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.
Boston, Ma. Longwood Medical Area, a strip of Harvard buildings running from Huntington Avenue to The Riverway; a scenic valley that served as a boundary between Boston and Brookline.
With my heels clicking against the gray concrete I took off down the school's cement steps, leaving the old white structure with it's entrance of columns, and I strolled across the narrow patch of lawn before jaywalking over Longwood Ave to the Oscar C Tugo Circle. A section named after a Private who was killed during an air raid on September 4th, 1917.
With my mind tired from my day I met up with my taxi, and was driven outside of the quadrangle of Medical buildings, my destination that of Bay Village instead.
The smallest of neighborhoods in Boston, built entirely of ruddy red brick row-houses that stood tall in copper hued sequences. The one I called mine just one of many.
The tight knit historic passageways all tree-filled, and it reminded me of Brooklyn in a way. Back in the day, with it's street lamps, carbon-copy brick apartments, and quaint ambiance.
Jingling my keys I traipsed up the stairs to my top floor flat, and went on in. My briefcase jam-packed with documents needing to be completed, and I shrugged out of my lab coat.
A pile of mail was strewn along the wood floor, having been dropped through the galvanized slot in my door mere hours ago by the mailman. And, I bent down to pick up the stack of papers.
Stepping into my living room I switched on the TV, the News Anchor's voice a mere background echo to me as I filtered through the crisp white envelops. Bills, bills... A couple letters, adoption applications... I scanned through them all, but as if subconsciously, the woman's voice on TV became more distinct.
The sentences she was uttering becoming more, and more clear like the sky after a downpour. But, the things she spoke of was certainly not bright and sunny.
Almost against my will, I craned my neck towards the Television, my eyes falling onto the screen. The words "Breaking News" reflecting in my time-worn iris's.
"New York has been attacked," The News Anchor depicted. "The other worldly assailants the likeness of Aliens, their circular spaceship wrecked havoc across the city,"
" Tony Stark, has been reported as missing after the assault with no word from him, or the others who were fighting alongside him when the invasion occurred mere hours ago." She continued, terror-stricken, her hands which held her microphone shaking.
And, I just kept on watching, my mail limply falling from my grasp, the letters fluttering to the floor.
I watched as the footage played out, taken from local CCTV's from the area's that were attacked. The declaration of another War happening right then, and there. A War I didn't even know was in the works until now, but it was imminent.
