January 2, 1941.
The first day I ever saw him.
━━━IT WAS THE FIRST DAY BACK
at work since Christmas, and all around were scrambling nurses with syringes and saline, and men, lined up, awaiting their turn to get their hearing checked and their strength examined. Their shoes clicked against the linoleum floors of the hospital, as muffled love songs played over the intercom.
I was dressed head-to-toe in white; peep-toe heels and a red-cross nurse's hat. My long, blonde hair fell into curls at the bottom. My lips were red, my blue eyes doleful.
I was at station 1-- eye exams. They're terribly boring, if you want to know the truth. Barbara got to give typhoid vaccines, while I told awaiting pilots to 'read the bottom line'. Definitely not the most exciting, but today, nothing really was.
I twisted my golden bracelet around my wrist, admiring the way it sparkled under the fluorescent light. It was simple, but lovely. I smiled as I saw the name 'Rosie' engraved on the front. My grin soon faded as a melancholy sigh escaped my lips. The reason for my sadness was unknown to me at the time. Maybe I was overtired, or I had overdone it with the champagne on New Years. Or maybe it was just one of those days.
"Thank you," I tell the man handing me his medical chart. He was tall. His smile was nice.
"Now, cover your left eye and read the bottom line for me."
He did so, oddly fast, but I was too inattentive to care. And once he was finished, he flashed me another smile. He was proud of that smile he had. He was cocky, I'm sure. But cocky isn't such a terrible thing to be. People say it as an insult but it's admirable, in some cases.
Not his case, though.
I was tired, irritated; dreading the next six hours of a long workday. It was cold and drafty in the hospital, and the only place I wanted to be was home.
"Next," The impatience in my voice grew as I held my hand out for the next man to give me his medical chart. When he didn't, I looked up slowly, and my weary eyes turned lively in an instant. They dazzled the moment they met with his. 'If I Didn't Care' by The Ink Spots played softly over the loudspeakers. The song filled my ears as every other sound in the room became muted.
It felt as though the world had stopped spinning.
His gaze was taking. We both must've been pondering there for well over a few seconds, just getting lost in each other's eyes, but it felt as though time had stopped. It felt like I could look at him for an eternity and still, this feeling wouldn't go away. I forgot all my cares as my mind became consumed with only him. I didn't know what to feel. It was shock, a state of awe. It was love. I knew it then, and I know it now. It was love.
I broke eye contact, laughing a bit out of pure nervousness.
He laughed too, and I studied the rest of him with ease; tall, brown hair, smooth skin. He was beautiful.
"Hi.." I almost whispered. That was the only thing I could think to say.
He smiled at me, bowing his head, his hands clasped behind his back. "Hi." He pondered.
He handed me his chart, and I guess it's true what they say about losing your head when you're in love. I was getting all nervous, and I had forgotten why I was even there in the first place. It made me feel better that the gleam in his eyes told me he was feeling the same way. Completely absentminded. Everything was a blur.
Before I knew it, he finished his eye exam. I don't remember what I said, or how I said it. All I remember was him. I had gathered my thoughts by then, and he vanished before me.
I then realized I didn't know his name, and he didn't know mine. I was in love with him, I knew it that very second we locked eyes, and now he was only a stranger.
"Molly, rotate to station 3." A voice broke into my thoughts.
I nodded, gathering my things as I left the spot where our eyes locked, where I made a memory I'd never forget. I tip-toed to the next station, scanning the room and peering over shoulders, but I didn't see him. I let out a sigh, tossing my papers and my purse on the desk. Now I was the one giving vaccines, and I couldn't care less.
"So, we meet again."
I almost gasped as I looked up from my seat, my eyes wide with desperation.
A smile filled my view, but it wasn't his. It wasn't who I hoped it'd be. It was that cocky pilot's. I'd forgotten every manner that was taught to me since I was a little girl, and groaned as I slumped back into my seat.
"Drop your skivvies." I glared.
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"You know, you're really beautiful." He said.
He was bent over, his arms rested on the steel table, half exposed. An awkward moment for your Average Joe, but not for him. He hadn't an ounce of shame.
"Thank you." I half-smile, quickly glancing over his chart. Rafe McCauley, the name at the top read.
"You know, I think you'd be doin' this country a service if you let me take you out sometime." He said, all dreamy-eyed.
"Oh, is that so?" I said with faux cheerfulness. "And why's that?"
"Well, I'm a great pilot, you're a great nurse. I think we'd make a good-- Ow!" He shouted.
I poked him with the needle.
"Oops!" I tried to sound sincere, though it hardly worked.
"Why don't you let me take you flying sometime," He stood up, turning to me, his mouth forming yet another brash smirk.
"Look, Lover boy, it's been a long day so I'd appreciate it if you--"
"Well, fine." He held his hands up in defense. "Just wait, you'll be askin' around for me one of these days."
"Oh, I'm sure I will," I said sarcastically.
He was repulsing, I hoped I'd never have to see him again if you want to know the truth.
"Don't miss me too much." He turned for the exit.
My goodness, what a jerk he was! He was handsome, sure, but my mind will never fathom how someone could ever be so cocky. He was utterly revolting; I couldn't stand him.
"You are just full of hot air, aren't you?" I said, raising my eyebrows as I crossed my arms over my chest.
He stopped in his tracks, turning to me with a disgruntled look in his eyes.
"I am not." He scoffed.
"Oh, yes you are!" I almost laughed.
"Okay, Rich girl, let's play it that way." He said smugly, stepping toward me.
"Bring it."
"You're--" He studied me, his eyes moving up and down like a shot. "you're short."
"You're big." I raised my eyebrows.
"Oh, shut up."
"You shut up!"
"Alright, well, obviously I'm barkin' up the wrong tree here."
"You sure are." I scowled.
My eyes were brooding and I hardly knew why. I stood before him, glaring at him in such a way I would've never expected myself to.
I broke from my haze of anger and handed him his chart. He disappeared behind the curtain.
I sat at the desk, my palm resting over my forehead. I had a terrible headache. I shook my head, swearing under my breath until I remembered why I was so distressed.
Him, I thought.
I shot up from my seat, covertly slipping out behind the curtain, rushing to the desk posted front and center in the hospital. There sat a man, intensely concentrated as he tapped on his typewriter, his eyes bordered by black-rimmed reading glasses.
I cleared my throat as I posted myself in front of the desk, an overly friendly smile tugging at the corners of my mouth.
"You wouldn't happen to have a list of names of every pilot stationed on Long Island now, would you?" I batted my eyes, resting my arms on the desk.
"Ma'am, that is confidential information..." He started.
"Well, what about every pilot who came here today?"
"What exactly is your motive here, Ma'am?" He raised an eyebrow, pushing his glasses to the tip of his nose.
"Oh, nothing! Just... wondering." I smiled nervously.
"Unfortunately, I can't disclose any information to anyone without the proper authority." He sighed, getting back to his typing.
"My- daddy's Walter Swanson." I twirled my hair around my finger.
"Well, good for your daddy." He said with great sarcasm before looking back down.
Playing the 'My Daddy's a millionaire' card almost always worked! What was going on today?
"Sir, I--"
"Look, Ma'am," He held the palm of his hand up before me.
"Most of these pilots are gettin' shipped off to Pearl Harbor in a few weeks. If not, they're flyin' with the Eagle Squadron."
"Hawaii?" I took a step back.
"Mhm. But sooner or later we're gonna be in this war whether we like it or not. There's no telling where they'll be sent after that. "
I looked over my shoulder, my hands still posted on the desk.
"Thank you, Sir." I managed, sauntering away from the desk as my eyes focused on the moving figures around me.
Rotations of new men were coming in already, and I feared that he was through with all his medical checks and that I was too late. I'd made a plan in my head to search every station for him. I'd assumed he'd be at station 10 by now, so I'd start there and work my way--
"Molly!" Betty exclaimed, shattering my train of thought. She smiled at me sweetly as my eyes met hers. "They need you at station 3, Silly!"
Oh, sweet little Betty with her soft country accent. Betty was fit to turn eighteen that year. She was the cutest thing. She cared for everyone so deeply; something I've always admired about her. She wants the people she loves to be happy, that's all. She's a peach.
"Oh, yes... Of course!" I said, briskly smoothing any wrinkles on my uniform as I made my way over to her.
"So, who's the blonde?" She said in my ear, smiling giddily.
"Don't worry about it," I said to her over my shoulder with a smile, ambling back to my station.
I had lost my train of thought, feeling dizzy. The room was spinning and I felt as though I might lose my balance. Hundreds of men in t-shirts and scurrying nurses blurred. Finding him became impossible.
Six o'clock came before I knew it, and as my watch read 5:45, I jolted up from my seat, studying the nearly empty room that was once filled with hundreds of Navy men and Pilots. I scurried all the way to the front of the hospital frenetically, searching for the girl I knew remembered everyone's name. She had a talent for it, really.
"Sandra! There you are!" I stumbled into her arms, trying to catch my breath.
A shocked expression appeared on her face.
Sandra is the sweetest thing. She's very kind and quite naive. She reminds me of a little kid, the way she never really knows what's going on. But Sandra is stubborn, sturdy, and driven for no apparent reason other than the fact that she wants to be.
"Molly, what's going--"
"Look, have you seen a man? Tall, brown hair, the prettiest eyes you've ever seen? Does that ring any bells?"
"No, I'm sorry, but--"
"I've got to go! We're leaving in fifteen minutes!" I called behind me as I rushed to the other side of the hospital.
Barbara was gathering her things at her station just across the way. Her bright blonde curls fell in front of her eyes as she picked up a stack of papers, her purse dangling from her arm. I ran to her. She glanced up from her watch pensively, and her eyes met with mine.
"Hey, have you seen a man with brown hair and gorgeous eyes? Have you?!" I said.
"Probably twenty of 'em. Why?" She shrugged.
Barbara was the girl who never failed to make me laugh. I met her on the first day of ANC training. She was so warm and welcoming, someone who could cheer you up no matter what. Someone who was always there for you. Her favorite song was 'Rum and Coca-Cola' by The Andrew Sisters. Every time I heard it on the radio I'd think of her and her smile lined by a bold red lip.
"No, I mean gorgeous eyes. Like, pretty. Like when you look at him all you think is 'I'm going to marry this boy'. Well, did you?!"
She stared at me for a second. I couldn't figure out if the demand in my voice made her nervous or confused, but my eyes were brimmed with anguish.
"Maybe one... guy? Oh, I don't know, Molly, what's all this about? Are you alright, Honey?"
"What was his name?" I was all jittery. I felt lightheaded.
"Anthony, I think. He was kinda cute."
My face fell. Surely it wasn't him. Anthony was the one who called me 'sweetie' about three times in a thirty-second conversation.
"Thanks, Babs," I said anyway.
"Sure, Hon." She smiled at me, her thick, Boston accent emphasized on her 'sure'.
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The night was cool and bitter as I left the vast building. Reminiscences of a white Christmas lay cold on the cement steps leading down to the road. I looked up at the disappearing stars and sighed. Clouds formed over the once brightly lit sky, and aureate street lamps became the only thing illuminating the streets. I had finally admitted to the thought I tried to avoid since that afternoon: he was gone.
I knew for sure I had lost him forever, there was no telling where he might be shipped off to, or how I might ever begin to find him again. I didn't even know his name.
I drove home beneath the stars, and the car radio played 'I Don't Stand a Ghost of a Chance with You'. It began to rain as I sped down the empty roads. Hard, brumal rain, that pierced through the night sky and blurred my view of the road through the windshield.
I simply couldn't rid him from my mind. He was mine and yet I couldn't have him. I began to cry. I felt so foolish, so hopeless.
I tried to have hope; hope that I'd see him again. Hope that when I left the house the next day he'd be at my doorstep, with a bouquet of roses and a bottle of champagne. And he'd tell me his name and how he'd spent all night looking for me; how he loved me too. And we'd dance in the gazebo by the garden and sit on the stone bench beside the fountain and laugh because all of our worries were over.
But I knew better. I knew that dreaming was hopeless and that they seldom came true. I dreamt anyway; the way I always did. I felt stupid for loving him because I hardly knew him. The only thing I knew was that I loved him. I had done nothing but meet his gaze, and yet I felt his love for me too.
The rain was just beginning to stop as I parked my white Aston Martin on the pathway of my childhood home. I sat there for a minute, staring blankly at the steering wheel. A million thoughts were blaring in my head all at once. My thoughts felt all the more loud in the silence of the evening.
I felt my lip tremble as I shut the car door, but I shook my head, walking assuredly to the house. My heels clicked against the grand stone steps, Sadness growing behind my synthetic smile. Faking was no use.
My shaking hand struggled briefly to unlock the front door, as I exhaled a quivering sigh. The dark, wooden double doors stood at twelve feet tall. They creaked as I pushed them forward.
"Marybeth!" I called out, slipping my shoes off. "I'm home."
I looked down at the floor as she appeared in the foyer.
"Miss Molly! How was your day?" She greeted me cheerfully, taking my coat.
My heels dangled from my fingertips as I stood in the doorway, dreading my truthful response. Today was the happiest I had ever been, but at this moment, I had never felt more despair.
"Wonderful," I said, finding a pseudo-smile.
"I'll start a pot of tea for you, Dear."
"Oh, please don't. I'm going to head upstairs, I'm awfully tired."
"Alright. Would you like me to draw you a bath?"
"No, thank you," I said. "Goodnight, Marybeth."
"Goodnight, Honey."
I dragged my feet up the long marble staircase. The ceilings were high, and every inch of my childhood home was grand and opulent. I felt smaller than ever, in this big house. Such a house can make you feel insignificant, at times. Lonely. Like this house wasn't really a home. I meant what I said, about being tired, but I knew that even if I went to lie down I couldn't have slept. So, I did the only thing I could think to do. Talk to the moon.
I opened the glass French doors to the balcony in my bedroom, letting the cold January breeze hit me like a lead. It was no longer raining, but the railings were still damp from the downpour. The pale moon hung tranquilly in the night sky; the only piece of stability I had seen all day. I closed my eyes, exhaling every gain, and every loss from the most thrilling and most dismal day of my life.
I told the moon about the boy I met, the boy I lost, and the boy I fell in love with. Him.
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'If I Didn't Care' - The Ink Spots, 1939