08 September 2009

"its time" he said.

We left the apartment. Thanksgiving morning 1945 was cold and bright. Far too bright for two people who'd been up all night. We squinted all the way to Sheridan Square station. The train to Brooklyn was deserted. As we barreled through Lower Manhattan, we remained silent, clinging on to each other tightly. As we crossed under the east River, I said, ' I don't have your address.'

jack pulled out two matchbooks from his pocket. He handed one to me. Then dug out a pencil stub from the breast pocket of his uniform. Licking it, he opened his book of matches and scribbled a Us army postal address in the inside cover. He gave me the matches. I clutched them in one hand, then relieved him of the pencil and scribbled my address on the inside flap of my matchbook. when I handed it back to him, he instantly put it into his shirt pocket, buttoning the flap for safe keeping.

'Don't you dare lose that book of matches', I said.
'they have just become my most prized possession. And you'll write me too?.'
'constantly.'

The train continued its headlong plunge under the river and through subterranean Brooklyn. When it jerked to a halt at borough Hall, Jack said, 'We're here.'

We climbed back up into the Thanksgiving light, emerging right near a dockyards. It was a grim industrial landscape, with half-a-dozen naval frigates and troop ships berthed in a series of docks. they were all painted battleship grey. We were not the only couple approaching the gates of the Navy Yards. there must have been six or seven others, embracing against a lamp post, or whispering final declarations of love to each others, or just looking at each other.

'looks like we've got company,' I said.
'That's the problem with army life,' he said. 'there;s never any privacy.'

We stopped walking. i turned him towards me.
'lets get this over and done with, jack.'
'you sound like Barbara Stanwyck- the original though dame.'
'i think it's called - in war movie parlance- "trying to be brave".'

'there's no easy way to do this, is there?'
'no, there isn't. so kiss me. and tell me you love me.'
He kissed me. he told me he loved me. I whispered the same thing back to him. 'then I yanked him by the lapels.

'one last thing,' i said. "don't you dare break my heart, Malone'

I released him.
'now go get on that ship,' i said.
'Aye-aye, sir.'

he turned and walked to the gates. I stood on the sidewalk, frozen to the spot, forcing myself to remain stoic, controlled, sensible. the guard at the gates swung them open. Jack spun around and he shouted to me, "September first."

I bit down hard on my lip and shouted back: 'Yes, September first.... without fail.'

He snapped to attention and executed a crisp salute. i managed a smile. then he turned and marched in the Yards.

For a moment or two I couldn't move . I simply stared ahead, until jack vanished from view. i felt as if U was in free fall- as if I had just walked into an empty elevator shaft.

eventually, i forced myself back to the subway satin, down the stairs, and on to a Manhattan- bound train.

I kept myself in check all the way back to Bedford street. As soon as my apartment door closed behind me, I fell on the bed and let go.

I wept and wept. and wept some more all the time thinking: you are a fool.