Elise
Demigod
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I had grown accustomed to loud noises. The war had done its due diligence, providing no shortage of sounds that would come to haunt me in my sleep for years to come. I can't recall the exact moment in time when I finally stopped flinching every time a naval gun was shot, sending a violent vibration through the entire ship, or when I anticipated the next shot to be aimed at our ship. I would like to think that I finally stopped being affected by the sounds of wounded comrades, but all I could do was minimize my reactions to a wince, feeling that it was unfair that I had yet to suffer. Oh, but I always thanked God that I was still alive and walking. It was no small miracle.
Given all of that experience, I wasn't prepared for nearly jumping out of my skin as the doors to the bar slammed open, the sound of raucous cheering and shouting flooding inside off the streets. The fervor of which the man had rushed in left me half-expecting to see bad news written all over his face, but of course, that wouldn't have made sense given the lively reactions occurring behind him. I already knew what he was going to say, but I still found myself on the edge of my barstool, ready to reach out and snatch the news from his throat.
"The Japs surrendered!"
It didn't take long for the patrons of the bar to jump out of their seats, spilling their drinks in their haste to rush outside and join in the celebration that was growing by the minute. I wasn't far behind, as the bartender had waved me off and insisted that he was covering the tab. Normally, I would have argued otherwise, but the outside world was like a magnet, pulling me with a desperation I couldn't ignore.
The air was electric, buzzing with the excitement that only the end of the war could bring. I hadn't stepped outside for more than a minute, and already I was being slapped on the back and congratulated, or being thanked for my service. But, in that moment, I couldn't have felt further from a sailor. I was an American, simply proud of his country and overcome with the relief that there would be no more battles. I was grateful for the opportunity to serve, but I was even more grateful that I was alive to see the end. Before I knew it, I was shouting with the rest of them, my own excitement joining the thick buzz in the square. I was congratulating other sailors, I was shaking hands, and I just felt so damn free.
Then, I saw her. It wasn't just the noises that haunted me and refused to let me forget. It was the images of our injured, and the desperation with which I'd seen the nurses aiding them. The war wasn't just hard on those who were fighting in the war. The nurses were fighting their own battle, and it was against death itself. They were fierce and unrelenting, unwilling to let the soldiers' lives slip out of their hands. They put those men above themselves. As far as I was concerned, they were angels. They deserved far more recognition than they got. They were the glue that held the troops together.
Maybe it was that line of thinking, or maybe it was simply just the spirits I'd let myself engage in too freely back at the bar, but I couldn't help myself. Before I realized what I was doing, I had her wrapped up in my arms, as if she would disappear and slip from my reach if I didn't hold her tightly enough. I was at the mercy of whatever emotion had been brought on by seeing her white uniform, and my lips were on hers in a motion that could only be described as fervent. The sounds of the celebration drowned into the background, and everything felt right with the world.
I did apologize, given my brief lapse of judgement, and I went so far as to further explain my outlandish behavior. She breathlessly informed me that she was merely a dental assistant, and then she smiled, which she had no obligation to do. All was still right with the world.
Given all of that experience, I wasn't prepared for nearly jumping out of my skin as the doors to the bar slammed open, the sound of raucous cheering and shouting flooding inside off the streets. The fervor of which the man had rushed in left me half-expecting to see bad news written all over his face, but of course, that wouldn't have made sense given the lively reactions occurring behind him. I already knew what he was going to say, but I still found myself on the edge of my barstool, ready to reach out and snatch the news from his throat.
"The Japs surrendered!"
It didn't take long for the patrons of the bar to jump out of their seats, spilling their drinks in their haste to rush outside and join in the celebration that was growing by the minute. I wasn't far behind, as the bartender had waved me off and insisted that he was covering the tab. Normally, I would have argued otherwise, but the outside world was like a magnet, pulling me with a desperation I couldn't ignore.
The air was electric, buzzing with the excitement that only the end of the war could bring. I hadn't stepped outside for more than a minute, and already I was being slapped on the back and congratulated, or being thanked for my service. But, in that moment, I couldn't have felt further from a sailor. I was an American, simply proud of his country and overcome with the relief that there would be no more battles. I was grateful for the opportunity to serve, but I was even more grateful that I was alive to see the end. Before I knew it, I was shouting with the rest of them, my own excitement joining the thick buzz in the square. I was congratulating other sailors, I was shaking hands, and I just felt so damn free.
Then, I saw her. It wasn't just the noises that haunted me and refused to let me forget. It was the images of our injured, and the desperation with which I'd seen the nurses aiding them. The war wasn't just hard on those who were fighting in the war. The nurses were fighting their own battle, and it was against death itself. They were fierce and unrelenting, unwilling to let the soldiers' lives slip out of their hands. They put those men above themselves. As far as I was concerned, they were angels. They deserved far more recognition than they got. They were the glue that held the troops together.
Maybe it was that line of thinking, or maybe it was simply just the spirits I'd let myself engage in too freely back at the bar, but I couldn't help myself. Before I realized what I was doing, I had her wrapped up in my arms, as if she would disappear and slip from my reach if I didn't hold her tightly enough. I was at the mercy of whatever emotion had been brought on by seeing her white uniform, and my lips were on hers in a motion that could only be described as fervent. The sounds of the celebration drowned into the background, and everything felt right with the world.
I did apologize, given my brief lapse of judgement, and I went so far as to further explain my outlandish behavior. She breathlessly informed me that she was merely a dental assistant, and then she smiled, which she had no obligation to do. All was still right with the world.
