughter, and smiles by the rest of the audience, but we didn't so much as snicker.
Once the show was done, the last strip of film clicking along the shutter, the shallow opacity was overcast by the orange hue of the lights flickering back on.
In shuffling masses the herds poured out of the auditorium until only Steve, and I remained. I slid on my knee length twill coat, and propped my navy cloche hat on top of my soft curls.
We left the theater, and wandered around the bustling streets of New York, a city drained of it's liveliness since the war began. The local noise, and zest were still intact; automobiles still zoomed down the roads honking away, bystanders still chatted contently, and little paperboys still paraded throughout town, offering up he latest issue of the Times. But, it was different. The air was thick with the constant worry of what might happen. Would we be bombed next? And, the nagging concern bit at many.
We passed by a flock of youthful, adept lads who waved their enlistment forms proudly in the air like they were golden tickets.
"Man, I can't believe I was eligible!"
"I know! I'm going over their to kick some Nazi ass!"
"I want to do well by my Grandfather. He was a Lieutenant in World War I."
They hopped past us, light on their feet while patting each other on the backs, and I glanced down at Steve. A look of hurt, neglect, and affliction strung across his sharp facial features.
"I'm sorry, Steve. I know you want to join, and fight."
"It's not just that," The feathery blonde argued, shoving his hands into the pockets of his tan slacks. "I'm not doing my part. I feel guilty while men are dying, and suffering, I'm doing nothing. It just eats me away, and Bucky, he could do it. He got in. I'm envious of him."
