I’m unsure if this woman is speaking to herself or me, but I offer the common courtesy of peering over.
“Is everything all right?” I ask.
“My plane arrived late, and I don’t know if there’s another bus leaving Boston for Ayer today.”
“I had the same concern,” I explain.
“Evidently Ayer is such a small little town that there aren’t many people looking to catch a ride there. I don’t think there’s much to do in the area. At least that’s what I’ve heard. Are you visiting someone or going home? Gosh, where are my manners. I’m Betsy Belson. I know. What were my parents thinking? Well, they weren’t, and twenty-two years later I am still dealing with the repercussion of my given name. I just ask people to call me BB. It’s much easier and less mortifying. How about you? What’s your name?”
It’s hard to believe I have met someone who speaks more words in a minute than I do. It must be a miracle. However, now I know what everyone else must feel like when listening to me. Maybe I don’t sound as wound up, though. I slip my glove off my right hand to offer a handshake. “I’m Elizabeth Salzberg, Lizzie, and I’m from Hawaii reporting to Fort Devens for nursing duties.”
“Hawaii, huh? Well, that sure explains the beautiful tan against a blonde head of hair,” Betsy says, shaking my hand. “You must have been traveling for days at this point. I’ve heard the flight from the East coast to Hawaii is brutally long.” Betsy takes a breath but only for what seems like half of a second. “I’m also reporting to nursing duties at Fort Devens. But I haven’t come from as far away as you have. I’m from Cleveland in Ohio, so the travel hasn’t been too bad.” I’m becoming dizzy listening to her speak so fast as I try to keep up with every word. Even her dark curls bounce against the tops of her shoulders along with each word. She pulls out a tube of lipstick from her purse and applies the red pigment without a compact or a breath in her conversation.
“It’s nice to meet someone else reporting to Fort Devens,” I offer. It is. I was worried everyone might already know one another, and it would feel like the first day at a new school. I was lucky to avoid moving around like most military children do, but there were changes here and there and times I had to be the new girl. It was never my favorite feeling.
“No kidding, I hate being the new girl in town, you know?” Betsy has a sharp edge to her attitude and demeanor, but I suppose it could be a welcoming change from the uptight lifestyle I’m coming from. She also seems better prepared than I am. Her tweed wool coat is much thicker than mine and her stockings look as though they keep the chill off her skin. She’s wearing loafers and Bobby socks, and I’m in heels. She’s better prepared for the frigid northeast winter than I am.
“Wait a minute. You said you are from Hawaii. Were you there when the attack on Pearl Harbor happened?”
No one has asked me a question about that day at Pearl. In Oahu, we were all there and had unique experiences but there was never a need to hear other points of view. It’s too painful to recall the details and nothing anyone wanted to hear when it felt like we were still living the aftermath day after day. “I was there for the attack. It was dreadful.”
“Oh my gosh, I can’t even imagine. It’s just unimaginable. I probably shouldn’t have mentioned the reminder.”
I wave her words off with a flick of my wrist. “Oh, please, don’t be silly. I’m perfectly fine.”
Betsy places her hand over her chest, still seemingly affected by my statement, but she continues with the questions anyway. “Do you still have family in Hawaii?”
“My father and brothers are in the Navy and have been stationed in Oahu most of my life.”
“Ah, you’re a military brat. You must already know what you’re in for then, huh?” Maybe the look in my eyes in response to her question has stopped her from furthering her interrogation of me, or maybe she isn’t sure what to ask, but it’s clear the subject is changing, appreciatively so.
I slip my glove back on my hand and clasp my fingers together, resting them on my lap. “I have an idea, yes. What about you? Are any of your family members enlisted?”
“Heck no, my mother is an alcoholic and my father is a used car salesman. We’ve lived in a trailer for the last five years and this was an opportunity for me to get out of Cleveland. I figure nothing can be much worse than being almost twenty-two and living in a dump with my parents.” Betsy pulls a cigarette case and a matchbook out of her coat pocket. The metal clicks as it opens, and she holds the full display out to me.
“No, thank you.”
She retrieves a cigarette and lights a match. With the red cherry illuminating the curve of her hand she waves the match out and relaxes back into her seat. “I heard the men at Fort Devens are quite fond of the nurses on base. At least that’s something to think about, right?”
“Oh, no, not for me—I have a boyfriend back home, Everett. In fact, he’s also enlisted in the Army. He’s a pilot.” My heart thuds at the mention of his name. I didn’t expect to feel pain from being away so soon. I’ve barely had a chance to miss him, but I do. No one has ever snuck into my life so deeply before. This is what I get for letting my guard down with Everett and inviting him into my heart, but I’d rather endure this relentless ache in my chest than to have never known what true love feels like.
“Oh, honey, you can’t be serious about a boyfriend across the country. How is that going to work out? Are you two planning on being pen pals or something?”
“We’ll do what it takes, I suppose.”
“If you want my advice, which you probably don’t since I see the lovesick look in your eyes after just a couple days, but I would end it now before it gets too tough. Hey, if you two are meant to be, you’ll find each other again someday, right? Plus, with the selection of so many lonely soldiers on base looking for some companionship of the female persuasion, what else are we going to do in our spare time?” Betsy winks and nudges me in the shoulder while blowing out a mouthful of smoke.
I’m not sure how she sees our future turning out, but I doubt we will have much free time, if any at all. However, I know better than to offer my two cents on a subject like this. “I guess we’ll just have to wait and see,” I respond.
“Do you have a photograph of him? You can’t leave a girl hanging. Any man worth waiting for must have something no other guy has.”
I debate pulling the photograph out of my breast pocket. Most women know of Everett Anderson. The likelihood of being his girlfriend is so slim she would likely call my story a bluff.
“Oh, it’s packed away in my suitcase.” If I were to see Everett’s face right at this moment, I might break down into a blubbering mess. He wrote me a note on the back side of the photograph and told me not to read the words until I hit rock bottom and need to hear them. I would expect a thunder of laughter from Everett if he knew I couldn’t make it off the bus before needing to read his words. Although, for all I know, he may have already read what I wrote to him on the back of my photograph.
The only benefit of listening to Betsy ramble for over an hour is the fact that it made the ride feel shorter than it would have. We pull up to a bus station where I spot two soldiers in uniform waiting stiff as boards with their hands clasped behind their backs. “I wonder how many of us are on this bus?” Betsy mutters as she spots the men too.
As I descend the steps of the bus, I detest that one soldier looks staggeringly like Everett. It must be my imagination, but the sight of him only makes my chest hurt more.
