“Yes, please, continue.”
Daniel takes a long moment to stare at me as if I might change my mind, but then returns his gaze to his notebook. “You must have been grateful for your education and competence in your nursing skills when the attack occurred. What would you say was the most helpful lesson you had learned prior to the chaos of that day?”
I can’t seem to stop myself from staring through Daniel, as if the answer to his question is somewhere behind him. “Oh my. If I knew what I was in for when I decided on a nursing career, I might have thought twice about my decision. I couldn’t handle a sick youngster; never mind the atrocities I would encounter.”
“A sick child is much different from—”
Daniel’s face becomes blurry as I recall a grown man crying out for his mother.
He was a grown man, per the US Navy, but he couldn’t have been over eighteen—still a child. He would not make it. I was sure. The explosion engulfed his body with flames, and yet he survived the explosive that hit his ship. “I need to say goodbye to my mother, please,” he cried.
“You will see your mother again,” I wrongfully promised, but I couldn’t bear to steal his hope when it was all he had left. His burns were too severe and covered his entire body. He was melting in front of my eyes.
“I love her so much,” the boy whimpered. “She was braver than me. I’m not very brave at all, am I, nurse?”
“You are very courageous, and you are just like your mother. I promise you she is proud of the man you have grown into,” I told him.
I’m not sure where the words came from, being a young girl myself without the experience of a mother, but it felt like the right thing to say as I watched the boy take his last breath.
“Not quite,” I respond to Daniel. “I knew I had a lot to learn before I could become a certified practicing nurse. There was no room for weakness, and that day was far from an exception.”
Daniel presses his pen down to his notepad and glances up at me. “Everyone is weak or faint of heartat some point. That’s what makes us all human, but time, knowledge and wisdom help us work around our inadequacies, I suppose.”
“To fall helpless at the sight of a sick child was not a moment I could sweep under the carpet, not then.”
“Well, how did you go about overcoming your weakness?” he asks.
“Watching a man take his last breath changes the way the world appears. The knowledge and feeling of being powerless enforces perseverance because there’s no other choice.”
5
July 1941
We approachthe front doors of the commissary, but Audrey hesitates. “I’m not sure I want to know what I look like at the moment,” she says, smoothing her hands down the sides of her hair. To be imperfect when walking into a store is what some ladies find to be a sin, but the both of us were in the trenches of an atrocious viral outbreak this morning.
To Audrey’s credit, her hair has slipped from its pins, and the moisture in the air has added an abundance of volume to her barrel waves but upon a closer look, I notice her creamy beige eyeshadow and mascara are a bit smudged, and the lipstick she reapplied several times today has faded to her natural pink pigment. I can only imagine the way I must appear. At least Audrey has dark hair and complementing lashes and eyebrows. The coloring of my features matches the strawberry blonde hue of my hair. I imagine I look sicker than I did an hour ago.
“Let’s cross our fingers we don’t run into anyone we know,” Audrey says, peeping around the outside of the store as if we’re doing something that could land us in hot water.
“Two paper bags might come in handy,” I tease.
Audrey places her finger beneath her chin, appearing to be thinking about my suggestion. “Well, it isn’t the worst idea,” she replies. “At least we still have time before the afternoon rush.”
The commissary is busiest at three unconventional times during the day. For the first two hours, the place fills up with ambitious women, who have a solid plan for the day.
Then, just after lunch, women with children in school try to finish the last of their errands before the kids come home.
The third group arrives just after completing their daily duties. These are the unmarried men who conduct their weekly shopping in increments without a pre-planned list.
Dad detests when I end up at the commissary around the last busy hour of the day. Of course, he’s aware of the unwritten fairy tales that take place at a grocery store—it’s said to be where every fairytale love story begins. I know Dad wants nothing more than for me to find a suitable husband to settle down with, but per his absurd request, the man of my unknown dreams shall not live on this military base.
His explanations have never been clear, why he opposes the idea of me falling in love with one of the qualified young men he works beside daily, but I haven’t argued the point with him since I am in no rush to settle down. Dad doesn’t understand my independent side yet. He feels that a girl my age should fret about their biological clock, but he doesn’t want me to feel that way about a man who might face a deployment at any unsuspecting minute. In any case, I’m not in the same hurry as the others. I don’t believe the world will run out of husbands any time in the future.
Audrey, however, doesn’t feel the same. She is sure there is a shortage of men, or at least decent ones, and she’s worried all the other women will sweep them up first. Audrey has been on the prowl for quite some time. I watch her wandering eye whenever we’re out, inspecting every potential bachelor with a romantic fantasy swirling around in her mind. More times than not, she finds something wrong with each eligible man she spends over five minutes with. If I’ve told her once, I’ve told her a thousand times to quit being so fussy, let loose, and have a little fun since we’re only twenty once in life, but my words go in one ear and out the other.
As we were hoping, the commissary is somewhat empty. The store clerks have realigned all the buggies and hand-held baskets to prepare for the next rush of customers. Audrey and I each take a basket and loop the metal handle around our arms.
“I can take care of your items. You shouldn’t be carrying so much weight around after upchucking your breakfast, Lizzie.”
