A compilation of stories about the brave transgender military personnel who served throughout the years; their deeds perhaps known to all even as their true selves were hidden from view. And thanks to the brave ones who continue to serve today.
The following are previously published short stories and novelettes. Real Life, heartache and sacrifice, celebration and joy, fantasy and even romance are included herein to hopefully bless all. Thanks to every one of my friends here who served and who yet serve on our behalf.
Quzhuo, China… 1942…
Grace found herself lying in a meadow surrounded by willow trees by a stream. The grass beneath her was soft and welcoming, leaving her with a warmth that arose from her breast and spread all through her body. It seemed like a dream but for the sensation of the breeze that moved past the purple catkins of the willows to billow the skirt of her blue dress, making the printed white butterflies seem to flutter their wings. And the sound of the water gently rushing over the rocks on the stream bed was soothing; the dream-like place seemed to chase away her anxious fears.
“Xie Xie!”
A voice came from behind and above. She looked back to see the upside-down image of a peasant couple. The husband looked concerned and the wife looked sad, almost belying her bright words. She thought ‘how odd’ that they would be thanking her; a stranger in their land. The man shook his head and frowned, but not at her. The wife knelt down beside her and cradled her head. Grace noticed only then that the woman was great with child.
“WÇ’ zá i zhá¨li!”
The wife took a cloth from her tunic and wiped Grace’s brow. Grace felt safe and as peaceful as at any single time in her life; those times were few and far between, leaving her thankful for the moment. She found herself envious of the woman and the child she carried; a longing that would never be fulfilled by the absence in her own body. Even in that moment of peace, she found herself weeping. The woman pulled her close and kissed her forehead in blessing. She sighed deeply as she placed her hand just beneath Grace’s neck.
“ZÄo gÄo,” the wife said as she removed her hand; it was wet and stained dark red. Grace looked up into the woman’s eyes and saw that she had begun to cry. Grace tried to speak, but began coughing. The woman wiped her brow again and spoke softly,
“WÇ’ zá i zhá¨li… “ (I am here.)
The woman seemed to wish Grace’s tears away while shedding her own. Grace went to speak again, and felt a pain in her chest. The sound of the willows waving in the breeze gave way to loud angry foreign sounds; strange almost mechanical roars overhead, leaving Grace fearful.
“Hépáng…"
The woman began to sing; it felt like a lullaby Grace had heard in a dream once as the woman's sweet voice and loving gaze felt more suited for a mother to her baby. The short seconds of fear gave way almost immediately to sustained peace as the woman cradled her gently. And her sight began to grow dim even as the darkness gave way to a bright light. She felt gentle hands lifting her and carrying her like a child as she heard the woman for the last time,
“Hépáng….”(Peace)
The couple looked at the figure lying almost twisted on the soft grass. The silk of his parachute seemed to billow like a skirt. The husband knelt down and felt the neck of the young man. He pulled his hand away slowly, shaking his head sadly. He looked in the pockets, but found no identification; much like the other two bodies they had found only minutes before. He was almost too young, but then everyone was too young to fight and too old not to. The woman knelt down beside her husband and kissed the boy’s forehead in blessing, noting that the boy had the most peaceful eyes she had ever seen.
"Xie xie ni... Hépáng…" (Thank you – Be at Peace)
In grateful memory of the sacrifice of the many who died on April 18, 1942 in the skies over Tokyo and in the grassy fields of China. Gratitude also to the brave people of China, who helped our pilots and crews to the horrific peril and loss of their own lives. And in memory of all the others who gave their lives in service to keep freedom alive around the world. My words pale in comparison to the prose of their lives; I can only say thank you.
author of The Rape of Nanking
Charleston, South Carolina, June 27, 1776…the Montpelier home… early evening…
The women were in the parlor; both candle-lit and illuminated from the moonlight from the large window facing the street outside. Two women sat while the third stood by the hearth; her left arm placed against the mantel in an effort to strengthen her resolve.
“Don’t…. My mind is made up, Mother. You know this is what I must do.” Dorian Montpelier said as she stood quietly with her attention set to the Southeast; more of a plea than a rebuke. Her mother shook her head; ready to prohibit the inevitable. She cast her visage down instead in despair.
“Oh, Mother? Don’t be sad. We all knew it might come to this; you must have known perhaps as soon as you brought me and Louise into this world.” Dorian used her hand in a sweeping gesture to call attention to her twin. Louise sat on the divan across from their mother; her face a mirror image of Marie Montpelier.
“Father expected nothing less, and who am I to withhold respect and honor; especially with the city in virtual siege. I am first, last, and always a child of this generation, Mother, no matter what any of us wishes to the contrary. Moreover, I am my father's child."
“Mon Dieu, mon enfant précieux! You could hide, Dorian. A trip to the country to visit my sister…” Marie pled. Dorian shook her head, but her mother continued.
“Your aunt and cousins would welcome you. She was there at your birth… she… knows, Dorian,” Marie said; her gaze moving back and forth slowly between the twins.
“No one would know.”
“And how would you explain my absence? How would my departure serve the honor of our family?” Dorian lowered her gaze to the floor in shame. A moment later she felt the delicate hand of her twin lift her chin softly. Louise kissed Dorian on both cheeks; almost homage to their French fore parents, but really a reluctant blessing and adieu. She turned to their mother.
“Pouvez pas tu voir ma soeur, chère Maman?" Louise asked, knowing full well what Marie would say.
"Of course I can see. I chose not to. Not when my child places herself in needless peril." Marie stood up and walked to her children.
“Your father, God rest his soul, never understood you, and so does not have a say, even if his passing remains so new in our remembrance. I fear I must repeat. No one will ever know.”
“I will know, Mother.” Dorian looked down at herself. Truly a child of her generation. She smiled and kissed her mother gently on the forehead and walked swiftly out of the room, leaving both mother and twin in sad resignation….
By the end of the week, life was inexorably changed; the entire city as well as the citizenry therein. What became known as the Battle of Sullivan’s Island had become a turning point for Charleston, which went on to participate in the success of the colonies’ fight for independence; an independence which was declared that week by patriots in the de facto capital of the revolution in Philadelphia.
Another turning point of sorts sadly contributed to the effort as the Montpelier family once again saw the ultimate sacrifice visit the family. Only twelve Charlestonians lost their lives in the defense of the city, but every loss was too much for every family. Dorian Montpelier was named among the brave few.
Another time and place might have offered hope for Dorian Montpelier. And even so, another time might hold just as much peril for a daughter she might have become than the first born offspring; born neither male nor female but raised as Dorian Albert Montpelier.
The Battle of Sullivan's Island or the Battle of Fort Sullivan was fought on June 28, 1776, during the American Revolutionary War. It took place near Charleston, South Carolina, during the first British attempt to capture the city from American rebels.
June 6, 1944
Utah Beach, Normandy, France, on the first day of Operation Overlord
“Keep your fucking head down and crawl, Edison,” a voice shouted further up the beach. The tragic benefit, if it could be called that, was that bodies strewn all over acted as a macabre escort to the soldiers still alive. The Captain turned to his right and saw a kid prostrate in the sand; his arms extended to reveal a Rosary in his hands. He couldn’t hear the boy, but the movement of the kid’s fingers on the beads gave proof that he was still alive.
“Make it quick, Private. You heard the man….only dead and about to die are staying here.” The boy turned to him and nodded. He shoved the Rosary into his pocket and grabbed his rifle. A moment later he was sprinting in a zigzag up the beach. He fell about 100 yards further up but rose quickly, giving the Captain a moment of relief in the midst of the hell around him. He went to stand but felt a sharp pain in his neck before everything went black…
“Okay, Phillipa? Marie? Everyone?” Pointing to the top of the camera, the Captain smiled at the group of eager children.
“This is a viewfinder.”
“Veee-oooo-fine-dare…” A little girl at the Captain’s feet giggled while repeating the word.
“That’s right… that’s right,’ the Captain said enthusiastically. A woman walked up slowly. She was dressed in a WAC uniform. She snapped off a salute and spoke.
“Begging your pardon, Captain? You’re wanted at Command.”
“Is this urgent, Sergeant?”
“Not on the double; as soon as you can.”
“Thank you,” the Captain said. “Please explain I’ll be there shortly"
.
“More about the camera, S'il vous plaît?” Marie asked.
“Perhaps tomorrow?” The Captain sighed. Turning around, the Captain noticed another WAC and waved. She walked quickly to the group.
“Lieutenant? Would you escort these girls to the Mess for something to eat?”
“Certainly, Captain,” the woman said.
“Come along girls; let’s go find some lunch….” The woman practically skipped down the path; a brood of little girls trailing happily behind her….
The Captain stood at the back of the large meeting hall. The afternoon had been relaxed; perhaps unfairly so in the middle of a war. Thoughts of the previous days seemed to be blurred, but the indistinct sights and sounds felt like a harbinger of good things, oddly enough. About ten or so personnel sat in the hall.
A WAC officer stepped to a table at the front of the room. Everyone rose to their feet. Picking up a microphone, she spoke.
“As you were,” she said; motioning them to sit down.
“Welcome. I know this assignment may feel odd to all of you but a great deal of planning and time has been put forth to see this operation is a success.” The Captain nodded reflexively.
“When you depart, each of you will be given instructions. Don’t worry about logistics at this time. The campaign is going to be long and hard. Some of you will see quick results. Others may not realize success for a long time. Your job will be to strengthen the reserves of those who are fighting the battle.
A hand was raised nervously. The woman in front waved and smiled.
“Corporal?"
“Is this…. I mean….Did I….did we do….?”
“Something wrong? Quite the contrary. Each of you is here because of the sacrifices you’ve made throughout your service. To say nothing of the ultimate sacrifice.”
The Captain felt an odd sensation. In that moment, the blurry visions seemed to come into focus. Dead soldiers lying on the beach; a place called Utah in a place called Normandy. The waves almost foamed red, but the utter sense of sadness seemed to be swept away like the ebb tide replacing despair with hope. As the blur dissipated, the Captain felt the presence of an older woman. She wore a simple knee-length lilac dress so much unlike the sea of green and khaki in the room.
"Uh...excuse me? Major?"
“Yes, Captain. But here we use names, even with officers. My name is Rita,” she said with a playful smile.”
“Consider this a transfer. You were never in the wrong unit, though. Your assignment was made to make you more capable of understanding and encouraging your charges. Some will wait nearly a lifetime and may never see victory.” She smiled and looked around the room.
The Captain beheld a bright light that began to fill the hallway, and realized that every single soul in the room was a woman. The Captain’s eyes widened in dread; not over what may have occurred, but what might not have in spite of countless years of longing.
“Fear not. This is but a new beginning,” the woman said with a broad sweep of the arm. Every single woman no longer wore khaki or olive drab, but dresses with pastel hues. Almost a new uniform. The Captain hoped at that moment for a mirror but seeing soft hands held in front led to tears of joy.
“You were named Eric, but it is Erica who continues,” the woman said. Years of crying out prayers as a little boy and sleepless shame-filled tearful nights as a teen and young adult in Ohio gave over to hope now finally realized, if only in an ethereal manner.
“Like all of these precious souls, you have been given a second first chance. Godspeed, dear heart. And welcome, thou good and faithful servant.”
Erica Turner of Akron, Ohio, stood in a line to the side of a large transport plane. Women of every age and race and creed queued up for the assignment of every lifetime. She looked down at the card.
“Jimmy Parsons, York, Pennsylvania, 1966”
She sighed, already knowing what Jimmy faced. She raised her face, tears streaming down her cheeks.
“Give me wisdom,” she sighed through a faint smile; know that it would be very hard but not impossible for a child to eventually become Dr. Jamie Parsons; a therapist and transgender specialist in Harrisburg. She felt the light touch of a well-manicured hand. Turning, she found herself looking at a mostly familiar face.
“Captain…. Turner?” The girl was about nineteen, and wore a pastel green dress and a big smile.
“It’s me, Captain. Private…uh….Anthony….uh….. Antonia Bevaqua.”
“Yes….I’m….so happy….happy that you made it,” Erica said, pulling the girl into a hug.
“Isn’t it great? Look who they gave to me!”
“Albert Collavito, Elmyra, New York, 2003,”
the card read, but the date caused Erica to sigh in grateful relief.
“Isn’t this great, Captain?
“Yes it is, Antonia, but one thing?”
“Yes, Captain?” They paused as they reached the top of the stairs to the plane. The Captain smiled said,
“Please? Call me Erica?”
On the beaches of Normandy, the deaths in the thousands and the likelihood of transgender soldiers what they were; the number in my tale, ten or so, is likely a generous estimate. And 1944 was years before Roberta Cowell and Christine Jorgensen found the help that many of their sisters would never know. Having them become angelic women was my way to acknowledge them.
It is to the brave sacrifice of those who fought and died; to those who fought and died while never having the chance to be themselves; and especially to the readers herein, both military and non-military alike, who continue to fight this battle; to them I dedicate this story….I hope my story does their service justice.
Brooklyn Heights, King's County, New York, late August, 1776
Arthur clutched the pistol he had retrieved from his fallen sergeant. He trembled. Not a coward, since his mere presence in defense of the fort attested to his courage. He had opportunity to flee months ago, and even early on, when his Militia captain excused the men who needed to attend to home and family.
“Dear God? I don’t wish to argue,” the boy barely whispered.
“Can I….if there’s….” He looked around at his fallen comrades. Some… maybe most of his lads made it? The few who didn’t surrounded him like friends rejoicing at a party. He looked down at his body… the life slowly ebbing from him as surely as the spring sun melts the ice.
“I… I never did, God. But I surely would take a likin’ to heaven?” He began to weep, not over his impending end, but that his life… her life had never begun. The little girl who was beaten by her stern father. The young girl whose mother never understood? The young lady who fell in love with the boy lying now beside her? Arthur may have walked the earth, but Althea lay dying unchanged and unheard?
“I’m sorry I was such a disappointment to my Pa and Ma. I am sorry I was such a disappointment to you, dear God. Can you forgive me?” The girl within the boy wept softly even as her last life’s blood left her body…..
Somewhere else…
“Here you are. Let me help you,” the tall woman said as she lifted the frail figure to her feet.
“There’s someone who has been waiting for you,” the woman said as she held her arm out to direct the girl to a figure standing only a short distance away.
“Althea? I’m so very glad you’re here. There’s so much to see and so many dear souls to meet, but I fear I would have been completely lost, if you might pardon me. I wished only for your safety and happiness, but I am grateful that you’re here in spite of my prayers.” The young man smiled and drew the girl close.
“But Jacob? Can’t you see?” She spoke even as enlightenment was quickly replaced with wonder and joy.
“I am here, not in spite of your prayers, but because of them.”
“You… I suppose there should be no surprises in heaven, but you indeed are surprising.” Jacob looked at the young lady who had been a comrade in arms only perhaps minutes before.
“I do have only two messages to bring,” Jacob looked back at the angelic woman who nodded and smile. Althea breathed out in dread; the last time she would ever feel fear. Jacob smiled.
“The kind Lady who brought you here gave me the honor of speaking this as if from he who created you? Well done, thou good and faithful servant.”
It would have been enough to merely here those words after a lifetime of shame and disappointment. To be the same as when Arthur left his mother’s womb would be almost acceptable. But even as that would have been acceptable to Arthur, it was that Althea was more than merely acceptable to God. A treasure. A priceless gem, as was Jacob and all others. But Jacob smiled almost as if he had a secret he could not contain. He drew Althea even closer and spoke.
“Althea? I love you. Welcome home.”
Transgender in 1776
How many?
At Lindley Fort? A few?
South Carolina? Scores?
The Colonies? Hundreds? Thousands?
Who can say? But even as far back as 1776 and beyond, for every Benjamin or Albert or Stephen, there also were children barely out of their ‘tweens who knew that they knew that they knew they weren’t James or Tom, but instead Lucy or Charlotte?
Not weak or soft, as so many had believed women to be but were not, these brave souls served in Ticonderoga and Long Island. Some were Rebels and some were Redcoats. Some even were Cherokee or Cree or Iroquois. Some came from France or Poland or Germany. Some fell on fertile soil or in streams and other places that once were safe.
But many more would live to help exchange one tyranny for another. Freedom from unfair taxes and tariffs and rule still led to slavery of convention and religion as James would never get to live as Antonia. Phillip would never see a day that included Cassandra. Alice would only breathe in darkened rooms and attics while Albert would tread softly out of a careful if unfairly assigned dread.
For every young lady who never got to live, be it by death of body or death of self. And those young men as well who fought in secret to protect discovery lest they be seen as weak women instead? For every longing to be real; hoped for and dreamed upon as some ‘reward’ for their sacrifice? Only to be left without hope?
We still find freedom dearly bought and unevenly distributed even today. For my sisters and brothers who labor in obscurity or walk cautiously in the light of day, I am eternally grateful. For every friend here who served or even now serves, I thank you all. May your hopes be realized and your lives be appreciated for all that you’ve done and continue to do!
Theme from the Motion Picture
The Patriot
Composed by John Williams
Montclair, New Jersey, a Mid-June Thursday morning, 1919
Margaret shivered a bit even though she sat in a fairly warm cross-breeze on the long porch of the hotel. And at only nine in the morning, she was already tired; weary in fact from their long trip.
“Shall I get you some coffee,” her sister Daphne said as she rose from her chair.
“Yes, please,” the girl said as she rearranged the gray-green tartan blanket covering her legs. Her hands were shaking a bit and the blanket slipped from her grasp. She struggled to retrieve it but it was just out of her reach.
“Here, Miss. Let me get that for you.” She turned to see a tall handsome young man kneeling on the porch beside her. He stood and carefully draped the blanket over her knees, but not before noticing her chair – a high-backed wicker wheel chair.
“Can I get you anything?” The young man’s smile was disarming, but Margaret shook her head no. His smile turned to a half-frown. He stepped back and nearly into Daphne, who had returned with a tray with a Silver coffee pot along with two cups with saucers as well as a plate covered with cookies.
“Beg, pardon, Miss.” The young man’s face grew red.
“No need, young man. That was very kind of you to retrieve my sister’s blanket.” She smiled and placed the tray on the table between Margaret and her own empty chair.
“Join us for coffee?” Daphne pointed to the tray.
“Daph? Gosh, I'm sorry. I’m really tired.” Margaret pointed to the tray and looked at the young man.
“Why don’t you use my cup,” she said in a near whisper. The young man went to protest but Margaret waved him off.
“I insist. I was about ready to retire to our room before our trip to Philadelphia tomorrow.” She motioned to the young man to sit down next to Daphne. As he sat down, Margaret smiled and winked at her sister before waving at one of the hotel boys walking past. Daphne looked at her in puzzlement.
“Would you mind helping me to my room, young man? There’s a good lad,” Margaret added as she reached underneath the blanket and produced a dime from her dress pocket.
“Yes, Miss,” the boy said as he stared at the dime in his hand; graciously bestowed before he had even set his hands to the wheelchair. She waved at her sister and in a few moments she was gone.
“I…I couldn’t help but notice. Your sister? The chair?” The young man asked even as his face grew red once again. Daphne noticed the uneasiness in his voice and touched him gently on the arm.
“My sister often finds that people are so afraid of the answer that they forget that it’s a really a considerate thing to care enough to ask. Margaret was in an accident last summer.” Daphne began to tear up. The lie was becoming easier to speak, but it was for everyone’s sake that the truth remained hidden.
“She lost her right leg in an accident. She’s only just recently begun to get out. It’s been doubly hard since she lost someone at Belleau Wood.” Two statements not entirely untrue . Daphne wasn’t feigning the sadness. Life had changed dramatically for them both but with the help of the almighty in a way and an Aunt who was one of the few practicing women Physicians stateside, life would be as good as it could be.
“I’m so sorry.” The young man said. He grabbed Daphne’s left hand and noticed she had discarded her gloves, revealing a wedding band.
“Oh… I lost my husband in the war,” she gasped only a little for effect. The young man’s expression was a mixture of sadness and obvious disappointment. Daphne noticed and spoke.
“I don’t suppose Margaret and I will ever remarry. We are widowed and barren, and our heartaches… And to move to an entirely new place? I’m sorry. I hadn’t meant to be so personal.” She sighed. She hadn’t indeed, but the past year was the worst year of her life… for Margaret as well.
“I am so sorry for your loss.” He stood, but continued to hold her hand.
”May God truly comfort you and your sister,” he said before kissing her hand, a kind, almost reverent parting.
“Thank you,” Daphne said in a near whisper. He nodded and walked away.
That evening…
The weather had turned unseasonably cool and two figures huddled on the bed beneath two warm comforters.
“I’m so….soreeee,” Margaret shook as she sobbed. Daphne pulled her close and began kissing her tears away.
“I am sad some days, but I am happy that you are with me, no matter what. I couldn't stop thinking about you all afternoon. In sickness and in health? For better or worse?”
“He was very handsome,” Margaret turned her face to the wall. Daphne pulled her back around and shook her head no while displaying a sad frown.
"Nonsense!" Daphne protested. Margaret turned away once again.
“It should have been ‘til death do us part,” Margaret sobbed.
“No, never. I knew who you were before. You’re just more of who you’ve already been.” Daphne began to cry. Margaret touched herself and then Daphne's stomach.
“See…I have left you without a future,” Margaret said; her own sobs echoing Daphne's.
“I’m crying because I nearly lost everything I ever wanted on that field in France.”
“You wanted children.”
“Yes, but I am complete with you.”
“I’m no man.”
“No, you are not. But you are the one I love and you are most definitely the person I married.” Daphne pulled Margaret close and hugged her as she resumed kissing the tears away from Margaret’s cheeks.
“What … what will we do?” Margaret looked away.
“We will finish our move to Philadelphia and first thing Monday morning we will open the bookstore like we had always planned to do. And first thing that evening we will sit in the parlor in our new home and read to each other. And the last thing we will do that night before we retire will be to thank God that although Lieutenant Martin Hennessy died in France, Margaret returned home to me. Well... the next to last thing...Alright?”
Daphne’s voice assumed an almost childlike lilt like a lullaby as she spoke once more before turning out the light.
“So the the world outside our doors, ? The Hennessy sisters. But in the quiet of our home? To us? To love? To cherish?’" Margaret remained quiet and Daphne’s eyes widened just a bit in expectation, as if to say,’well?’
After a long silence, Margaret nodded with an increasingly calm assurance and spoke.
“To cherish.”
Title piece adapted from the painting, Two Women
by Colin Campbell Cooper
(1856 -1937)
Lullaby for Strings
Composed 1919 by George Gershwin
(1898 - 1937)
The Brat
Cadence Santangelo has a daunting task;
fitting into a tradition that goes back for generations in her family.
A tradition made more daunting since she already feels like she'll never fit in....
Virginia Beach, Virginia...
Cadence…. An odd name for a girl, but then her mom had been a Marine and a good one at that. Which made her a brat… a Marine Brat, which isn’t a bad thing but merely a title describing a kid growing up in a military family.
And of course her name was just what she took from being the child of a very tenacious and determined woman. Almost marching through life; a life of structure which Cadence didn’t mind at all and missed all too much of that now. Lindsey raised her only kid as best she could until being interrupted just shy of her own thirty-eighth birthday. Her date with destiny was courtesy of a very tired and very drunk accountant and his Prius out on Laskin Road on her way to NAS Oceana one very rainy evening.
What to wear today, the girl wondered. She peered into the walk-in closet illuminated only by the sunlight streaming through the bedroom window. She vowed once again to replace the overhead light bulb when she went she went to work at Kroger’s.
The clothes were just as organized as her mother had been. Dresses; then skirts; then pants; then tops and blouses – all neatly ordered on one side of the closet. On the other side? Jackets and sweaters. And the array of her mother’s work clothes. Uniforms for every occasion and expectation. Cadence sighed; putting her hand on the shoulder of the dress-blue jacket, she shook her head. Not today. It was forever not-today. After grabbing a few items, she turned and walked out of the closet, closing the door behind her.
“Cade….? Did you hear from anyone yet?” She turned and walked to the bedroom door. Her aunt was standing at the end of the hallway, waving as she held up the day’s mail. Bonnie’s gesture answered Cade’s question even as her silence answered Bonnie’s. Just two replies. East Stroudsburg and Ramapo both said yes. But she was hoping for more. Even from down the hall, Bonnie could read her just from her tone.
“I’m sorry, hon. I know something is better than nothing, but it’s not much when you’re hoping for more. Thing is, early entry for…. For anyone…. It’s still early.”
“I know. I just was hoping. Mom went to Annapolis….” She marched slowly down the hall her attention squarely on her shoes.
Bonnie had walked around the corner and she was focused on the groceries she was putting in the pantry.
“Oh… I picked up some light bulbs,” Bonnie practically sang.
“Even if they say yes, you know they’ll change their minds when they talk to me.”
Bonnie turned to see Cadence standing in the archway between the living room and the kitchen. She had her head down; still focusing on her shoes.
“Oh, gosh, Cade….” Bonnie placed the last can of tomatoes on the shelf and closed the cabinet door, but quickly put her hand to her cheek in surprise. In a moment she was crying softly as she walked to Cadence.
“I….I’m sorry, Aunt Bonnie….. Please….forgive me,” Cadence stammered as she tried to walk past her Aunt and down the hall. Bonnie reached over and grabbed her hand.
“You look just like your mother…” Bonnie thought about snapping off a salute but hesitated before pulling the girl into a hug.
“She…she did that uniform proud and you do, too.” Bonnie pushed Cadence out a bit to arms’ length and surveyed the girl’s attire. It was almost ironic that the girl had held off wearing the dress uniform. Her mother never really liked the dress uniform; feeling only a bit out of place and unworthy despite the respect and support of all her fellow marines. Having a demanding father will do that.
Instead she wore her mother’s service uniform; khaki short-sleeve shirt with captain’s bars and a smart-looking olive/khaki skirt. Her garrison cap featured the same captain’s bars and was set at just a bit of a jaunty angle; mirroring her favored. Sensible dark shoes finished the outfit; leaving her looking like the spit-and-polish image of the late Captain Lindsey Santangelo, USMC.
“I’m so sorry….”the girl repeated. She went to pull away from Bonnie but her aunt gripped her hand; as gently as one can while remaining firm.
“Oh, Cade….It’s okay. You’re …. ‘She paused and looked away; almost looking into the hidden and holy as she imagined the look her sister would have if she was there with them.
“Lin…. Your mom would be proud.” She smiled even as the tears dropped from her cheek; falling onto the girl’s wrist.
“No…. this… this is wrong.” The girl looked at herself; scanning up and down in angry inspection. Bonnie held firm and shook her head.
“There was a time when folks like your Mom would have never been accepted either, honey. Even before that. When your great-grandfather served, we…women were almost looked at like nurses or the help instead of the marines they were. Your grandfather’s generation still had a bit of trouble, but even the ones who tried to understand were still stuck a bit in the past. And your Mom and ….”
“And you?”
“Well, we both went through it. Your Mom did what she could but things still hadn’t changed so….”
“Yeah….I know.” The girl put her hand to her face; wondering how to push away the sad memories while trying to see the good ones.
“But…we’re here…now. Things have changed and continue to change. Your mom was a fighter to the end. Not just for her life but for yours…. And…” Bonnie’s voice trailed off.
“I know, Aunt Bonnie. You and Mom and…. But me? I don’t think so….I don’t feel like it will ever work. It feels like I have no hope. I can choose between…. But why should I have to?”
“We’ll see, Cade….little steps. First, let’s just look at you. You look like a damn fine Marine.”
“Damned…. I hate myself.” The girl looked down and shook her head.
“Cadence Lindsey Santangelo!”
She heard her name from over her shoulder. Turning around, she found herself face to face with a very angry looking woman… a very angry if welcoming woman.
“Marie? Can you try and talk some sense into her? I don’t know what else to say,” Bonnie said as she wiped the tears from the girl’s face with a tissue; leaving the girl to wince in embarrassment and shame. She stepped close to Marie and kissed her partner in welcome before they both turned their attention to Cadence.
“I’m sorry, Momma,” Cadence said to her mother….her other mother, Marie Louise Santangelo. Marie stepped closer and mimicked Bonnie's gesture from only a few minutes before; holding her child at arm’s length. She was fairly successful at steeling herself to what she saw, and only blinked back a few tears before smiling and squeezing the girl’s arms gently.
“If your Mom was here, she’d be just as proud as I am right this minute!” She stepped closer and kissed Cadence on both cheeks; a blessing and a salute at the same time.
“But Momma….” The girl pulled off the Garrison cap and with it a short wig that had been pinned loosely on the cap.
“You’re my child, Cade....Our child," she said as she looked at Bonnie; the girl's step-mother and sister to the late Lindsey Santangelo.
"And you will make a fine Marine! I am confident of that as much as I am confident of my love and your mother’s love for you! No matter how you started, Cade, you have to know it’s really about where you end up.” Marie hugged Cadence again. The only child….the son of Marie and Captain Lindsey Santangelo….now finally the daughter who had been there all along.
Overcoming obstacles was a second-hand nature to the family. Great-Grandpa Vito didn’t fit in with some folks because of where he was born. Grandpa Andreas didn’t fit in because he rocked the boat. Lindsey didn’t fit in because Grandpa was too demanding until he realized just what a great daughter and fellow Marine stood before him. And Marie and Lindsey together didn’t fit in for a season; things only changing for them as a couple well after Marie had left the service in favor of the love she shared with the woman who bore them their only child. They finally ‘told’ without being ‘asked’ just before Lindsey’s death, which was sad if finally fulfilling.
“You’re not alone in this, Cade. Bonnie is on your side. Your Uncle Sal knows and cares about you. I’m on your side. And your mother is probably doing some fierce advocacy on your behalf up in heaven, okay? WE are all in this together.” She smiled broadly at her daughter; Bonne’s expression mirroring hers in pride and love. The girl nodded; reluctantly at first but with more courage emboldened by the love of her family. She smiled weakly before stepping back; once again looking at herself but with a bit more self-respect and acceptance for the young woman she had become.
“Oh…” Bonnie said suddenly; a conspiratorial grin crossing her face.
“I forgot….this came in the mail.” She produced a letter from the deep pocket of her knee length sweater.
“It’s for you…. Marie….I’m sorry….It sorta came open when I ….opened it.” She practically giggled as she handed the envelope to her sister-in-law.
“Hmmmm….I wonder what this could be,” Marie said; sounding like a playful parent handing a birthday present to her child. It wasn’t a birthday present, but the contents were still cause for celebration.
“Dear Marie. Sorry this took so long to get back to you. Of course a formal letter will be coming your way, but I wanted to send you a note saying that I’m glad you gave me a head’s up. Of course there are some folks who hold onto stuff….everybody I know means well, and they do want to uphold the tradition and honor of the academy.” She paused and arched an eyebrow; another evidence at least to Bonnie of their conspiracy. Cadence tilted her head slightly; wondering what the letter was about and who it might have come from.
“…honor of the academy….” She repeated.
“But everyone wants to see what’s best for the academy going forward, so in the end they all agreed that….” Marie paused again; teasing with a bigger grin than Bonnie’s.
“Nothing about your daughter ….NOTHING is standing in her way, and they’ve accepted my recommendation. So say hi for me. Give Bonnie a hug for her and for Lindsey, God rest her soul. And tell Cadence she’s got a long tradition to uphold in the service and your family. But I wager she’s quite up for the task. Love to you all. (Uncle) Daniel H. Petrovich.”
“Uncle?” Cadence looked at Marie askance.
“Momma? Isn’t that…. Congressman Petrovich?”
“One and the same. He’s been like an uncle to me and then to your mother when we got together. He actually arrived at the hospital just before you were born.
“He …he knows…about…me? He knows?
“Like I said, Cade….and Bonnie and your Uncle Danny will back me up on this…. It’s not where you start that matters that counts.”
“I’m going….to….Annapolis?”
“Yes, Midshipman Santangelo, yes indeed.”
It might have been a bit odd, since the youngest member in the family had just been accepted in the fraternity of officers of the United States Naval Academy to serve in one of the most prestigious branches of any service in the world, the United States Marine Corps. But in the midst of that distinction, Cadence remained a member of an even older organization; a sorority of sorts as a teenage girl, however newly pledged to that illustrious tradition. And she did what anyone just like her would do in her place. She burst into happy, and extremely relieved tears.
“Just one more thing to say, Marine!” Cadence wiped her face with her bare arm and looked at both Marie and Bonnie as they both smiled before snapping off two very emphatic salutes. And they spoke in unison at last,
“OOO-Rah!”
My Dearest Charlotte...
My dearest Charlotte,
I must say the party was such a nice break from the routine of the rest of the week, what with all the help we provided for father. With Andrew off to Boston to apprentice with Mr. Fitzgerald, it seems so boring and lonely in the shop. I don’t mind getting ink under my fingers; it is testimony that a girl can and should do the work of a boy given half a chance.
To tell you the truth, Andrew seemed so taken with my presence that he became distracted. Father even threatened to box his ears if he didn’t pay attention to the job at hand. Between us, however, I expect that we were the best typesetters in all of Massachusetts, if not the colonies.
I do so love dressing up; the occasions are fewer and further between than ever since the hostilities began, and I do so understand how perilous these times are. But to set aside the drab scratch of cotton for the silks and satins and ribbons and bows? My breasts have begun to peek out from their hiding place at last, and I am looking forward to the time when I can.
Dare I say it? Display them. Andrew appeared nervous at our parting; perhaps because of my development, and I expect that when he returns in the Spring I will have sufficiently become a lady, even if I am only thirteen. I do so hope that when he returns he will have a question to ask father. I am quite in love with the lad and I am presuming to ask you to be my maid of honor should he propose. More to come shortly.
The whistle of shot was the only warning, sadly, as it struck the boy under the left eye and he dropped like a stone. His Tri-corner hat fell to the ground and lay next to his body. A small piece of parchment tumbled out of the hat and lay exposed on the ground as the mist of rain fell lightly on the boy’s face. A while later the shooting had stopped. Voices shouted encouragement and it would have been a good day but for that two men happened on the sole casualty of the skirmish.
“Oh bloody hell, Corporal Fergsuon? It’s the Jenkins lad!” One of the men called over. The corporal walked up and stood over the boy’s body and said a quick prayer and shook his head.
“Not even fourteen, aye, and what a good lad he was.” The man began to weep softly at the sight of a child gone before even a fraction of his life had been lived. He reached down and retrieved the parchment and held it for the others to see.
“Looks like he was writing home….His sister I expect….” He sheltered the paper with his left hand, but even then the rain had already begun to wash away the words from the page.
“Cor…I know…his sister…. He used to talk about her all the time….” The corporal shook his head once again and read.
“Dearest Charlotte, I must say that the pa…party….Oh hell, the rest is gone.” The man had seen enough of death already even in only five months of battles and skirmishes, and he wept unashamedly as the men prepared to bear the boy’s body away for interment.
“Give us a bit…just a moment, okay, boys?” The other two militia men nodded and stepped away. The corporal bent down and kissed the boy’s cheek, tasting his blood almost as a parting gift from the child; reminder of sorts about his own mortality and the futility of not living life.
“I’ll tell her if I see her that your last thoughts were of her. I’m awfully sad to see you go, child. Remember me if you can when you arrive at your rest, aye?” He bit his lip and kissed the boys’ forehead once again before saying at last,
“Be at peace, dear child. God bless this babe, dear God. Hardly breathed of life, and now gone. May thy rest bring that life which was ne’er received here, O Lord. Amen.” He crossed himself and stood up.
“Best be quick about it; do the best ye can, lads, aye?” He watched as they bore the boy away before looking skyward.
“Good bye, Lad,,,Rachel, God be with you!”
Gresham, Oregon….
“You okay, Nana?” The young woman stood in the alcove leading to the living room. She had a cup of coffee in her hand, and the steam had fogged her glasses. She put the cup down on the table in front of the sofa and sat down. Reaching over, she rubbed the woman’s back, evoking a sigh.
“It’s just that,” Alice pointed to the TV screen; the ending credits of a movie were rolling, and the music was a bit louder than either of them would have liked. Jeanne had just put the baby down for a nap and hoped the music hadn’t disturbed the little one’s rest. Alice, on the other hand shook her head. She picked the remote and turned off the recording with an apologetic look as both of them looked down the short hallway to the baby’s room.
“Something my grandfather said to me…” She bit her lip.
“He was so angry about losing his Dad….” Her voice carried only a hint of Brisbane since she’d spent her teens and then young adulthood in Chicago after the family moved.
“About Gallipoli, Nana?” The old woman nodded. It was a part of their heritage that was both sad and wonderful as valor had been mixed all too foolishly with someone else’ choices, leaving young men half-way around a cruel world to die or nearly perish with hurts too painful to forget and memories too needful to set aside.
“He said to me if we ever get in another war…” She put her head down, almost ashamed.
“Nana…you should be proud.” Jeanne touched the old woman’s cheek. Tears began to spill as Alice shook her head, as if her own choices were somehow wrong.
“I can’t close my eyes once without remembering the lads….” She would have finished the sentence had she not begun to sob. She buried her face in her granddaughter’s shoulder.
“Pop-pop made you feel ashamed….your own battles, Nana. You’re brave to me.” Jeanne looked over at the picture on the mantle; the only piece of that past Alice had left behind. A group of twenty or so young men in brand new uniforms, ready to take on the world and all too many of them destined to lose to that same world. One tall boy stood out; a smile on his face and ginger locks peeking out from under his cap. One of only two who returned home.
“He never understood.” Alice said between short gasps. She looked down at herself as if by living she should be condemned. Not just surviving, but coming to the conclusion that in order to live, she had to truly live her life the way she saw herself.
“Mum brought him around….but I still wonder what he really thought at the end. “
“If he could see you now? I think he’d be proud.” It was probably true, since her father was a fairly reasonable man for all his faults. But even in that, he could never bring himself to say he was proud of his only child. A child who grew up a continent away from his birthplace only to risk his life by returning to do his duty. A child who nearly died saving his best mate in a place called Nui Dat who vowed almost like his great grandfather…never again.
“Nana? I’m so proud of you. You’re about as brave as anyone I’ll ever know!” Jeanne rubbed the old woman’s arm and stared at the picture on the mantle, thankful that the ginger-haired boy had returned; not too safely inside if preserved.
She looked at her grandmother and her own tears began to fall. The old woman’s eyes were still as bright as ever; eager to please and desperate for love and acceptance. Her ginger hair had faded only a bit from her youth, but she was stronger in so many ways than when she gave her all for her homeland decades before in a place called Nui Dat.
“You….you’re proud of me?” Alice said weakly, a weakness not borne of age, but of near astonishment. A child that had grown up without ever hearing those words from her own father and never hearing the needful accompaniment of ‘I love you;’ unspoken praise from a generation that never said what they felt out loud.
But her father did leave a letter upon his death. A letter from a man who barely understood, but tried; a letter filled with terse but positive remarks about a boy named Tim who finally had the strength to do what was necessary to live a life. Jeanne blinked back tears and pulled Alice in for a hug.
“Oh yes, Nana.” She hugged her tight and stroked the ginger locks and kissed the face of the woman who had not only survived, but lived her own life.
“Yes…..” She was going to continue but a baby’s cry came from the nursery down the hall.
“I’ve got to….”
“Bring her along, Jeanne. We can have tea.” The old woman nodded and smiled. Jeanne got up and walked down the hallway. Alice sighed and wiped the tears from her eyes and stared at the photo on the mantle.
“I won’t forget you,” she said to herself as her attention fell upon the only other one to survive the horror of those dreadful days years ago. Her eyes brimmed once again with tears as she smiled at the face of the man who accepted her and loved her and stood by her as she took the first of many steps to live her life. Jeanne returned with the baby in her arms and walked to the mantle.
“He was a good man, Nana…a very good man.”
The baby cooed at Jeanne's words as she picked up the picture, staring at the two boys standing side by side; ready to take on a world that had decided there was no room for children of another generation, even if they sacrificed and gave their all. But a new world would learn to accept a boy and a ginger-haired girl; two who faced death and lived life the way it was meant to be lived.
“Yes he was, Jeanne…yes he was.” The tears fell freely now, but they were no longer tears of regret and shame but of lasting hope and love. The baby cooed again. Alice held out her arms and welcomed her great-granddaughter with a big smile. Jeanne leaned closer and kissed Alice on the forehead.
“I love you so much, Nana.” And with that, she walked slowly into the kitchen and put the kettle on for tea….
Hymn to the Fallen
Composed by John Williams
For the Motion Picture
Saving Private Ryan
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=fvpQMTY8H9Y
From Kansas to Utah
The Martin home, Rawlings, Kansas. 1932
See them gaily gad about
They love to play and shout
They never have any cares
At six o'clock their Mommies and Daddies
Will take them home to bed
Because they're tired little Teddy Bears
Because they're tired little Teddy Bears
The boy sat in the one open corner of the kitchen; facing the wall while grasping a very worn teddy bear. At nearly ten, he had barely outgrown the small chair he had as a toddler. He was whimpering; hardly a whisper but enough to attract yet another rebuke. His parents sat in animated discussion at rhe kitchen table.
“Stop acting like a baby.”
Albert turned to face his wife.
“ Ethel? Why do you indulge this? My boy isn’t… Well soon he’ll be helpin’ with the business.” Albert glanced out the kitchen door to see the two-seater biplane sitting by the barn.
“Please. Albert? Can’t this wait… We can talk later?”
“He needs to… He’s a boy, right and good, and he should be happy my father wasn’t around to see this nonsense.”
“Doc Graham said he read that a lot of boys…” Albert cut her off; turning his head sharply. The gesture was meant to address the boy, but did a good job of hiding his own embarrassment; almost but not quite duplicating his own decades-long shame.
“Doc Graham is just a pup who’s raisin’ two little girls and not a son, Ethel.” Albert stood up and walked to the boy. Leaning over; he half-frowned and spoke with as much kindness that his own turn-of-the-century ignorance would allow.
“No more. NO more.” He pointed to the boy’s apparel; a dark green gingham dress he had borrowed from his sister’s closet. The man recalled a moment in time where another boy had endured a beating over such an offense and pulled back; smiling.
“You’re my son, and I love you, but you’re still my son. Go get changed and meet me in the parlor.” Any spanking Carter might receive would be short and somewhat painful, but his father and mother could never be accused of beating him; even by later standards. Nevertheless, the painful humiliation and hopeless signal would be sent. He had to be a boy destined to be a man someday. He was a boy, to be sure, but in his heart of hearts? Like some boys even around the world in 1932, he knew he was a girl.
Alone, alone with a sky of romance above
Alone, alone on a night that was meant for love
There must be someone waiting
Who feels the way I do
Somewhere aloft near Rawlings, 1937
The biplane flew over the Murphy crops; finishing the dusting.
“Ease up a hair on the throttle, next time, Carter? That last pass was a bit too quick, but you’re getting the hang of it.” Albert leaned closer and patted his son on the back in encouragement. About seventeen minutes later they had landed back at the barn. As Carter climbed out his father was already on the ground with his hand out. What began as a gesture of assistance grew into one of the few intimate moments they would share this side of heaven.
“I want to talk with you? Father to child? Friend to friend?” An odd turn of phrase.
“Before I … I’m proud of you. No father could be prouder. But? Carter winced slightly at the expected rebuke.
“Nancy…told us…your sister is worried. She says you and she….” Carter’s face dimmed in shame over the shared games of his childhood that had continued into his teens. Nancy didn’t understand, but she accepted her sister. Albert half-smiled; an odd expression for the moment.
“She says the Murphy boy and you?” An expected slap was replaced by an awkward hug followed by a barely above whisper of understanding of sorts.
“Your mother and I just don’t get it…..”
“I’m sorry Dad… it will never…I won’t.”
“But that’s just it, Carter. It will. i don’t pretend to understand; it flies against everything I was taught… what my faith allows? But Nancy and your mother and me? We love you.”
“I’m so sorry, Dad.” The boy began to sob; crying like he did when he was little and the family dog died. Something was fated to die this day as well, but it wasn’t what he…what she feared.
“It’s still Kansas, and you’re still a young man as much as folks can…as folks chooseto see. But … I see you and I know you’re different.” Carter winced at what he took to be the most tragic disappointment he would ever be to his father. Albert likely surprised himself with his next few, life-changing words.
“Maybe someday, child, but not now….where anybody but us can know. I’m sorry, but that’s how it is. I don’t know what you are but your my son…my child…and I guess maybe our…daughter I wish I could change things for you. I’m not sure even God himself would even if he could. But I do love you and I always will.” Albert kissed Carter on the cheek and walked slowly into the house as both of them felt some burdens ease.
Speak low when you speak, love
Our summer day withers away too soon, too soon
Speak low when you speak, love
Our moment is swift, like ships adrift, we're swept apart, too soon
Speak low, darling, speak low
Love is a spark, lost in the dark too soon, too soon
Utah Beach, Operation Overlord, Normandy, France, 8:21 AM, June 6, 1944
Carter had just breathed a sigh of relief. The ground guns were doing little to no damage against the Brit and AAF fighters assisting the troops below. Even the Luftwaffe effort was small save for a rapidly diminishing group of Messerschmidts.
As he began to bank, one of them flew out of a low cloud and whizzed by him. Time seemed to stand still as the plane passed. The pilot appeared about the same age as him, and he wore the same confused and frightened look that Carter knew he also wore, Almost reflexively, he found himself firing as the plane passed him. Lucky or not, the rounds pierced the gas tank and the Messerschmidt burst into flames; dooming his German doppelganger.
He barely had time to recover when he heard the glass shatter on his own cockpit. Uninjured and already in a climb, he prayed he’d make enough altitude to bail out. His nemesis for some providential reason, failed to pursue, and he managed to hit the silk as his plane passed over the beach; slamming into a barn on a farm to the east.
As he drifted down, he prayed that no one was in the barn; that part of him that forever cared for others more than himself. Even his choices leading to his enlistment seemed to arise out of a desire to protect one only he knew and by him was fully known. Tommy Murphy died in Sicily and life would never be the same for Carter
The wind carried him past the beach as well and by the time he had drifted out of range from any of the German guns he found himself stranded in a tall tree he learned later was just north of Carentan. Minutes turned into hours. After dusk he heard a group of men walking down the road; their accents were Brits. One of them pointed into the tree and remarked.
“Looks like we’ve got us a Yank stuck in a tree, aye?” He laughed softly and turned to one of his mates.
“Hey, Winston? Fancy shimmyin' up and cutting the lad down?” The other laughed even as he dropped his gear. A few minutes later Carter was sitting on the ground against the tree. The medic attended to the small gash on his forehead from whatever grazed him when he was shot down. He put up his hands in refusal at a smoke but quickly downed nearly a canteen-full of water.
Really, Laddie,” the medic said, “ We came across a few chaps who didn’t make it; the Germans found them in the trees not too far from here.” He needed no explanation; the tears from horror affect the seasoned pro as well as the newcomers.
Carter breathed out one more of the several of his relieved gasps; both ashamed and gladdened by the minimal harm he had sustained. A trip to a medic’s tent or a hospital would not just have meant injury but deep shame over the garment he wore beneath his uniform. It was a decision he made upon learning of the mission only days after learning of Tommy’s death. Whatever hiding to be done, however ultimately exposed or not, was necessary as he realized he…she needed to live the life crafted for her from before she was born. She began to weep.
“Go ahead, Laddie, the medic said. “It’s okay to be human, as my sainted mother would say."
In that one moment, whatever else the future held, if Carter was blessed enough to be herself, should she survive what would prove to be only one of all to many conflicts; however necessary.
“Thank you,” Carter said. Permission comes in many forms. The simple quiet words of a kind man proved to be just the permission Carter Martin would need.
Unforgettable in every way
And forever more, that's how you'll stay
That's why darling it's incredible
That someone so unforgettable
Thinks that I am unforgettable too
A nice cluster of outdoor tables at a café in Paris, 1953
The woman was dressed in a simple shirt-waisted dress; Navy Blue. Her hair was in a short bob; dark blond secured by faux-pearl barrettes which matched her necklace. The waiter arrived with a menu.
“English?”
“American.”
"Will you be meeting someone ?" he managed as he displayed his new-found affinity for speaking English to his broadening range of patrons.
" Yes. Just a glass of Chablis ? And would you mind bringing another when each arrives?" He nodded yes and departed. Just before he returned, another smart looking woman arrived. She waited as her sister rose ; greeting her with a kiss on each cheek.
'I’m so glad you could be here, Nancy" Carol Martin said. She glanced at her left hand. A simple small ring adorned by a single pearl. Hardly traditional, but perhaps unheard of even in a place as progressive as Paris. As the waiter came up with another glass of Chablis, he was greeted with a tap on the shoulder ; soft and as unobtrusive as possible.
" Would you mind ?" the third woman asked with a British accent as she sat down ; kisses of greeting would wait for a moment as she instead leaned close to embrace Carol ; kissing her by the left ear. Nancy smiled as she noticed the same ring adorning both her sister’s hand and her companion.
" I’m so glad to finally meet you, Nancy. My mother’s name, don’t you know." She held her hand out in greeting.
"Me, too. Chelsea ? "
"Yes, after the neighborhood. And Mayfair, ironically. My brother met Carol… it didn’t work out, but it was love at first sight when she came for dinner. But a girl can’t choose who she may fall in love with, can she?" Chelsea grasped Carol’s hands in hers ; both women were beaming, as they used to say.
As the waiter returned with yet another glass of Chablis , another woman walked up to the table. He rolled his eyes but upon further reflection just smiled as he departed into the café.
" Am I late, loves?" she asked in a Bristol accent. All three stood and greeted her with kisses all around. It was only then that Carol noticed all four women sported the nearly identical ring on their left hands
And Nancy looked heavenward, remembering something their parents shared years ago…one word…short and finally proving to be an incredibly sweet word .
"Someday"
and the survivors who gave the world renewed hope
D-Day June 6, 1944
The Teddy Bear's Picnic
Words and music by Bratton and Kennedy
Henry Hall & the BBC Dance Orchestra; Val Rosing - vocal
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=dZANKFxrcKU
Alone
by Allan Jones and Kitty Carlisle
from the film A Night At The Opera.
Words and Music by Arthur Freed
and Nacio Herb Brown.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MfyzjhimSI8
Speak Low
words and music by
Ogden Nash.and Kurt Weill
Mary Martin and Kenny Baker in the Broadway musical One Touch of Venus
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=3Ohc5vCrrWo
Unforgettable
composed by Irving Gordon as performed by
the incomparable Nat King Cole
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=I4aa-odb4i4
“Lt. Moira Reilly reporting as ordered, Sirs, Ma'am.”She emphasized 'Moira' as she snapped a clean salute to the General behind the desk and nodded at the two civilians.
“Excuse me, Lieutenant, but aren’t we being a bit premature?”The woman smiled politely but her tone was a bit curt.
“I’m sorry Ma’am, but I don’t follow you?”
“That’ll be enough, Lieutenant.” The General shook his head and glared.
“Yes, sir.”
“It’s been established, as far as we can read the rulings and so forth that the military has seen fit to include personnel of same sex orientation. It has not, I emphasize the word ‘yet’, been established that transgender personnel are included. Do you understand, Lieutenant?”The man sitting next to the major tilted his head as if he were interviewing someone for a job. That wasn’t far off, since in effect, the man was seeking to exclude the Lieutenant from military service.
“I see you received a Purple Heart and a Bronze Star in service in Afghanistan. My gratitude for your service, soldier. We have several men and women who are alive thanks to your valor.” The General smiled warmly but sighed.
“Still, we have you before this panel today to discuss your defense of your and personnel of like 'persuasion' and their continued service in the United States Military. The Congressman and the Senator both are here for a preliminary interview before the committee up at Capitol Hill rakes you over the proverbial coals.” The man next to the General frowned while the woman covered her face to hide her smile.
“Yes, Sir.”
“We’re concerned that this may set a precedent, which in turn may lead to a really nasty battle on the Senate Floor,” the woman said.
“I respect that, Ma’am.” Reilly nodded and looked over to the Congressman, who was now glowering.
“While we can all thank the Lieutenant for his service….” He turned to see the Senator frowning and quickly added, “I’m sorry, Doris, but it’s yet to be established just what gender the Lieutenant is, from my understanding.”
“You’d understand, wrong, Congressman Stevens,” the General said abruptly with as much respect as he could muster.
“Lieutenant Reilly is seven months past her surgery, as her medical records will attest!”
“That’s …Gender Reassignment Surgery? Elective…Did the Army pay for this?” The Congressman shook his head.
“Begging your pardon, Sir, but no, it did not.” The Lieutenant said politely.
“It’s referred to by physicians in the field as Gender Confirmation Surgery, Charlie…get with the program. She's already served with distinction. We need women like her in the service.” The Congresswoman said, nearly missing the irony of her statement.
“Listen…I’m just trying to understand. Studies have shown that performance levels are likely to drop significantly during the personnel’s recovery; hindering their ability to serve.
“You might find that to be true of a soldier or a sailor with an appendectomy, but we don’t insist they leave the service, Charlie,” she shook her head.
“What about morale?”
“What about it, Congressman?” The General turned and faced him.
“We’ve already determined after a lot of debate and studies, that so-called ‘gay’ servicemen and women will not serve to the detriment of morale. Other countries have allowed gay personnel for years without any problem," the General stated.
“The idea that a transgender experience renders someone incapable of serving in the military is the same as disqualifying someone who experienced any emotional upheaval like divorce or another life-altering experience,” the Senator said.
"It’s really covert discrimination couched in terms of what’s ‘best’ for the personnel. I seem to remember you staying on in your district despite your divorce, Charlie. Come on.”
“Serving in Congress is completely different than serving in a combat zone, Doris.”
“Your constituents might argue that point,” she laughed, but the Congressman remained adamant.
“I understand your concern, General. And Lieutenant Reilly, I’m very grateful for your service, but at this juncture, it’s my determination to report to the committee that they continue the restrictions in place with a moratorium until such time as more data can be gathered. I’m not convinced one way or another, mind you, but I just can’t in all good conscience make any other recommendation at this time. Since this is just an informal hearing, I will let the obvious conflict of interest slide. But I'm sorry...I'm not quite convinced. I hope you understand?”
“Yes, Sir.” Lieutenant Reilly nodded and smiled weakly. “I serve at the pleasure of the United States Government in general and the President of the United States as well. I thank you for your time, Sirs and Ma’am,”she sighed as the two men got up and shook hands.
“Wish you’d think this over, Congressman…I think you’re making a big mistake….in not wanting to make a mistake at all. But thank you for your time, Sir.” The General shook his hand again and he departed. Turning to the Senator, the General smiled.
“Well, Doris…we tried…we really did.” General Mark Sheridan stepped closer to the table and grabbed her hand.
“I hope we can make dinner next Thursday, my dear.” He kissed her hand and then her cheek. Senator Doris Reilly-Sheridan smiled back and nodded.
“Should be okay unless the budget hearings go over, hon.” She arose and walked to Moira Reilly, her only child and shook her hand.
“Thank you, Ma’am.”Her face was stoic, but for the barely noticeable chewing of her lip.
“I’m so proud of you. Hang in there, sweetie…we’ll get this done yet…I promise.”She kissed her daughter on the cheek before hugging Mark.
“Take care of her, hon…okay?”
“As always.”
She grabbed her purse and walked out the door. Moira turned to the General and nodded.
“Thank you, Sir!”A smile slowly crossed the Lieutenant’s face.
“No, Soldier,” He answered with a smile and a crisp salute.
“Thank You!”
ALL’S FAIR
Fort Dix, New Hanover Township, New Jersey…
“You’re still here?” Capt. Davis raised an eyebrow. “I would have thought you’d have joined the rest of the folks running in the other direction." Tony laughed as he sat down in the chair next to the desk where Davis sat.
“We’re joined at the hip, Kacey! You go? I go.” He shook his head. While that was true somewhat, Capt. Kacey Davis’ departure would be given top priority while Capt. Antonin Bartimileo would be wading through red tape for the next several months; even though he’d resigned his commission.
Time seems to work in directly opposite proportion of need in the military unless someone above your rank wants something yesterday; especially if they’re way, way higher than you are on the protocol totem pole.
“Listen, Tone…there’s plenty of time; you can change your mind. No need for both of us to lose out?” Guilt over something taken completely out of her hands, Kacey nonetheless lapsed into taking responsibility for some else’ behavior. Force of habit, it had served her well when she was a useful part of the military; a true example of general issue…’G.I.’
“It’s the least I can do for the only transsexual who ever saved my life. Hey…come to think of it…you’re the only PERSON to save my life.” Tony attempted to disarm the tension with humor like he always did, but the situation was as serious as things come.
“Damn it, Tone, I mean it! You’ve come too far to turn back now. You owe it to yourself and your dad to stay put.”
Kacey sighed and shook her head. Tony’s dad had been so proud when he made Captain. He was on the fast track for Major. At least that’s what it had been. It was hard not to feel guilty when the only thing standing between Tony and a solid career in the Army was his friendship with her.
“Kace…it doesn’t matter anymore. I’m not going anywhere because…” He didn’t want to throw accelerant on her fire of shame, but she would find out sooner or later. He blew out a breath.
“Col. Santangelo grabbed me last night after your hearing.”
“Tony…no…don’t tell me….”
“The fucking powers that be have decided that you’re too much of a liability for me…no matter what you end up doing. The only way I get any higher in this man’s army is if I stand on top of the Capitol building and wave. Besides, I was really getting tired of Camo, you know?”
He laughed at his own joke, but Kacey shrugged her shoulders. Two tours of duty in Afghanistan with valorous service made no difference to them regarding her disposition. How does that old saying go about the wheels of progress…that they turn exceedingly slow? Don’t bother to ask ‘cause we’re not gonna tell you anything?
No one could argue that Kacey wasn’t a born leader. No one could say that she wasn’t brave or strong of character. She might have been a soldier’s soldier, but then again rules were rules, even if more folks were ‘included’ in the big invisible tent that covered the Pentagon, they still ‘currently’ didn’t make room for her.
“It’s not fair, Kace…they’re just fucking wrong!” Tony shook his head. For a man who had seen enough battle to last a lifetime and a half; performing meritoriously above and beyond any call of duty, he surprised the hell out of her cried a lot, blinking back angry tears over the loss of service of the best officer he had ever shared a life with.
“We…at least we’ll always have Paris.” She joked, but to Tony it had become more than a serious matter, even if he had never spoken it to her. He was torn in half, since part of him really wanted the head honchos to change their minds; at least until she had a fair hearing. That wasn’t going to happen, and the only thing that kept her on base was that her car was in the shop and the cab hadn’t arrived.
But part of him was relieved. It’s awfully hard to get killed if you’re not being shot at, and you likely aren’t going to be shot at if you’re not in a helo hovering over a drop site. And words can’t express a single damn thing if they aren’t written down or if they never get past the thought process down into the voice box. Tony was practically paralyzed in that regard. A man who takes a bullet for a fellow soldier isn’t scared, is he?
Well, to be truthful, he was just as scared as the young man whose life he saved, but he acted in spite of his fear. Could he speak now in spite of the greatest fear he had ever known. He would never be put to that test, however. At least in ‘going first.’ The phone on the desk rang, and Kacey picked it up.
“Yes…Oh…okay…I’ll be right there.” She sighed and bit her lip. She was no stronger than her best friend, but unlike him, she had anticipated the tears and steeled herself to holding on until the ride out to the airport in the cab; almost like a castoff on a reality show, but with real departures and sadness. She blew out a nervous breath and went to speak.
“Tony.”
“Kace?” The two spoke almost simultaneously.
“You go first…” they said at the same time, followed by nervous laughter. Tony went to speak, but the words didn’t come…at least not in time enough to be the first to speak plainly. Kacey laughed and smiled.
“I….I’m going to take a few weeks to think about what to do next. No need to hurry.” The haste had already done its damage in that she had lost her commission and was being asked to leave. Don’t let the door hit you on the way out? That was the easy part.
“We’ve known each other since the academy. We’re best friends, and that will never change, unless what I have to say next changes everything.” She stared out the window. Tony stepped closer and stood face to face with her, his hand held out in farewell. She looked down out his hand and frowned.
“Oh…okay. I guess this is it, then.” She went to shake his hand, the frown on her face a look; not of disapproval but of disappointment, having hoped for so much more. Tony proved then just why he was always known to his friends as a man of few words; well, at least not as many as most.
“I sorta lied, Kace. I hope you don’t mind.” Even at that moment he was making a joke like he always did. She frowned at him; not for the ‘lie’ but for his habit of minimizing the serious all the time. He lowered his eyes and spoke again.
“The Colonel was relaying the info, but not because of you, but because of me. I told him last week to tell the brass if they couldn’t see their way clear to keep you in, then they could just …well, let’s just say I gave insubordination a whole new twist.” Kacey continued to frown, but she softened as he finished.
“I told them that I couldn’t let them mess with my best friend. That they had no business treating you the way they did, and that they could form an exploratory sub-committee to come up with new S.O.P. to kiss my ass!” He laughed, evoking a smile from her. He stepped closer and gathered his best friend in his arms and kissed her. She went to pull away but he held her tightly and kissed her again; this time with little resistance, though she tried her very best. He won that skirmish easily....they both did, actually.
As the old saying goes, “All’s fair in love and war.”
Please Remember Me...
I did not believe because I could not see
Though you came to me in the night
When the dawn seemed forever lost
You showed me your love in the light of the stars
Lake Mohawk, New Jersey, 2018…
Pam sat on the bottom step of the deck overlooking the lower yard. The twin Corgis were occupied chasing fireflies in the dwindling light of the mid-August evening. Their playful yips and barks seemed to fade in and out as their paths moved further down the slight hill. She smiled as the evening breeze picked up a bit, bringing with it the soft sounds of summer and the sad whisper of days past….
Cast your eyes on the ocean
Cast your soul to the sea
When the dark night seems endless
Please remember me
Please remember me
Denville, New Jersey, 1962…
Two girls sat at a child-sized card table in the newly-finished basement.
“More tea, my dear,” Pammie asked as she held up the small red china tea pot.
“Please?” Alexandra smiled and held her saucer and cup under as Pammie poured the imaginary tea for her very real best friend.
“I do really, really like your dress,” Pammie remarked. Since it was all playful and pretend, Pammie felt the need to compliment her friend, even if the girl actually wore dungarees and a borrowed blouse from Pammie’s closet.
“Easier to explain if Mommy comes in,' Pammie had said, pointing to the basement door leading to the back yard. Alexandra would have loved to try on Pammie’s communion dress, but in 1962, it just would not do.
“My Mommy says that she wants a nice pink suit just like Jackie Kennedy.'
“Oh she’s so pretty,” Alexandra replied with as deep a sigh that any nine year old might manage.
“You’re pretty,” Pammie said, wanting to make things better for her friend. But it sort of made things worse, since her mother walked in from the back yard. The idea that became a plan that in turn became a scheme to wear a blouse instead of a skirt or a dress failed miserably as Mrs. Genovese walked over and glared.
“Alex? Why are you wearing Pammie’s blouse?” She folded her arms, receiving the only answers she would get. Alexandra took off the blouse, revealing a yellow Cub Scout tee shirt underneath. Alexandra….Alexander Demetriou burst into tears, but the glower from Mrs. Genovese offered no sympathy at all, and he ran up the basement stairs.
“But Mommy?” Pammie tried to plead. Connie Genovese shook her head at her daughter. She felt bad for the boy, but any encouragement would only bring heartache, wouldn’t it? After all, it was 1962…
Though we share this humble path, alone
How fragile is the heart
Oh give these clay feet wings to fly
To touch the face of the stars
Lakeland Bus Depot, Dover, New Jersey, August 1971…
Two figures sat on the metal bench in the small waiting area. The girl wore a long earth-toned gauze dress and a wide floppy hat. The boy looked away, hoping to keep it together. His uniform was dark blue and definitely ill-suited for the very humid afternoon.
“It’s not fair,” Pammie said, rubbing her boyfriend’s shoulder. The word ‘boyfriend’ was as inaccurate a description as you might find, but it was 1971 after all.
“You could go to Canada?” She practically pleaded.
“Mommy needs the money since Daddy left and Jimmy got accepted at the new county college. No way to pay and I can’t just leave them stuck.”
“You’re leaving me,” Pammie sighed as she put her head down.
“I know, but it’s not like being in the Army or Marines. I’ll just be working on the helos. No problem. And the news said they’re almost got the peace agreement worked out. I’ll be okay and I’ll be home before you know it.” Alex smiled weakly. Even if he wasn’t a man inside, a man still has to do what a man has to do.
“I want you to write every day,” Pammie touched his arm, evoking a wince. There was nothing to be done as long as he remained Airman Second Class Alexander Demetriou instead of Allie Demetria. It was 1971 after all…
I did not believe because I could not see
Though you came to me in the night
When the dawn seemed forever lost
You showed me your love in the light of the stars
Danang Air Force Base, South Vietnam, April 1972…
It had been over two months since the last rocket attack and in the midst of the dark night there seemed to be a pleasant calm hovering around the base. Alex had just finished off the letter Pammie had sent.
Plans about marriage mixed in with all the fashion stuff girls like to talk about. The threat of censorship or just plain monitoring of mail left communication about Pammie’s ‘girlfriend’ by the wayside, leaving Alex deprived in a way. It was 1972 after all. Gowns and bouquets were idle dreams of a faraway future.
The stillness was interrupted rudely by the sounds of explosions which drew closer by the moment. Alex saw the flash of an blast about fifty yards from the tent. The new boy had just walked in from outside and paused at the entrance to watch.
“GET DOWN!” Alex shouted but the boy was paralyzed by panic. Alex jumped off his cot and pushed the boy sideways just as the rocket hit ten yards from the tent. The medics got to Alex quickly, but injuries which might be treated successfully some years later claimed his life. Alexander Demetriou and Allie Demetria died that balmy day in April. It was 1972 after all…
The present...
“Mom?”
Alice Genovese called from the kitchen door. She had just dropped off Lisa and Tess after softball practice and decided to stop by to visit. Alice and her sister Louise were twins that Pam had been blessed with unexpectedly.
The life she led was never lonely even if her one true love would never know the joy they both might have shared as mothers. It was, however, 2018, and Alice and Louise and her granddaughters were told very early on about Nana Allie.
“Mommy?” Alice repeated as she walked out onto the deck. She noticed the dogs running back and forth in the yard just down from the deck and quickly walked to the steps. She lifted her left hand to her mouth, needlessly stifling a sob as she leaned over the lifeless form of her mother. But as sometimes occurs in the midst of sadness, a smile crossed her face even as tears spilled freely. Pam Genovese had the most peaceful look Alice would ever behold…
The Eighth Sphere of Heaven...
Breathe life into this feeble heart
Lift this mortal veil of fear
Take these crumbled hopes, etched with tears
We'll rise above these earthly cares
As far as weddings go, it was a modest affair. Loved ones spanning two lifetimes came from everywhere and every time, eager to witness a very-long delayed union between moonlight lovers in a way. Both wore white. While it would certainly would have been fitting for one bride to wear the jacket and skirt of active military, owing both to her sacrifice and service, nevertheless both brides were arrayed in wedding gowns.
“Who gives these brides in holy matrimony?” The tall strong woman asked; her wings fluttering gently. An older if still elegant woman stepped close, putting a hand on each of the brides.
“We do,” she said gladly as she was joined by another woman.
“I’m sorry it took so long,” Connie Genovese half-frowned while Helen Demetriou rubbed her best friend’s arm. Both brides stepped down and hugged them before returning to the ceremony.
“I now recognize what you knew already, that you are united in wedlock.” The celebrant smiled even as her large wings enfolded the brides in blessing before the wings returned to a content flutter.
“I stiil feel bad that it took so long,” Connie said through happy tears. Allie stepped close and kissed her there-all-along mother-in-law before smiling, Pammie waved to get Connie’a and Helen's attention, following it with a soft laugh as she said at last,
“That’s okay. It is eternity after all...
Though we share this humble path, alone
How fragile is the heart
Oh give these clay feet wings to fly
To touch the face of the stars
Cast your eyes on the ocean
Cast your soul to the sea
When the dark night seems endless
Please remember me
Dante's Prayer
performed by the composer,
Loreena McKennitt
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=PUeymJ6JJno
“Jenkins….get your fucking head down!” Seaman First Class Pantangelo yelled as a round whizzed past the boy’s head and slammed into the empty cartridge pail, sending it flying off the deck and into the water below. The kid jumped sideways, nearly going over the edge until the strong hands of the older man grabbed his shirt collar, nearly ripping it off.
“Smitty and I got this gun… and Kowalski needs someone to feed him ammo…get yer ass up to the Bofors and help him out.” The boy remained half-seated on the deck until the same hands that had saved him moments before pulled him off the deck and to his feet. A sudden shove was accompanied by a fatherly smile as he was pushed toward the other gun emplacement only yards away.
He ran up the ladder and turned to wave to the older man when a burst of gunfire slammed into the deck just below and back down the deck where he had been standing. He stood stock still, staring at the flying debris torn up off the deck by the gunfire and tried to peer through the haze.
“Hey….fuck it, kid…they’re gone.” The boy fought back bitter tears as a man behind him shouted.
“Get up here, kid….NOW!” The boy turned around and saw the Bos’n waving frantically at him. He ran the last few yards and grabbed the ammo. He watched in paralyzing panic as another Jap plane strafed the decks of Cassin and the Pennsylvania; both in dry-dock next to the Downes, tearing up both ships before flying low over him and Kowalski.
He could hear the shouts of the sailors aft of his location who watched a Zero catch fire just as it flew over the Downes. The plane held altitude long enough clear the ship, slamming into a gas truck sitting on the dock a hundred or so yards away from their slip. The plane and truck disintegrated in a ball of fire that engulfed a pile of supplies.
Kowalski turned around and breathed out a sigh. The attack appeared to be over. The fire crew was just now putting out the flames on the main deck, and the sounds of the hell surrounding them were dying down even as the smoke continued to billow all across the bay. He looked at his watch. 10:07 AM. He had been at it at this position alone for nearly two hours after manning another gun further foward.
“Hey, kid...you did good.”
He turned to smile in congratulation at the newbie; the boy had only arrived at Pearl a few days before; barely out of boot camp. But the boy didn’t answer; he was flat on his back stretched out on the deck; holes in his shoulder and leg bore witness to his silence.
But the boy looked as peaceful as anything Kowalski had seen. He was smiling; his face was nestled on a cartridge belt and his eyes were focused on his service cap, which had fallen off his head, exposing his short dirty blond hair.
“Oh, shit.”
Kowalski looked around and noticed an almost eerie calm, as if the harbor was trying to quiet itself for the sake of the survivors of the attack. He noticed two things; a letter clutched in the boy’s hand and a picture pressed tight against the inside of the kid’s cap.
He picked up the cap after gently removing the letter from the boy’s hand. He looked quickly at the picture; a girl of about seventeen or so and her boyfriend, apparently, walking down a country lane; both were smiling. Kowalski shook his head and sighed before unfolding the letter.
April 12, 1941
Dear Gerrie,
I know you don’t feel like this will ever work. You don’t have to go away. You can still change your mind. Please think of us when you get this, please. I never knew just how much I loved you until you went away. My cousin moved to New Zealand last year to help my grandpa with the farm, and she says we can move there, okay? Just think about it. I miss you so much, and I wish you would just come home. We can work it out. I look forward to seeing you at Christmas. I love you so much! XOXOXO Love,
Darryl
Kowalski looked again at the photo. The girl was what his grandmother might have called striking; her way of saying she could be prettier, but Darryl seemed to love the girl a lot; more than Kowalski could say about himself and his own girlfriend.
He smiled, thinking at least that the girl would know her boyfriend had died helping to save his shipmates. It was only then that he took a long hard look at the picture once again as his gaze went back and forth between the smiles in the photo and the angelic look on the boy's face. He stifled a sob as he shook his head before placing the photo under his own service cap, almost reverently. The letter was folded and inserted in the back pocket of his jeans.
Kowalski wasn’t a much of a regulation or spit and polish sailor; it took a lot to get him to feel connected to the century and a half plus traditions, but he bit his lip and saluted the boy before walking up the deck.
“Hey, McKenna?” Kowalski yelled as the chief walked up to the gun and blew out a relieved breath.
“Fuck, Kowalski, whatya want, a fucking medal.” Kowalski shook his head and then looked down at the fallen boy.
“Jesus and Mary, no….he’s just a fucking baby.”
The man began to weep; even in the midst the routine of horror, there are some things a grown man cannot abide, and the death of a child is one of them. McKenna had a son on the Raleigh, and he could only hope that his own boy made it out okay.
“That’s not all.” Kowalski took his service cap off and showed the picture to the older man. McKenna looked at it and down at the body on the deck. He fought back tears as he knelt down. Speaking softly, he offered up a silent prayer, meaning to talk to the Padre as soon as possible for the boy’s last rites.
And then he did something unheard of for a Chief Petty Officer, but perhaps entirely understandable for a father worried about his own child. He leaned further down and kissed the boy’s forehead. He stripped down to his tee and placed his shirt over the boy’s face, but not before gazing at the boy’s soft peaceful countenance.
“Hey, McKenna? XO wants to know about casualties? You got anybody hit?” A voice came from the deck above. Kowalski waved to the chief as if to say, ‘I’ve got this.’
“Pantangelo and Smitty at the gun over there took it for good,” he said, pointing down the deck.
“And just one here. Jenkins!” He stifled a sob.
“Who? Jenkins? Aw fuck!”
“Yeah….”
“We gotta have volunteers for duty here, and you two just volunteered.” The man above them laughed at the typical service humor, even more ironic in light of the fact that the men would have borne their mates with gladness. Looking down he shook his head and touched his chest with his palm as if to apologize before walking back down the deck. McKenna looked at Kowalski and the two nodded simultaneously; saluting the boy’s body as McKenna spoke one last time before bearing the boy away in solemn silence.
“So long, Seaman Second Class Gerry Jenkins. We hardly knew ye, but it was a privilege and that’s a fact. God and Mary go with you!"
Alison sat on the couch sipping a late cup of morning coffee. Daryl was due over at about eleven or so, which left her enough time to either finish the chapter on Ferber’s latest or start a letter to her baby brother. She chose the latter.
As she got up she dislodged the large sleeping red tabby that clung to her thigh; she was glad she was wearing the gabardine slacks her brother handed ‘up’ to her since she planned on doing some work around the house that morning. She found her pen on the secretary along with some stationary, but moved back to the couch along with the photo album she used as a portable desk.
“Let’s see…what should we tell Gerrie, Wilkie?” The cat raised his head from his already resumed posture of sleep and she swore he was grinning. The name was playful; her parents had always been staunch Republicans and the cat was almost homage to their memory even if she did vote for Roosevelt.
“Hmmm….Dear Gerrie... It’s awfully cold here. I envy you the weather at least. Daryl says it’s positively dreamy there, but we still can’t wait for you to come home. I’m glad at least that you might be able to leave early since Mommy…” Alison was at least glad that she hadn’t started writing; the writing paper absorbed the few tears that fell before she wiped her face with the sleeve of her shirt.
“Why does god do that? She was so young…” Alison looked at the picture of the three of them that sat on the mantel. She and Gerrie had only each other now. Well…Gerrie had Darryl. Maybe she’d find someone, but who’d want to marry a ‘spinster’ at 31 when all the dolls had the boys' attention; even those her own age.
She placed the pen on the end table next to the ink bottle and set the album and paper on the coffee table in front of her. The cat took that as a sign and moved over. He half-hopped into her lap and began nudging and treading on her thigh once again; even the gabardine didn’t protect her this time and she flinched as his claws penetrated both fabric and skin.
“Ow, Wilkie!” She swatted him playfully on the rump and he hopped off the couch and ran into the kitchen with a loud ‘rrrowwww!’ Alison was about the return her attention to Edna and company when a knock came at the door. Daryl wasn’t due over for another hour or so. She rose and went answer the knock. Opening it, she found a very nervous looking man about her age who was holding a telegram in his hand.
“Ma’am?” He tipped his cap politely, but his demeanor remained nervous. She would come to remember the look on his face; sadness beyond his time, she would say.
“Yes?”
“Am I at the right place?” He asked with a quiver in his voice. She sensed that this might be his first day on the job. The flap of his pouch was open, and she could see that he likely had a very full day. It wasn’t his first day, but it was the first of too many deliveries just like the telegram he held in his hand.
“For what?” She said, but her smiled seemed to diffuse his nervousness at least enough to continue.
“Oh…I’m sorry. Is this the residence of Mrs. Agnes Jenkins?” Alison’s eyes widened just a bit, and she nodded.”
“Oh…” He looked very surprised, which actually surprised Alison as well. Before he could speak, she interrupted.
“I’m sorry. My mother passed earlier this year. I’m her daugther Alison. Can I help you?
“I’m sorry,” he continued with another exchanged nervous pleasantry.
“I guess…they didn’t tell me what to do if the party….expired”
“Go ahead…what’s your name?”
“Jimmy Falcone, Miss.”
“Go ahead, Jimmy.” His look seemed to indicate a strong reluctance so she nodded and smiled. He didn’t return the look but gazed instead at the piece of paper in his hand. And his eyes welled with tears. He looked up at her and took a deep breath and began to read.
“WUX Washington DC December 10, 1941, Mrs. Agnes D. Jenkins, 1278 Parson Street, Davenport, Iowa.” He paused.
“The Secretary of War desires that I tender his deepest sympathy to you in the loss of your son, Gerald A. Jenkins, Seaman Second Class, Radioman, U.S.S. Downes…” His voice began to crack. Alison put her hand over her mouth and started to sob. Jimmy was completely at a loss, so he did what he knew had to be the only thing he could do. He pulled Alison into a hug and patted her back as she shook in his arms.
“I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry.” He almost would have appeared to be apologizing for his part in the unwanted delivery of the message, but his own tears reflected the sadness he felt for the girl in his arms. After what felt like an eternity to both of them, Alison pulled away.
“I….I have some coffee…would you like some?” Jimmy shook his head reluctantly. At another time and another place; even then he was sorely tempted to place the bag with the remaining telegrams on her front porch and join her.
“I…I have to get going.” He pointed to the pouch. Alison stared at the many messages that peeked out of the pouch and realized she was just one of many that day. She shook her head and her face turned an extremely embarrassed shade of red, wondering why she had made his job so personal to her. She reached out and shook his hand and came away with the telegram which she grasped tightly in a fist.
“Thank you.” She paused and wondered at the awkward and nearly foolish sentiment of her comment until he nodded and half frowned; he knew that she was glad at least that someone cared. He bit his lip as tears began to fall. Nodding once again, he smiled before turning and walking out the front door.
Alison had barely contained herself when she heard another knock. She rushed up and opened it, hoping to find that the kind man had returned, only to find Daryl standing on the porch instead. He smiled as she remained silent. Shaking his head, he stepped inside.
“So, Ali, my dear, what’s up?” She held up the telegram in her hand, crumpled. His look grew puzzled until she said at last.
“Honey….Daryl?” He shook his head no, almost defiant as she finished.
“Gerrie’s gone, Daryl….she’s gone.”
Daryl began to weep, and Alison held him, stroking his hair; wishing she could ease his pain even as her own threatened to tear her heart in two. Her gaze fell upon the mantel once again. Two other pictures adorned the room. One of a young man and a young woman walking down a country road; a greeting card moment of two in love.
And a smaller older photo of two girls sitting at a small folding table having their tea with a few stuffed animals. She shook her head at the supreme loss and pulled Daryl closer and cried as hard as she would ever cry. And she would remember...
I'll Be Seeing You
composed by
Sammy Fain and Irving Kahal
performed by
The Tommy Dorsey Orchestra
featuring Francis Albert Sinatra
Tarawa, Gilbert Islands, November 22, 1943…
Night came inevitably while the moon above brought a perilous illumination…
“Hey, kid?” The sergeant shouted from across the outcropping of rock only yards away from the trembling boy.
“Keep your head down just like we taught ye, aye?” The Scot, as he was known, served as mentor to the young men who were altogether still ill-prepared for the carnage they all faced, But to the boy cowering and barely protected? The man had become a father-figure; more benevolent than one could ever find in a sergeant and more present than the boy’s late father who was kind and compassionate and residing now in paradise.
“You tell him, Fergus!” A voice came from further off the boy’s left side. Jimmy Irwin, the boy’s best mate, was known to tease. The near merciless treatment masked the secret only the two had shared with both great joy and immense dread. The boy smiled to himself.
“You might as well be a mother hen since the lad is practically a momma’s boy,” the young man chortled. His loud laughter was cut short by the volley of bullets that strafed their position. The boy watched in horror as Irwin’s head exploded in a cloud of thick red mist.
“No” he screamed at the sight; sickening to be sure but even more tragic as the boy’s only love had perished in a literal heartbeat. He had barely begun to cry when he felt a sharp pain in his right temple and everything went oddly mauve…
The McKenna home, Berwick, Pennsylvania, 1940…
The Victorola wove its musical magic into the moment as the Glen Miller tune filled the room…..
Louise McKenna finished pulling the strings of Lonnie’s corset tight. A rescue of sorts out of their mother’s hope chest from the attic.
“The sacrifices we make for fashion’s sake.” She laughed, evoking a wince.
“Oh, Lonnie, don’t fret. Mommy? Let’s just say she won’t be surprised.” Louise smiled as her hands gently held Lonnie’s shoulders.
“What about Daddy?” Lonnie’s eyes brimmed with shameful tears.
“What he doesn’t know? Oh dear… Even if he does know? It still won’t hurt him.” Louise laughed but the lighthearted moment was lost on her sibling as Lonnie burst into tears.
“He...He would hate me!” Lonnie exclaimed.
“I know you feel that way, but our father doesn’t… Daddy was never a mean man, even if he was short-sighted once and a while. Yes… he loved you. He might not understand, but he loves you yet” Louise lifted her gaze upward; confident that whatever shortcomings Davey McKenna displayed earth-side were being adjusted above. Lonnie’s sobs ebbed even as Louise spun her sibling around into a hug…
“I… I’m so sorry, Lonnie,” Louise looked at their image in the long mirror; apologizing almost needlessly for her plenty while lamenting Lonnie’s lack.
“Maybe someday? Let’s pretend it is someday? If only for the moment? By that point tears were streaming down both their faces. Louise picked up the dress from the bed and held it in front of Lonnie; the near twin of the dress she wore save for Lonnie’s Alice Blue and her Nile Green.
“For today? Let’s saunter downstairs and spend the afternoon,… the McKenna women together for tea? Mrs. Kathleen McKenna and her daughters; Louise and Leila?” The sentiment was sweet but did little to dispel to the hopelessness of her thirteen-year-old brother….
AH-5 USS Solace anchored off Abemama Island, November 24, 1943
A serious-looking man in a white coat turned to the nurse and half frowned.
“Sorry, Doctor, He’s been mostly in and out of it since they brought him aboard yesterday. He keeps calling out two names. Jimmy and some girl…Lena? Lilly? Hard to make out.” She sighed. At twenty-six, she could easily have been the boy’s older sister. She recalled her brother’s death on the Oklahoma at Pearl Harbor and shuddered at the sight of the boy fighting for his life in front of her eyes,
“Nothing more to be done,” the doctor replied glumly. He shook his head and ;looked away. Best not to display too much emotion; they were hours away from setting out for Oahu with more casualties being brought on board by the minute.
“Ohhhhh,” the boy moaned.
“Shhh,” the nurse cooed gently as tears spilled off her chin. Dr, Standish might be able to compartmentalize, but Ens. Grace Garibaldi could not even though the ship and her crew had already been active since Pearl.
“You can drop by later, Gracie? Get some rest,” Ens. Patricia Allen said softly as she rubbed her co-worker’s shoulder.” She leaned even closer and whispered.
“I’ll come get you…” She didn’t need to elaborate. Grace nodded reluctantly before walking away. Patty leaned over the boy and said a quick prayer before moving to the young man lying in the next cot. She smiled at the boy.
“Semper Fi…what’s your name?”
“Kowolski…. Tommy… Kowolski….”
Somewhere else….
“So this is the boy you’ve been telling me about?” The Major smiled at his daughter before extending his hand to her beau.
“James, is it?”
“Jimmy will do, sir “
“Fine name. My favorite uncle is named Jim. He’s around here somewhere.” The Major flashed a knowing grin since many of his relatives were ‘around’ there.
“Might as well meet him, aye, Marine?” He grabbed the boy’s arm and began to usher him away. As his daughter stepped up, the Major put his hand out in caution.
“You can’t come.” His words as abrupt and unexpected as they were, seemed almost soothing. The girl put her hand to her mouth in disappointment; taking his remark the wrong way.
“You hate me…Daddy? Do you hate me?”
“No,” he said slowly while biting his lip; a family trait he shared with both his daughters. He paused but smiled as tears filled his eyes.
“It’s not your time, honey.”
“You… you don’t hate me?” she gasped at the first-ever endearment.
“I never hated you, I’ve always loved you and never more than now.” His daughter tried to retreat but her father pulled her into a hug before saying at last,
“I love you but God loves you more.” She looked to her boyfriend who nodded and smiled.
“Someday, honey. Someday.” The Major said at last as he kissed her on the forehead. And she heard a voice off somewhere even as her father and beau seemed to vanish in a fog....
“Lonnie? Corporal McKenna??.......”
The boy looked up into the face of Ens. Garibaldi and began to weep; frustration mixed with sadness but also joy and inexplicable hope.
'It’s going to be okay, Marine,” Grace said with a relieved confidence. Lonnie smiled back weakly, knowing without knowing why that it would be okay.
Epilogue – Copenhagen, 1955
Lonnie rested; albeit with a bit of growing if completely expected discomfort, Moonlight streamed through the gap in the curtains; leaving Lonnie's face aglow.
“Mommy cabled and said she’d meet us in Manhattan next month.
“Louise? Do you think? Would he?” She began to cry. Her sister leaned over the bed and kissed her gently on the lips like a lullaby blessing.
“I think he ..I think they're both looking down, Sis” Would love ever find her sibling again?” Louise wondered. She kissed Lonnie on the forehead, while saying at last,
“ God bless you, Leila Katherine McKenna.”
Moonlight Serenade
Music by Glenn Miller
So I told a friendly star
The way that dreamers often do
Just how wonderful you are
And why I'm so in love with you
Idlewild Airport, Queens, New York City, 1958
Christina sat at a small cafe table in the Northwest-Orient lounge. Her connecting flight wasn’t departing for several hours, though she didn’t mind. Even after living overseas for several years, she was still in no hurry to fly home with connections still somewhat ironically up in the air. The lounge was air-conditioned, leaving her relieved since she had only recently quit smoking, and the place felt fresh and clean, probably unlike the Northwest terminal in St. Paul. She was glad she had brought a sweater, however, since she really wasn’t used to the indoor chill.
She removed her hat and gloves and placed them on her coat on the chair beside her. Her lilac suit was a Dior knockoff that she had picked up in Stockholm; an attractive slim jacket and skirt that made her feel good…the best in years, some might say.
“What can I get you, Miss?” The barkeep smiled; wiping the bar with a towel. She played out in her head the past few days how she would answer the inevitable question, and had already ruled out beer, even if it was likely served in a nice schooner.
“I….I think I’ll have a Gin and Tonic, please?” She half-smiled; hoping she wasn’t sending the wrong signal. A moment later the barkeep had placed a cardboard coaster on the small table.
“Wave if you need anything, but I’ll come back in a few.” He winked at her, but it really felt like he was just being kind and not flirting at all. As he departed, she raised the glass to her lips. The bite of the drink wasn’t nearly as strong as she remembered, but then what she drank her first time wasn’t quite gin to begin with. Reaching into her purse, she pulled out a crossword puzzle book and a pencil and set about immediately; turning to the more difficult puzzle in the back of the magazine. She nursed the gin and tonic for a while, only to find the barkeep standing at the table with another drink.
“I didn’t order that,” she said almost reluctantly. With a six hour wait, she expected to have another, but this was unexpected.
“This is from the gentleman at the bar,” he answered with a wry smile. She followed his gaze to see a tallish man sitting at a stool almost at the end of the bar. He grinned and held up his own drink. She turned away and frowned. She picked up her unfinished drink and downed most of what remained before handing the barkeep the glass.
“I’m sorry.” She patted her chest and pointed to the wedding band on her left hand.
“I’m sure he’s a lovely man, but I’m not at all interested. She lowered her head slightly. The barkeep smiled.
“Don’t you worry, Ma’am. He’s a good Joe and he might mope a bit but he actually does take no for an answer.”
“Thank you, she said. He went to turn but she touched him lightly on the arm.
?Do you have any coffee? Black is just fine.”
“The pot is only about twenty minutes old. No problem.” He smiled again and walked back to the bar. A few moments later she heard a rustle. Looking up from her magazine she found a cup of coffee sitting in front of her on the table. While old habits sometimes die hard old urges die harder still. She stared at the cup happily and almost disappointed that she didn’t have a pack of cigarettes. She could probably ask the barkeep or even Mr. Lonely-hearts, but it really was for the best.
Taking a sip of the coffee, she was glad for the heat; even with the sweater draped over her shoulders, it was still quite chilly. She returned her attention to the puzzle at hand.
“Hmmm,” she said to herself. Starts with an ‘ess’; a six letter word for…..heartbreak?” The clue seemed to parallel her response as she was in the moment of only a few years ago. She sighed.
“Sorrow…” She looked up to find the barkeep standing at the table once again.
"You looked a bit chilly, so I turned the cold down. I’m sorry if I misspoke,” he said pointing to the puzzle book. She attempted a smile.
“It’s okay.”
“Well, if you need me, Ma’am, I’m right there,”
Thank you,” she said as he once again walked away, she returned her attention to the magazine, but it had become pleasantly and sadly distracting at the same time…..
North of Yeonchon, Korea, April, 1953…
“Hey Svenson? You got any smokes?” The voice barely was heard under the blare of the Chinese trumpets and the rounds of 120 mortar shells exploding further down the hill. Santorini’s banter had kept the boy together in the midst of another Chinese attack. But the boy was more fearful of two of his buddies and he was terrified of the men advancing and retreating mere yards from their location. A momentary lull in the mortar fire gave witness to the sound of a pack of cigarettes whooshing through the air and impacting softly at Santorini’s feet. He didn’t bother to ask about ammo, since it was whatever the whole unit was down to from that afternoon. More ammo would only arrive if they received a break in the line for reinforcements.
“Murph? You scared?” The boy sat back against the side of the foxhole; unlit cigarette dangling from his lips.
“Fuck yeah,” Corporal Murphy replied. He mouthed an endearment that caused the boy to wince. Looking down at his left hand, he shrugged. His brother back home penned a Dear John letter from the fictitious Mrs. Murphy to help with the role of a lifetime that had so far kept him out of the prying hateful eyes of Svenson’s nemeses. He fingered the ring; a talisman protection of sorts but also a token of the true forbidden love he shared with the boy.
“Ken? I’m so…..” The boy’s fears were overwhelming; facing a sure death at the hands of the enemy down the hill or a slow death inside at the hands of a cruel world that could not possibly know. Murphy was in the dark since the boy was too scared to share the secret that even the man he had come to love might not understand. A wave of Murph’s hand got his attention long enough for him to see the man’s hands form symbols. A closed fist with pinky extended; placed against the chest - I; followed by two arms ending in closed fists crossed against the chest - love...
The boy never saw the final symbol as a mortar round exploded on the opposite side of the foxhole. He remained conscious long enough to feel Kenneth Sean Murphy thrust something small and hard into his hand. A blur of painful activity would follow over many months which would sadly culminate in learning that while his injuries had been life changing, they would have been life ending had Kenny not shielded the boy’s body with his own…..
The sounds of Doris Day played from a speaker somewhere in the lounge. Que Sera Sera; whatever will be will be… Christina looked up through sleepy eyes to find the barkeep gently nudging her shoulder.
“I wanted to make sure you woke up in time.” She looked around nervously.
“Don’t worry… You’ve got at least an hour.” He smiled; leaving her nervous.
“I didn’t mean to intrude, but your ticket was lying on the table.” She became less anxious; leaving him to add.
“You looked awfully tired, and I….” He looked down at her left hand. She quickly pulled it back, covering it with her right hand.
“He….you must have loved him very much,” he practically sighed. She looked away, blinking back tears.
“I…he was the love of my life,’ she said as tears flowed freely. The man produced a linen handkerchief from his vest pocket. She held back and the man looked around. Seeing they were alone he sat down next to her. Leaning close he gently patted her face. She wanted to resist but leaned into his chest and wept.
“My….I lost my brother to the war. It was so hard for him. So much of the man he was had been hurt, but he remained kind and loving. He had found his own true love….it was forbidden, but I do believe he would have found a way. Things change so slowly, but even Miss Jorgensen proved that things might have worked out for Kenny and Chris. “ Her eyes widened in surprise; sorrow mixed now with wonder and joy she dare not embrace,
“K….Kenny? And… and Chris? What….what is your name?”
“Michael….Michael Murphy….and you?”
“Chris…tina. Christina Svenson,” her words a blend of whisper, stammer, and peaceful sigh.”
“I’m very pleased to meet you, Christina.”
“Uh….you can call me Chris,” she half smiled before she collapsed in his arms, sobbing.
“It’s okay, darlin’ shuuh shuuh.” He said gently. Pushing her away slightly he dried her tears once again and blinked back his own.
“I get off in another hour. My….oh... .shhhhh, on the QT, mind you? My boyfriend is a steward for Northwest. If you don’t mind, maybe if it’s okay with your folks you can hang around tonight. You can catch a flight tomorrow and maybe I can tell you about Kenny. And you, Christina Svenson can tell me about yourself? Do you go for it?” She nodded.
“Yes. Michael, I go for it.”
“Okay, then, but please call me Mike.” He got up and spoke quickly.
“I’ll give Allen a ring and get your ticket squared away. Oops. Duty calls,” he said using a side glance to indicate a man and woman sitting at the bar. As he turned she rubbed the ring gently and sighed, smiling through increasingly peaceful tears And overhead, the voice of Doris Day sang brightly….
Now I shout it from the highest hills
Even told the golden daffodils
At last my heart's an open door
And my secret love is no secret anymore
and July, 1953, in a place north of Yeoncheon in a place called Pork Chop Hill
https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Battle_of_Pork_Chop_Hill
Secret Love
Words and Music by
Paul Francis Webster
and Sammy Fain
as performed by Miss Doris Day
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=FL87sHjXlVU
Que Sera Sera
Words and Music by
Jay Livingston and Ray Evans
as performed by Miss Doris Day
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=azxoVRTwlNg
They won't know who we are
So we both can pretend
It's written on the mountains
A line that never ends
Birmingham, England, the office of Lisa Edelmann, LCPC…
Agnes O’Toole sat on the Forest Green two-seater, her face a mask of sorrow and pain. Lisa sat in a swivel office chair catty-corner to her. She rolled the chair to about four feet from where Agnes sat and spoke.
“It’s very hard, Agnes, but you’re doing great,” Lisa said softly. The last few minutes felt as intense as all the previous sessions put together. She pointed to the legal pad on the couch beside her.
“May I?” Her notes were only there to remind her of a name or place they had discussed. As much as she could, she reviewed previous conversations. Agnes nodded.
“You were in the lorry on the outskirts of Kajaki when you were ambushed? The road was blocked? So you and your mates ended up….”
“We jumped out and took cover as best we could….We….ran…” A look came over Agnes. She grimaced and hit her left thigh hard with her fist.
“We ran, Lisa…. I ran…” Agnes gasped.
“You told me last time you were outnumbered, but you all fought hard.” Lisa paused. They had gotten this far the previous session, but the pain of the next few moments of the horror had grabbed Agnes and had still not let her go. Lisa continued.
“You heard something fly past you.”
“The round went right below my underarm…” Agnes choked back another gasp, feeling guilty even in that moment. One or two inches above and the round would have hit her shoulder or worse, but it passed through her sleeve, grazing her arm. She looked down at her left, almost seeing through her blouse to the stone wall where the round impacted years ago.
“It was so…. I couldn’t see anything with all the dust that had kicked up with the wind swirling through the alley.” She winced as bullets fired years ago seemed to whiz past her head, and she felt a round hit her chest, bouncing off armor that no longer existed. She gasped again as she turned to her right.
“Tommy pushed me down, and I blacked out. I think I took a round to my helmet…” She rubbed her left temple, as if the impact had just happened.
“I…. woke up…. There was blood all over my face, but…” Lisa nodded. Agnes was as far as her story had taken her each previous session, but Lisa noticed Agnes’ eyes widen a bit. Something new. Agnes bit her lip.
“Why, Lisa? Why?”
“Why? Why what, Agnes? You’re almost there. Why what?” Lisa’s words would have seemed provocative to some, but the gentleness in which they were spoken tugged softly at the rest of the memory. Agnes sobbed.
“It wasn’t my blood. Tommy…. He was on top of me…. He covered me, Lisa.” She glanced down at her arm again. The round she took had done little damage. The round Tommy took went under his right arm just above his armor.
“I was so scared and….”
“You were so scared and… remember what you just said? You couldn’t see anything. That had to be….Do you remember what you said the last time?” Lisa pointed to her notepad but left it alone.
“It was like….it was terrifying….”
“But you’re here, today, Agnes. It was terrifying but you’re here today because you’re brave. The why you need answers for…. Why…” Lisa paused. Either Agnes would shut down again or it was time. Nothing would be wrong if she went no further today. Another day perhaps, since the mind will do what the mind will do, no matter how determined we can be. But Agnes spoke, even as she began to tremble. Fear mixed with guilt and needless shame will do that.
“He…. He pushed me down….” She repeated even as tears flowed freely. Lisa nodded.
“You said that no one could have been a better friend than Tommy, yes?” Agnes nodded again, this time slower and with her head bowed slightly as her tears seemed to pause.
“So losing him….it had to be so painful. It still is painful, Agnes. The most painful thing ever.” Agnes glanced to her side and sighed heavily.
“It’s as if he’s right beside you. You just looked to your right…just now.“
Agnes muttered something before lifting her head. She shot Lisa an angry glare, as if reminding her about what they had just discussed was off limits.
“What’s going on, Agnes? Right now? What is going on inside?” Lisa patted her chest.
“What do you care? This is just a job to you. It’s my life.” Agnes rarely raised her voice, even when describing the horror. But she glared again at Lisa. As painful as the previous twenty or so minutes had been, the next few promised to be even more so. Lisa took a deep breath and plunged into the swirling eddy of the pain Agnes struggled to express.
“How did Tommy go, Agnes?” She leaned toward Agnes slightly. Pulling back or sitting still might be taken as indifference, no matter what Lisa risked with the question.
“What? He died in my arms. Bloody hell, Lisa. How could you forget that?” As angry as Agnes appeared, the underlying problem was harder to find amidst all the deflection her pain broadcast.
“I’m sorry, Agnes,” Lisa said as she leaned even further in. She hadn’t forgotten, the question was intentionally provocative, almost like a doctor’s hammer hitting a nerve looking for reaction.
“Tommy said something to you. Something you hear in your heart space even as I’m speaking to you. I’ll be quiet as you listen to his words. His voice is the most important right now, because he still speaks to you.” Lisa leaned back only slightly and raised her index finger to her lips. Her gesture and nod seemed to urge Agnes gently, and she smiled.
“I think….” Agnes began, but faltered. Tears began to well up as a voice from the not too distant past indeed was speaking. She bit her lip as she remembered their final moments together…
As the sad-eyed woman spoke we missed our chance,
The final dying joke caught in our hands
And the rugged wheel is turning another round
Dorian, carry on,
Will you come along to the end
Will you ever let us carry on
“You’re gonna be okay,” Tommy rasped. He smiled up at his best friend. Tommy had tears in his eyes, but they weren’t for himself.
“No… don’t, Tommy. Please.”
“Shhhh…. I’ll be okay where I’m going….” His few words fought to escape, the cadence irregular, but the meaning unmistakable. He grinned slightly and raised his hand to touch the chain around his neck beside his ID Disks. The small cross was smeared with blood, as ironic as one might imagine, but still a powerful picture of his faith…..
Agnes fingered the small cross around her neck as the memory enfolded her.
“I can’t, Tommy. It’s too hard. You can’t go….”
“I don’t want to, mate.” Tommy smiled weakly, hoping for no less than the time it would take to say what he felt.
“But you have to go on. YOU! No matter what happens, you need to be yourself.” He was fighting hard and maybe his determination enlivened him just enough. Ian was weeping freely. As lads growing up even into adolescence, they had pretty much done everything together.
Best friends since before birth in a way since their mothers went to the same midwife. Lifelong, such as any brief moment in eternity can be, only to have one life now sadly ebbing away. On a dare, Tommy and Ian had enlisted the same week. They were separated after training, but providence reunited them only months later.
“She deserves…. A chance.” Ian winced at Tommy’s words.
“Yeah…. I should have told you…. Your Mum wrote me a letter. She wanted me to watch out for you.”
“No, Tommy….no.”
“You have to let her live….” His voice trailed off and then he was gone, leaving Ian alone and scared.
Agnes looked at Lisa and shook her head. The anger had departed, perhaps for good. But the guilt and shame still clung to her.
“You told me very early on, Agnes. You may have forgotten but I never did. Tommy wanted you to live, right?”
“No…. no,” Agnes covered her face with both hands and sobbed.
“He…”
“He wanted you to live. You survived. You’re a survivor.”
“But Tommy died… Why did I live? Why did he die, Lisa?”
“He did exactly what he promised your mother he’d do. He saved her…. Daughter. Tommy saved Agnes.” Lisa leaned closer and tapped Agnes on both knees, a rhythmic exercise that helped her center and urge the moment forward.
“No….I don’t deserve this…”
“We never deserve grace, Agnes. None of us. That’s why it’s so special. But we also never deserve the guilt that sometimes gets in the way of the gift. Tommy loved Ian as much as any friend ever could, but he loved Agnes even more. Maybe like the brother Ian and Agnes never had. Maybe that’s why this is so painful? Because it was over almost before it began?”
“Why, Lisa? Why me? What do I do with this? It hurts ….so much.” Agnes spoke haltingly between sobs. Lisa stood up and walked over to the desk. She glanced at the open laptop that still displayed the biofeedback program Agnes had finished in the previous hour. She grabbed a mirror off the desk and walked back. Sitting down, she turned the mirror to face Agnes and spoke.
“Look, Agnes. Look at the gift your friend gave you. This is the reason. The reason you are here today. Not just in my office, but here and alive and getting better. You were meant to survive. You, Agnes”
Agnes felt Lisa touch her arm. She pulled her hands away from her face and gazed at her reflection.
“Ian is in there, but it’s Agnes you see. It’s Agnes your mother saw. It’s Agnes Tommy saw. Who I see right now. The whole person, Agnes. You…the soul that is Agnes lives and breathes because of the gift Tommy knew you needed. Accept the gift, Agnes.” Lisa touched Agnes’ knees and began tapping again as the sobs seemed to change in a way.
“Í am so proud of the work you’re doing. The hard work you did today. I’m so glad to be privileged to walk with you Agnes.” Lisa nodded even as Agnes sobbed. Tears that once condemned seem to wash away the years of guilt. Weeping that had lasted a nighttime, as the saying goes, but the sunlight of freedom was slowly dawning for her.
Guilt would always try to gain a foothold on the battlefield of her soul, but Agnes would never again take a breath without being confident of her own worth.
Of course, from then going forward, every time she looked in the mirror her reflection would reveal dark brown eyes and a nose perhaps a bit more crooked than she’d like. She’d see a face that was plain, but still prettier than she could ever have imagined, made even more beautiful by a smile urged along every day by the memory of the gift she had been given. A best friend’s parting gift to Agnes O’Toole…. her life.
While PTSD is not limited to combat survivors, it is a signigicant contributor to the many difficulties veteran experience after returning home. Here are two of the several effective treatments for Post Traumatic Stress Disorder that I made mention of in the story
https://neurodevelopmentcenter.com/psychological-disorders/p...
https://www.ptsd.va.gov/public/treatment/therapy-med/emdr-fo...
Dorian
words and music by the performer
Agnes Caroline Thaarup Obel
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=HJzp2SRs0Ak
Whither Thou Goest
Wherever you may be, I'll be beside you
Although you're many million dreams away
Each night I'll say a pray'r
A pray'r to guide you
To hasten every lonely hour
Of every lonely day
Chosin Reservoir, South Hamgyong Province, North Korea, December 2, 1950…
The blare of the horns visited them in the dead of night once again. Sounds meant to invoke terror, but the men in the foxholes had steeled themselves to the horror they faced almost hour by hour, even if the sounds would have set anyone else to frightened cowering. The boy hunkered further down in the hole, trying to keep from being a target like his buddies.
Between the long row of trees and their foxholes lay unattended bodies; left alone, covered by new snow while the peril still threatened each of the survivors. Help was due, and would come, they knew. The timing was the only hitch in their hope, since it still felt like help would not come in time. There had been an almost soothing predictability to the noise, however. So long as the horns blared, it seemed, it would be safe. When they ceased, the inevitable onslaught of the Chinese would come down on them with a vengeance. The boy tucked his head tight against his chest and prayed.
“Now I lay me down to sleep….”
Visions of being home and safe only a few years before filled his head as the blare of the horns seemed to fade at the gentle intrusion of the Andrew Sisters. He smiled as his vision was filled with a scene long held dear but desperately held secret. A tall woman was in the middle of the living room, dancing with her teenage daughter. The prom was just about a week away and she wanted her girl to be ready, even though no knock would ever come at the door with flowers and candy. It was a quickstep version of the same dance they did for just a few years after the head of the family lost his life on a beach in Sicily.
“I’d vote for you if I could,’ the mother said to daughter. Prom Queen would have been a great honor and a delight for both, but in 1947, it wasn’t something to hope for...ever. The girl nodded and smiled. Going to the prom would have been wonderful, but there, at that moment in her home, just being herself was a joy, even if that joy never left their living room.
“Maybe someday, honey.” Her mother held back tears. Loving, protecting, motherly tears that shed nearly every night for her child. She kissed the girl on the forehead and stepped over to the phonograph. In a moment, In the Mood wafted through the room as she resumed the dance with her daughter……
The music abruptly stopped; both in the daydream and in the cold real dirt and mud of the hillside that night, only to be followed by the loud crack of wood and steel hitting flesh and bone. The sound was quickly replaced by loud shouts and gunfire and screams in another tongue; unmistakable if unknown as a retreat signaled the departure of the Chinese soldiers.
“Jacobsen? Hey? Joey? I made it,’ the voice called from the foxhole only yards away. The young man was lifted to his feet from the grime and mud by one of the men responsible for his deliverance. He rushed over to the other foxhole in excited glee only to find his best buddy lying face up with sightless eyes. He knelt down, but there wasn’t any urgency in his gesture as he cradled the boy in his arms.
“Gee, sorry, kid,” the older man said as he put his hand on the young man’s shoulder.
“That’s….it’s okay, Sarge. I….” The tears began to spill; mostly from grief, but a great deal from relieved peace as he kissed his best friend’s forehead.
“I think he’s okay.”
“I’m sure he is, kid.” The man said, squeezing the young man’s shoulder once again even as his own tears spilled onto the cold ground. He looked down at the boy in the young man’s arms and it looked as if he was sleeping peacefully; a smile just barely noticeable beneath a smear of blood and dirt.
“I’m sure he is…..”
Kelly’s Tavern, South Shore, Staten Island, New York, December 23, 1953…
A lone figure walked into the tavern; a slight-looking young man dressed in a khaki trench coat opened to reveal green garrison uniform. Scanning the room, he spotted what he sought and walked past the bar. Looking around for a moment, he stepped in and sat down; closing the bi-fold door of the phone booth at the back of the tavern. Pulling out a small, dog-eared note book, he opened it and ran his left index finger down the page until he came to the number he sought.
“Please be home ….please be home?” He mouthed as the phone rang on the other end. A moment later a woman’s voice greeted him with a soft ‘hello.’
“Excuse me, is this the Jacobsen home? Yes? I’m sorry…. I … I knew your son. I just got back stateside and I wanted to meet you, if that’s …what? I’m sorry, Ma’am. Please forgive me?” Bobby stared out the window of the phone booth into the bar. He had lost track of time, and the hour was a bit late for a visit.
“Yes? Tomorrow? Oh, yes, Ma’am….Lunch? Oh you don’t have to…well, okay. Yes, Ma’am. He was a very good friend. Tomorrow then….around noon? Okay? Ma’am? Yes….I miss him too.” Bobby hung up the phone and sat leaning back against the wall of the booth. He closed his eyes.
“It’s okay, Bobby. Mom would want to meet you.”
He heard Joey speak from somewhere off to his right. He turned to find a brown-haired woman staring at him through the booth window. She pointed at her wristwatch and he smiled, opening the door. She stood almost shivering even in the warmth of the tavern, and had pulled her lapels closed with a long grey-green muffler wrapped around her neck and her Maroon wool hat pulled down over her ears.
“I’m sorry, Miss. I’ve been trying to get a hold of my Army buddy’s mom.” He looked at the phone and she nodded.
“It’s okay. I just have to let my Mom know I’m working an extra shift today so I can meet her for lunch tomorrow.” She smiled and he stood up. Stepping out of the booth he offered his arm as she sat down.
“Thanks…. Sergeant?” She stared at the three stripes on his sleeves. He nodded and smiled back.
“Yes…very good.”
“My brother was in the army….Korea….I guess that’s where you were?”
“Yes. I’m one of the lucky ones.” At the word lucky, the girl winced a bit and bit her lip. She lowered her head and began to cry softly.
“Jeez, I’m so sorry. I should have known.”
“It’s okay. You couldn’t have known...Joost would have been twenty this year… There isn’t a day that goes by where we….My Mom and me….where we think about my brother.”
Her voice seemed to grow weak and she leaned against the same wall that he had used for support only minutes before. He stepped back; feeling awkward, helpless and almost ashamed at his own fortune. Both he and the girl would have realized just how much in common they had as survivors, but it was growing late and he still needed to make more plans and she needed to make her call.
“I’ll let you go, Sergeant….?”
It had occurred to ask her name or even tell her his, but she hadn’t offered and he was still too embarrassed to inquire. He nodded and smiled.
“I’m so sorry for your loss.” He said; tipping his hat finally as his face grew red and hot.
“Thank you, Sergeant. Mijn medeleven.” He didn’t understand the words but she patted her chest over her heart, which left him accepting the too-sad commonality of her sentiment.
“You’re welcome. God bless,” he said, backing away as she slowly closed the folding door. He walked away feeling uncomfortable and disappointed that he didn’t get her name or number. As he paused outside the bar, the thought came to him quite roughly that getting her name and number would do nothing but lead to frustration and perhaps worse. He looked down at himself; practically swimming in his uniform, which made him look all the less attractive and shamefully comfortable at the same time. He sighed deeply before walking down the street to the rooming house where he was staying….
Eylandt Street, South Shore, Staten Island….the next day.
A Yellow Cab pulled up in front of a row of houses. Bobby got out of the cab and handed the driver the fare.
“Keep the change,” he said.
“Thanks, Sarge!” the driver said as he waved and drove off.
Bobby walked up the steps of the porch of the house; a semi-attached, white two-story that was the near-twin of almost all the other houses on the block in a nice neighborhood. He was about to knock on the door when he noticed the sound of music coming from the open window next to the entry. Mary Ford, he guessed. He stepped back and listened for a moment before the front door suddenly opened. A tallish woman wearing a light blue cotton dress stood wiping her hands on a dish towel.
“You must be Bobby? Please, call me Mieke. I am so glad to meet you,” she said with a very thick Dutch accent. He stood back and waited until she offered her hand, which he shook gently but firmly.
“You and my Joey were good friends. Come in, Bobby, please?” She opened the door wider and ushered him into a short hallway which opened to a living room to his left.
“Let me take those, please,” she said as he took off his coat and hat. Hanging them up on a rack on the wall of the hallway, she returned her attention to him.
“Lunch will be ready in a few minutes. Nothing fancy. Just soup and sandwiches, okay?” She needn’t have apologized. Bobby was glad for the meal, but so much more for the company. He had so much to tell Joey’s mother, and lunch would likely make things easier for what he had to say.
“Thank you, Mrs. Jacobsen. I’m very glad to be here and I consider myself blessed to meet my best friend’s mother.” He turned away and sighed almost under his breath. His own mother had become gravely ill while he was still in Korea.
“My Joey used to write about you and what a wonderful friend you were to him,” she repeated. Bobby nodded and smiled.
“He said you were like family. I cannot thank you enough for loving him like he was your own.” She wasn’t an impulsive woman and certainly more reserved most of the time, but she pulled him into an awkward hug; patting him on the back.
“Let me get lunch ready, okay? I’m sorry, but I only learned just yesterday after we talked, but we won’t be alone.” Her voice practically trailed off as she walked into the kitchen. By now the radio was playing Al Martino singing “Here in My Heart,” which felt awkwardly ironic. And things got even more awkward as the front door opened and a voice called to Mrs. Jacobsen from over his shoulder.
“I picked up some of that good bread from Meeuwsen’s, Mama.” Bobby turned to find the girl whom he had met at the phone booth the day before. She smiled and held out her hand.
“Please forgive me, Sergeant? I didn’t realize we were both talking about Joey.”
“Oh, Anneke. This is Bobby. Joey’s friend,” Mieke said as she walked back into the living room.
“Pleased to meet you, Sergeant?” She smiled weakly and shook his hand again.
“Ye….yes. Sergeant LoBianco. You can call me Bobby, if you like?” She nodded but did not offer any encouragement about his name nor encouragement about her own.
“I’ll make the sandwiches, Mama. You can visit with the Sergeant here, she said. She nodded to her mother and looked away when she noticed Bobby gazing at her. Too many words in too many letters between siblings meant too many secrets shared. They weren’t bad to her, but knowing her brother’s secrets meant knowing more of his friends than she could handle at the moment. She wanted to blurt out what she knew because she felt burdened and didn’t know what to do. But she bit her tongue and walked into the kitchen.
“My Joey….He loved you.” Mieke said; almost matter of fact. Bobby blushed at the endearment. Surely most parents wanted to believe that their soldier sons loved their comrades. What else could she mean? She tapped him on the arm.
“Oh, not that way, dom kind….” She laughed; a sweet laugh that reminded Bobby of his mother. She understood him? Did Joey’s mother ever understand him?
“It was very hard for my Joey when he was little. Joost Jacobsen. He was going to be everything for which his father had dreamed, ja? Like many boys and many fathers and many dreams? But Gott had other ideas. My child.” Mieke’s eyes began to mist.
“Joey was very brave,” Bobby said, looking away. It felt like no one would ever be as brave as Joey; least wise Bobby LoBianco. To face down fears of death and hurt and loss was one thing; as daunting as those things were. But facing life and destruction of another kind merely by opening up and telling a friend. And to find that friend not only sharing a fox hole, but an understanding soul; almost kindred as well.
“Lunch is ready. Kitchen okay, Mama?” Anneke stood at the doorway into the kitchen. The sunlight peering through the kitchen window back lit her and she appeared to have a halo around her head. She wasn’t a saint by any means, but her love for her brother and his trust in her heart had given her the means to help everyone remember Joey in a way that would be healing and filled with joy.
A while later…
Bobby sat across from Mieke, sipping a cup of coffee. The woman stared at him as if he was a long lost friend or relative, and in a way, he was exactly that to her and her daughter.
“Mama? May I show the Sergeant Joey’s room?” Anneke said as she put the last of the dishes in the cupboard. Mieke’s eyes grew wide in question. Anneke nodded slightly and smiled.
“I wish to help our new friend get to know more about Joey, ja?”
Anneke moved her gaze back and forth between Bobby and her mother. Mieke went to shake her head no, but something seemed to brighten just a bit in Anneke’s eyes; almost comforting. Whatever would come of how Bobby saw Joey once the day had ended, it would be all good, since Joey was who he was, and the love she and her daughter had for him would overcome anything that might arise from the truth. And Anneke knew much more about Bobby than Bobby knew about Joey. Mieke nodded; her reluctance pushed gently aside as Anneke’ smile reassured her that everything would be alright.
The two walked up the steep stairs to the second floor of the house. Anneke pointed to her left.
“That’s my room. I thought about striking out on my own when Joey came home,” she said almost without emotion, but the tears in her eyes belied her words. She turned around and faced the other way, pointing to a closed door.
“This is Joey’s room….” Her voice trailed off. She shook her head and sighed. Bobby noticed her turn her face away. He wanted to hold her…to comfort her. But who was there to comfort him? Who was there for his heartache; feelings unspeakable and unholy and wrong. Anneke stepped past him and opened the bedroom door.
“This is Joey’s room,” she repeated absent-mindedly. She walked inside and without warning grabbed Bobby’s hand; guiding him along. His face grew hot; feeling both uncomfortable for her touch and for entering the room. Almost like treading on holy ground. She noticed his face reddening and let go of his hand.
“I’m sorry, Sergeant. I did not mean to be forward.” She began to tear up once again. He avoided the temptation to provide solace and just nodded silently.
“Joey loved to play. Dr. Steen said to Mama that he could have been a virtuoso,” she pointed to a violin case lying on a threadbare throw covering a chair in the corner of the room. Bobby looked around and noticed that the room seemed almost pristine; as if it had been preserved. She noticed his expression.
“We haven’t had any need to touch anything, so it’s pretty much the way he left it.” She used her hand in a broad gesture to display the space. Bobby stared at the curtains, which looked more suited for a girl’s room than a young man’s. And then he noticed the bed, which was covered in a soft green spread, with large pillows that supported several stuffed animals. He stared at the teddy bear in the center and frowned as he remembered his last talk with Joey…..
“I can’t wait to get home, Bobby. I know things won’t be easy, but I have a feeling it will be alright. Can….can you keep a secret?” The boy blushed and Bobby nodded nervously, wondering where the conversation could lead after all the boy had already shared to his own peril.
“I ….I have a teddy bear. Back home. On my bed.”
“Your Mom won’t get rid of it, huh?”
“Oh no….. She doesn’t mind at all.” The boy looked off to the horizon, as if by staring hard enough he could see all the way across the world to his bedroom back home. He bit his lip as tears spilled off his face and into his canteen mug. Bobby took a deep breath; as if by listening further he himself was jumping into the deep end of a very murky pool; dirty but smooth enough on the surface to reflect his own shame.
“If we get back okay, I want you to make sure my sister takes care of him.” Even as the words came back, the light seemed to brighten and he found himself staring once again at the teddy bear.
“He…. He wanted you to have him….” Bobby pointed to the bear on the bed and Anneke put her hand to her face as she began to cry.
“I’m sorry, Miss Jacobsen. I didn’t mean to make you cry.” She continued to hold her left hand in front of her face even as her right hand reached out blindly to grasp his. She gasped and spoke.
“Not him…. Her.” She pointed in the general direction of the bed and Bobby stepped closer even as he continued to hold her hand. Reaching over, he picked out the bear from the pile of stuffed animals and only then noticed that the bear wore a dark blue skirt and what looked like ballet shoes.
“Anna Bearkova,” Anneke said with a sound that sounded like a laugh blended with a sob.
“I’m sorry, Sergeant. Our Joey was very different than probably every boy his age. He wanted so much to be…. He was, actually….. Our Joost was a boy to everyone outside this home, but when the doors were shut behind us at the end of the day and the windows were closed from listening ears, Joost was Johanna. Please forgive me?” She shook her head no at the prospect of Bobby’s rejection, but her hand slipped from in front of her face as her frown turned almost flat before she nodded.
“But then you already knew that?”
Anneke looked away, and her tears resumed, but not for her loss or even for Bobby’s grief over his friend, but for what her brother had shared for many months in letters sent and delayed and lost and found. Only after his death did she get a packet of letters that had been misplaced in transit, and his correspondence had become almost like a book to her. Each succeeding letter weaving a tapestry of intrigue and peril and even romance as she learned that Johanna had fallen in love. And that her love was forbidden and strange and wrong and sad and frightening and doomed.
And Anneke learned to love the one Johanna had come to cherish; almost like falling in love with a beloved character in a favorite story or play, but with real life implications because every single word that Johanna spoke in print was about a real, live human being.
“I don’t understand? I’m not following you.” Had Bobby been sharper he might have understood, but his mind was dulled from long sleepless nights filled with guilt over the death of his best friend. A few feet away from survival for Joey had meant also a few feet away from death for Bobby; almost lucky, but no one he knew, including himself, believed in anything but providence.
“Joost left home a man….a kind and gentle man who learned who he was inside by the reflection of character from his….from Johanna’s best friend. Every bit of care you gave Joost….my sister Johanna? It was out of love for her and out of understanding that could only come from empathy and not just sympathy.” Her nostrils flared ever so slightly as she wiped her face with her cardigan sleeve. Bobby stepped back away from her and bumped into the edge of the open door; barring his further retreat.
“I still don’t understand, Miss Jacobsen,” he practically snapped; his voice filled with anxious fear and confusion even as she stepped closer to him. She placed her left hand on his right cheek and felt his tears even as her own continued to fall as she spoke; softly and slowly with soothing and comfort that seemed to brush away his fears as easily as her hand wiped away the tears that rolled off his cheek.
“Johanna told me everything, my dear Sergeant.” His eyes widened in fear, provoking a gentle squeeze of his left hand by her right as she said at last.
“Thank you for loving our Johanna, my dear Roberta.”
Shortly thereafter, downstairs in the living room….
Bobby sat on the couch across from Mieke, who was sitting in a large, comfortable arm chair; holding a cup of coffee with both hands. The temperature had dropped outside and she had drawn the heavy curtains of the bay window closed; almost ironic since Bobby felt like he wanted to shut out the world from their conversation.
Anneke sat on the couch next to him. Try as he might, he was unable to keep any separation from the young woman, who had sidled closer as she held a letter she had pulled from a packet of envelopes sitting on the maple coffee table in front of the couch. He turned away slightly and almost expected her to grab his chin to redirect his attention toward her. She spoke.
"I’m sorry I was so forward upstairs, Sergeant.” She smile nervously and put her head down slightly as her gaze fell upon the letter. She continued to speak without lifting her gaze.
“Johanna…. Joost wrote to me from almost the first day he arrived in Korea. But the letters got lost in transit and they arrived almost all at the same time. By the time they reached us the Army had already …..” She gasped and began to cry, but still continued to speak.
“Mama thought it would be good to read them all in order. We had no idea what he was going through….even though much of the first few months were a lot like how he was treated back home. The teasing and the cruel tricks…. The mean, evil things that were said by some of his ….they were supposed to…what’s the expression…. Have his back?” Bobby winced at her words; remembering his own horrible rite of passage that nearly coincided with Joey’s.
“He never once got angry. It was….” Mieke put her cup down on the saucer lying on the small table by the bay window.
“It wasn’t a retreat, but he found solace in remembering Johanna in his heart, and her words came through on the pages of each letter. More and more as the pressure grew for all of you. How horrible it was to read about the death and the loss day after day….For you and her to live it?” Mieke gasped. It was painful to remember, but even in that moment Bobby’s presence was a tangible comfort to them as they reminisced.
“She began to speak of someone she had met. At first it was just two G.I.s away from home and afraid. Not fearful, but just as worried as every other boy who wondered if their next breath would be their last.” Anneke said. She sighed at the thought, since she knew how things would progress through each succeeding letter.
“But the other boy was different as well. Almost like they should have been good friends from the beginning. And the more their friendship grew, the more they grew to trust each other.” Anneke said as she placed her hand on Bobby’s arm.
“I’m sorry if this is too personal, Sergeant, but you need to know just how much you did for Joost…for Johanna. I hope my words aren’t too muddled and confused,” she continued. By now all three names had become interchangeable. Joey…Joost… Johanna? They were all the same boy…the same being…. The same girl that Bobby had come to know in the brief month leading up to the boy’s death.
“It’s….it’s okay,” he managed to stammer even as the tears fell from his chin into his coffee. It had become entirely too personal; too personal not to talk about Johanna. Anneke squeezed his arm in reassurance.
“For her to open up to you in such a way? To feel safe enough to risk betrayal? I’m sorry that you….” Mieke sighed. Bobby nodded and spoke.
“T….toward the end, it was almost easy to be alone together. We spent so much time in the same foxholes….no matter what was going on….from one day to the next and from one hillside to the next?" He paused and blinked back tears.
"No one really wanted to be paired together with us. They didn’t know….they just didn’t like us all that much,” he stammered. Anneke turned away, wanting to comfort the young man and wanting to run from him at the same time. That attachment that had grown over months of reading her brother’s letters. For she had a secret as well.
“Johanna wrote one letter that seemed to be a hallmark of sorts….something that stood out among the last few letters we received. I have it here, Sergeant.” She didn’t bother to ask permission since everyone knew at that point in time that this one letter was meant for all of them to hear aloud; no matter how personal or painful or revealing it would be.
My Anneke…..I am in love. I am so afraid to tell…..Bobbie told me today just who she is. I am not surprised. Something from the first moment made me feel warm and whole and alive since I felt that I had someone beside you and Mama who finally understood me. Because she is just like me. I know it feels funny, since we sit in a hole in the ground up to our hips in snow and mud, but it might as well be us sitting in the living room back home sipping tea and talking about records and music and clothes.
“She doesn’t like boys. I was so happy to hear that, since I feel the same way. If I’m screwed up, I might as well go the whole route, right? Sorry. I don’t mean to tease.”
Anneke’s voice trailed off. Bobby turned around and faced her, noticing her cheeks had grown red and she was wiping the tears away with her hand. He wanted to grab her and hold her, but shame still had wedged itself between the two. She sighed deeply and continued.
It hurts to know that no matter how close we get as friends…. That no matter what fears and hurts and dreams and hopes we two share, we will never get to live our lives. I’m looking at her even as the horns have started blaring again, and all I want for her to do is to hold me. I could face a thousand deaths if I knew she loved me the way I love her. I know it’s silly. Two boys in dirty uniforms but that’s just how I feel. I’m halfway around the world trying to make things okay for people here when things will never be okay for me back home.”
Anneke gasped and sobbed at the last few words; not just for Johanna for the moments in her letter either.
“Go ahead, mijn lieve meisje.” Mieke said softly. Anneke nodded and began again.
Maybe in another time and another world, but I have no future. I would die a happy girl right now since I know I’m not alone, and even if she doesn’t share the same feelings, I finally have someone to love. I can only pray the same for you, but I fear we both will never be happy. I’m so sorry for the truth of that, but maybe someday you and I can both be happy? I have to end this. It has started to snow and the trumpets can stop at any time, and you already know what that means. I love you and Mama with all my heart. Give her a kiss for me and tell her ‘ hallo van uw dankbare dochter ; met veel liefde , Johanna’
Anneke had held it together until the salutation. Two grateful daughters; both born out of time, as the apostle once wrote. Out of place in a world that should know better after so long, but still leaving both girls without much hope. One sought and received comfort and solace if only for a little while. The other feeling hopeless still.
“If I may?” Mieke squeezed in between the two on the large couch and picked up one last letter.
”Dearest Anneke. I do not anticipate a future. Do not weep for me. If you read this, it means that Bobbie has found it and has sent it along. I miss you and Mama and one day we will be together, but for now, remember my love for you both.
And if somehow my dear Bobbie should find her way there to meet you, please greet her. I don’t imagine she will be ready to speak to you about herself. I do hope she will forgive me for breaching her very precious trust in me by my revelation. I had a chance to tell her about you, my sweet sister. I hope that she can find in you what she was unable to find in me.”
“I’m sorry, but she never got to finish this.” Mieke apologized as she turned to face Bobby.
“I found the letter already in an envelope. I couldn’t bring myself to read it, since I knew it was his…..her last communication to you.” He gasped and began to sob.
“She….I’m sorry, Bobby,” Anneke stammered. She stood up abruptly and ran upstairs. The bedroom door closed firmly; not a slam but nevertheless a sound that said please stay away.
“She’s in love with you even though you only just met. Each letter from Johanna was like a good friend telling her about a wonderful person. Not just sisters, but like girlfriends speaking in hushed whispers and giggles. But the more she wrote, the more it felt like she was giving up. Not giving up on herself or even life, but as if she wanted to give you to Anneke. I know it makes no sense at all, but we are who we are. You may be sitting her in my house wearing the uniform of a brave soldier, but underneath it all you are a girl. Can you deny that?” It wasn’t a question so much as a statement of fact.
“We promised each other we would meet after the war. I never thought it would be like this….” His voice trailed off as he wiped his face with his sleeve.
“I felt as if I would always have a home so long as she was alive. We …. We tried to be more than friends, but there was something. A check? A caution? I thought it was fear at first, but we were completely open with each other. Nothing would have prevented us….nothing. I am so sorry to shame your son’s memory like this. I should just go.” He tried very hard not to cry, but it was impossible at that point. He turned away and wept into the coarse fabric of the back of the couch.
“No shame, lieve kind. You honor my sweet Johanna with your friendship and the love you showed to her. She never felt bad about how things began to turn because in you she found a kindred spirit. A sister to cherish as much as our sweet Anneke.” Bobby winced without turning around. Something had happened in Korea to him as well. For every letter Johanna had shared with her sister, she had equally blessed Bobby with every letter from Anneke as well. If marriages and love are made in heaven, the crafting of those can sometimes come from afar.
“You knew about my daughter already?” Mieke’s gaze drifted toward the stairwell. Another statement rather than a question.
“Joey…Johanna shared everything with me. We tried to be lovers. But the more we shared the more we both became convinced that our paths might be parallel, but we weren’t meant to join. And the more we became convinced, the more she urged me to consider….I am so sorry, Mrs. Jacobsen. My life is wrong. I’m wrong. I wish for everyone’s sake that I was never born.”
“No,” a voice came from behind. Bobby sat up and turned to see Anneke at the foot of the stairs.
“It is for everyone’s sake that you were born, Bobbie LoBianco.” It was the first time since they had met that Anneke had uttered the name. Even in the semi-dark of the curtained living room…even as the young man sat on the couch garbed in the uniform of a hero, Bobbie LoBianco had come home.
“Mama? May show Bobbie my room?” She asked, her voice soft and respectful.
“It is your room to show, mijn lieve dochter. You may do as the Lord leads.” Mieke nodded and smiled. Anneke walked over to the couch and lifted Bobby to his feet. She grabbed his right hand in her left hand and slowly led him up the stairs.
Although you're many million dreams away
Each night I'll say a pray'r
A pray'r to guide you
To hasten every lonely hour
Of every lonely day
Sometime later….
“You are much prettier than you know, Bobbie LoBianco,” Anneke said. The figure sat on the bed, trembling. A dark brown fall was pinned carefully to supplement her own hair . The girl looked at Anneke; perhaps her first view through her own eyes, in a way. Anneke stepped closer and lifted the girl to her feet and kissed her. It felt wrong and it felt guilty and it felt shameful for the first second until a kiss came suddenly by Bobbie’s right ear, followed by a gentle urge with words.
“A friend of mine once told me we are who we are by the grace of God, my dear girl. I’ve waited for you all my life, and now I’ve found you and you’ve found me. I do not know what the future may hold for us, but for tonight, we’re just two friends getting to know each other, though I feel I know you already. Will you know me as well?”
Bobbie LoBianco smiled nervously; not the nervousness of shame or doubt or fear, but merely the nervousness of wanting to do everything just right for the girl she had loved for so long even if she had only met her the day before. Anneke pulled her close and kissed her again even as the music drifted up the stairwell from the living room below and filled the bedroom with bliss.
But the memories we share are there to borrow
Vaya con dios, my darling
Vaya con dios, my love
Bobbie LoBianco smiled nervously; not the nervousness of shame or doubt or fear, but merely the nervousness of wanting to do everything just right for the girl she had loved for so long even if she had only met her just before New Years a few months before. Anneke pulled her close and kissed her again even as the music drifted up the stairwell from the living room below and filled the bedroom with bliss.
Wherever thou lodgest, I will lodge.
Thy people will be my people my love,
Whither thou goest, I will go!
For as in that story, long ago,
The same sweet love story, now is so,
Thy people shall be my people my love,
April, 1954...
“Please, Bobbie?” Anneke pleaded as the young man stood at the bedside, throwing clothes into a duffel bag.
“I’m….” He put his head down even as his face grew red. The dilemma pulled at him painfully.
“Why, Bobbie?” Anneke put her hand on his shoulder. He winced and stepped around to the other side of the bed, pushing past her as softly as he could manage. How could he stay? What could he do that wasn’t shameful? No matter which choice he made, he felt as if he was betraying himself and in so doing, betraying Anneke.
“It….I have to go,” he sighed. He stared out the window to the street below. Nothing he did would be the right thing; only the lesser of two poor choices.
“They need me.” He breathed out a heavy sigh.
“Your brothers can help? Why does it have to be you? We….and you’re just getting started.” Anneke turned and stared at the open closet. In their case, a secret shared was a secret doubled in a way, since she had been helping her lover move past fear with an understanding just beginning to form out of news from other places with other, easier sensibilities. And of course, Anneke immediately questioned herself; feeling bad about trying to dissuade Bobby from helping his brothers with their mother.
He caught a glimpse of his reflection as he turned toward the doorway. The mirror over the dresser didn’t lie, but it might have fibbed a bit or maybe he was fibbing to himself. The man wasn’t big or strong or anything his family would expect upon his arrival. Even after only a few months with Anneke and her mother Mieke, the person he had always been emerged enough to at least blur lines and ideas and beliefs, and it was literally a shame that Bobbie was retreating to satisfy someone else even as she had begun to live.
“Bobby must do what Bobby must do, min datter,’ Mieke said softly from the doorway. She opened her arms and welcomed her erstwhile in-law into a farewell hug.
“Wherever you go, Kære we will be right here,” she said, patting the young man’s chest.
“And you here,” she pointed to her own heart. Anneke shuddered at the words the finality of her lover leaving perhaps forever. She burst into tears and pushed past Mieke and down the stairs, leaving Mieke and Bobbie staring at the doorway.
“I believe….We believe…. God zal met u gaan…. And will lead you in the way you should go. I know this is hard for you….maybe harder than before since you came out of your hiding and now you must return. But my Johanna believed in you as the one you have been the past few months….a blessing to my Anneke….and to me. And I will believe for your return. Not just here, but there as well.” She smiled and pointed to the closet door.
A short while later….
The taxi pulled away from the curb and moved slowly down the street. Mieke stood next to Anneke, rubbing her back softly as the girl leaned against the front doorway, sobbing.
“God zal een weg te maken….” She kissed Anneke’s cheek as the girl turned and buried her face in Mieke’s sleeve.
Tuckahoe, New York, several weeks later…
“You okay, Bob?” Tony put his hand on his brother’s back. As close to affection as the family got, since hugging wasn’t something boys did.
“Just….”
“I’m sorry,” Carmine said as he walked into the living room. He handed Bobby a mug of coffee.
“Wasn’t your fault,” Bobby said with a sigh. Both older brothers missed the horror of Korea. Carmine had already served in North Africa and had one good leg to show for it. Tony was stationed state side; serving as security for a munitions plant in New Jersey.
“I….” Tony turned away. The newness of Bobby’s arrival had already worn off and all three LoBianco boys were feeling the stress of the task at hand. Tony had been at home; taking a leave of absence from school. Carmine did what he could, but taking care of their mom had taken its toll on them both, and they needed a break now that Bobby had returned home. Splitting their mother's care was helpful, but who can bear up under the anticipation of grief that comes from a parent who is dying?
“Please don’t be angry at me?” Tony sighed in reply.
“We don’t get to tell our bosses where we want to go. You stayed here because they said so. I understand. Really.” He shrugged. Something was going on that was very apparent to Carmine and Tony.
“Sounds like you’re upset anyway, damn it. I’m trying as hard as I can.” Tony pled. Carmine nodded and Bobby half-smiled; leaving Tony confused.
It…it has nothing to do with you, Tony. Really. Just let it alone, okay?” Bobby said sharply before walking quickly down the hall to his mother’s room. Carmine turned to Tony and shrugged in confusion. Tony nodded slightly.
“We’re doing a really good job of dancing around the elephant in the room, Carm….” He looked down the hall and continued.
“I don’t know what the fuck to think about it, but I’m not about to lose my baby brother. He’s hurt…deep inside, Carm, and it didn’t start when he got to Korea. I don’t get it at all, but hell, you should understand above anyone else. At least when it comes to being over there. The shit he saw? The stuff he went through? And….” Tony’s voice trailed off as he looked down the hallway once again in his own confusion. Between what he was learning in school and what he read, the combat fatigue might be the least of Bobby’s worries, but what could he possibly do? The answer would be fortuitous if completely awkward and heart-rending.
Sunday afternoon, a few weeks later...
“Mommy? You up for some soup? Carm made some minestrone.” He put his hand on the low post of the footboard to steady himself. Patty smiled weakly and nodded.
“Bobby? Are you alright?” she asked. He stopped at the doorway. A long answer might help later and a short answer wouldn’t really do, so he lied.
“Yeah, mom. You mind if I eat lunch with you?” She smiled again with a bit more energy. He walked out and in a few minutes was back with a tray table with two bowls of minestrone. He put the table down to left as he sat down in the folding chair by her bed. Slow, tender efforts at feeding her had little success other than the connection it provided for them.
“Sorry….not too hungry,” she said with a half-frown. She was a proud woman who had worked every day of her life from the time she was little. Always about everyone else and what she could do; a housewife, a mother, even a nurse when the boys were old enough to care for themselves. Bobby turned and faked a cough to hide his tears; torn in two over her impending death and the death of his own soul now that he had returned to his life at home. Hislife.
“Bobby? You know you can’t fool me?” Her voice was weak but her tone was strong; conviction that shoved illness aside at least for the moment as the strong mother he always knew. He took one last stab at fibbing, but she rose up on her elbows and spoke.
“Come here!” She used her glance to point to the empty chair. He walked over and sat down.
“Mommy needs to know you’ll be okay, honey. Okay?” He shook his head slightly and she grabbed his wrist with more strength than he had seen since he came home. She squeezed and then patted his wrist before using her hand to pull his face closer; intimate and precious encouragement.
“We know why you’re sad, baby.” She sighed and he stifled a gasp at the word. He was sad. And he was heartbroken about her and how little time she had left. But they shared a secret that no one else could understand.
“I think…. Maybe I need time with Bobby, okay?” He winced and she patted his cheek softly.
“Carmine will be at work tomorrow and Tony is going to be in school, so we have all day, baby.”
“That….it’s gone, Mom. We can’t.” His heart was pounding and he began to cry.”
“No, Bobby. Not…yet. Please? If not for you then for me? I thought I had lost you. Both of you.”
“No, please?” He continued to cry; ashamed and scared even as his mother’s love began to gently pull away his defenses.
“For me, mi figlia?”
The next day…
The woman stood at the dresser looking at her reflection. She sighed in frustration until she heard a voice from behind.
“Honey, it’s okay. Just think Jean Arthur instead of Rita Hayworth. And I’ve always said that green becomes you.”
“I… I’m not a kid anymore, Mommy,” the woman said; her endearment almost contradicting her. But she was no longer a teen in Bobby Sox but a mature woman; handsome if not pretty in that way.
“No, but you still have so much of you to share. And now? Things are new and people are changing.”
“I can’t, Mom.”
“You may? Who knows, my baby?” Her endearment spoke to her child’s role in her heart. She patted the bed and Bobbi walked slowly toward her. She wore a simple green dress; full skirted with low heels. Clip on paste diamonds and a matching necklace and green pumps completed the look. She sat down and smoothed out her skirt nervously before bursting into tears as she fell into her mother’s arms.
“Mom?” A voice called from the hallway. Bobbi sat up and looked at the closed bedroom door in fear. Patty grabbed her son’s hand even as a soft knock came at the door followed by not one but two voices.
“Is it okay to come in, Mom?” Tony asked followed by Carmine.
“We ran that errand you wanted, Mom?”
“Yes, boys? Please?” Patty squeezed Bobby’s hands even as a look of horror crossed his face. The door opened softly as her sons walked into the bedroom. Bobby shuddered a bit as they approached the bed. Carmine held a bottle of wine and four stemmed goblets in his hand. Tony held a garment bag. He placed it at the foot of the bed.
“I don’t know what this all means, but Mom told us about your letters and how things were with you right after Dad died. How you and she…” Tony paused as his gaze darted back and forth between Bobby and their mother.
“I’m not happy with this at all,” Carmine interjected, evoking a gasp from Bobby.
“I….I still love you, kid. I just don’t understand.” His eyes plead for forgiveness. Bobby went to grab his hand but pulled back. Carmine leaned closer and took his hand anyway.
“I’m not happy because I don’t get it. But you get it, you know? And….you….”
“You’ll know this better than anyone. It’s all crazy, I know. And I hope I can ….” Tony interjected.
“No…no…” Bobby began to sob. He felt a hand squeeze his shoulder. Tony had zipped open the garment bag, revealing a dress. Navy blue with gold piping. Bobby gasped once again as Patty put her hand on his back.
“You always liked this one, honey. Tony took it to the cleaners to spruce it up.” Bobby turned around in disbelief; facing all three in turn as they smiled back at the baby in the family.
“And there’s a few packages we put in your room to go along with a few suitcases for your trip.”
“Trip?” Bobby wiped the tears from her chin with her hand.
“You’ve got a tour to make…. Not like Korea, you know, but just as important. Daddy left some money…a lot of money in fact.“ Carmine smiled.
“Short trip at first. There’s a doctor in the city you need to see. I did a bit of research and asked a few questions. And this….” Tony pulled a newspaper out of his jacket; the head line read ‘Ex-GI Becomes Blond Beauty.’
“You knew?” Bobby turned to his mother who shrugged and laughed softly.
“A mother always knows, baby.”
“We don’t have to figure this all out and we…Tony and me? We don’t have to understand. We just love you, kid,” Carmine said as his eyes filled with tears.
“For me?” Patty insisted once again with a wry smile. Of course it would be for her, but most of all it would be for the baby in the family. Her only daughter, so to speak. Bobby looked at them all in turn once again as they nodded in question. Bobby nodded back before falling back into Patty’s arms once again.
St. Joseph's Cemetery, Yonkers, New York, a few weeks later...
The well-wishers approached the family. Two men dressed in suits and one young man dressed in his uniform at his mother’s last request. A proud mother who raised children of character and caring. Tony patted Carmine on the back and motioned for them to move a few feet away.
Bobby stepped close to the grave and took off his cap and spoke.
“I’m… so happy we had some time before….” He hesitated. Looking over at his brothers, he took a deep breath.
“This isn’t good-bye, Mom. I’ll still be here…” He patted his chest.
“I love you so much. I’ll see you, okay?” Sgt. Robert LoBianco wiped his face with his jacket sleeve and walked back to his brothers. Carmine stepped close and did something he could have sworn only weeks before that he’d never do. He kissed Bobby on the cheek. Pulling back, he and Tony smiled as Tony spoke.
“Andare con Dio la nostra sorella,”
Jacobsen's Book Dealers, Staten Island, New York, 1957….
The tall woman walked into the back of the bookstore and into the storeroom. Two sets of eyes fell upon her and two smiles greeted her as well.
“Are you two finished with inventory?”
Anneke turned to Bobbi and nodded. Two spinsters who had gained an odd if quiet ‘notoriety’ in the neighborhood as maybe being ‘those' kind of girls. But in Staten Island in their neighborhood back then, it was pretty much live and let live. And so they did. She pulled Bobbi close to her and looked over her shoulder. Mieke turned and walked out of the storeroom, but not before she winked and smiled. She closed the door behind her as Anneke pulled her lover close. And Bobbi leaned closer and bestowed upon Anneke another one of many forbidden kisses that would span a lifetime.
Wherever thou lodgest, I will lodge.
Thy people will be my people my love,
Whither thou goest, I will go!
For as in that story, long ago,
The same sweet love story, now is so,
Thy people shall be my people my love
Whither Thou Goest
Words and music by
Guy Singer
As performed by
Les Paul and Mary Ford
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Wp9mMpBFHUc
Vaya Con Dios
words and music by
Larry Russell, Inez James,
and Buddy Pepper
as performed by
Les Paul and Mary Ford
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-dpDD0_7tj4
Suite from Band of Brothers
Composed by Michael Kamen
Comments
So much history
Vote!
Jill
Angela Rasch (Jill M I)
Sooo...
I do remember some of the vignettes but I must admit that 'The Brat' has a special place in my heart. I wonder why. Hmmm...
Just Anudda...
Brrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrat