Oh to be here.
The house silent but for the occasional scrape as the branches from the tree by the living room window brush up against the house. Another mug of a tea and a wait.
Baby due back on the funny milk train by dawn. Date with one of the soldiers and a meet up under the clock in front of the Plaza. Dinner somewhere, a show and the night danced away near Broadway. A little much but the boy off for Boston and a convoy setting out for England to fight in the war.
But fun. Might as well have some fun out of it. Entire counties with no one for girls to date and Manhattan at least with some. Boston swarming it must be but almost as good.
Different back then at least sort of. Men gone in that war too but not going on as long except for in the newspapers that Father read at breakfast every morning. Headlines that were bad but enough boys around anyway at least sort of.
But not before. No, high school and three or four beaux. Boys to play tennis with and boys to sit in the balcony at the movies with and make Mother mad.
But a special one. Gotten in one of those trenches just before the Germans gave up but not forgotten. No. Handsome and nice and would have been worth waiting until the entire galaxy turned to paper, not just the moon.
But a memory and that to keep. . . .Saturday in a canoe with mother’s old parasol and up and down the river. . . .if only . . . a few hours but forever in one’s heart . . . safe there it is . . . .too bad he couldn’t stay there and never get hurt . . .
