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.
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I strolled down the streets of New York, the monochromatic skyline looming above with an ominous aura that there might be an airstrike at anytime, quaking a fear so deep within each person that you could practically feel it flaking off each individual. Cloaking them in a tremoring, sorrow stricken visage as that of a mourner, but I suppose, they were mourners in their own right. Mourning over the war, and the detriment it had caused.
My heels clicked against the sidewalk, and I fixed the sleeves of my red blouse, my pencil skirt hugged at my knees.
Halting in my tracks I pulled out my lipstick, and reapplied it, my reflection in a shops window, my only mirror, and my eyes glanced over at the posters that were tacked to the wooden pane, each one broadcasting something related to the war. The war single-handedly the only topic worth mentioning as of late.
Everywhere you went, everything you heard, all of it was associated with the war. The depression of it all setting off a kindred spirit within everyone, even strangers.
"Serve our fighting men abroad. Conserve these services at home. Electricity: Turn off lights, and home appliances when not needed. Communications: Don't make unnecessary long distance phone calls. Water: Repair leaky faucets, don't let water run needlessly. Transportation: War traffic comes first, travel only when you must. Saving these services frees fuel, manpower, material, and equipment for war." One poster declared, and I paid attention to another.
"Stamp out Black Markets with your ration stamps. Pay no more than legal prices." The flier warned since rationing, and price controls were accessorized by the extensive Black Market activity involving illegal dealings in sugar, meat, automobile parts, penicillin, and other regulated goods.
In May sugar was rationed even more, and it regulated just how much everyone could obtain. "Sugar Buying Cards" were instilled, and the makeshift registration places were usually outside of local schools. Each families consumption of sugar being quantified by how many were in every home collectively.
There was rationing, and budgeting for almost everything now in order to assist the soldiers fighting overseas. Such as food, clothes, shoes, coffee, gasoline, tires, metal, and fuel oil.
I continued to walk down the road, the dense feeling of distress plaguing every adult, yet children still played. Running rampant throughout the streets, playing games. Their portable electric phonographs singing nursery rhymes, the faint lullaby the only minor childish light that adults could no longer partake in.
I headed towards just one of the many enlistment offices that had sprouted up throughout the city like weeds in a garden, and went on inside.
Various men in different physical states ranging from buff, and tall to scrawny, and little were sitting around impatiently for their tests to come back. Informing them if they were eligible, or not for war. Newspapers in their hands, every chair in the waiting room occupied.
