Chapter 5: …and how much I missed him.
At last I had an address — a means to let him know I was thinking about him — and how much I missed him. Until now, I hadn’t realized it was possible for anyone to miss another human being as much as I missed him. Life had become a series of long, endless days — and worse yet — long endless nights. Even though sleep didn’t come easy, it was the end of another day — and I could cross each one of them off the calendar.
With Bob leaving so suddenly and being stationed so far away, major adjustments had to be made to what had been usual routines in my life. I had become addicted to him and was experiencing symptoms of withdrawal. Gone were the kisses and the embraces, the laughing at stupid jokes or the events of the day. No more holding hands in the movies or watching glorious sunsets down at the river. No more….anything.
Since the Red Cross was looking for volunteers to roll bandages — I began to stop in for an hour or two on my way home from work to do something for the war effort. Not only was I being useful, but I found the experience to be therapeutic. Everyone there had friends and relatives in the service and was experiencing the same loneliness and despair. The camaraderie lifted our morale as we became more and more a single unit with a profound purpose, rather than a group of individuals. We had a common goal. The caring and sharing provided us with some level of the comfort and security that we all hungered for throughout the war.
Many of the girls got together on Saturday or Sunday nights and danced with the servicemen at the USO canteens. It was great fun meeting so many people from so many different states and knowing that they enjoyed meeting you as well. And, like Cinderella, we had a curfew. The last bus back to town left at midnight.
As a rule, the buses were packed. This one night in particular, the bus filled earlier than usual and the driver closed the doors and was about to pull out when a soldier came running toward the bus. He was out of breath and began knocking on the door.
“Sir, I have to get on this bus or I’ll miss the truck back to camp,” he begged.
“Sorry soldier, I can’t let you ride unless you have a seat and, as you can see, I’m all filled up.”
“I can stand or sit on the steps — I just have to get back to town or I’ll be AWOL,” the soldier pleaded.
“Sorry soldier. If I don’t follow the safety rules I’ll get into trouble….maybe lose my job.”
“He can sit on my lap,” I volunteered.
Everyone on the bus cheered.
He was a good-looking soldier with a southWestern drawl. He looked surprised as he laughingly addressed me: “Thank ya’ kindly, little lady. I’ll make a deal with you. I’ll take your seat and you sit on my lap, that is, if the driver has no objections to that arrangement.” — I sat on his lap all the way to town.
The soldier was grateful for the ride and offered to buy me dinner some evening — but I never expected to hear from J.B. Bruce again.
Charter 6 starts tomorrow…
