I stood outside the crumbled church and looked at the yellow telegram. The moment I received it replayed through my mind, and each moment was killing me. That moment missed him by a second, and I had nowhere else to go but here. My fiance Johny could be gone forever, and I felt like floating a way too. And so, I stood outside a dilapidated church as a nurse outside of Amsterdam, and I hope this wretched Second World War ends before a life that belongs to me does. A few moans and scuffling off feat echoed through the corridor, but I didn’t think anything of it.
“Peggy, get over here and stop daydreaming. You're not in the States any more.”, Sister Jean barked at me. She was a tall and fat nun who was at least sixty and a trained nurse, a good one too. Sister Jean never liked anyone here, and was always yelling at us for looking starry-eyed. But inside, I knew there was still a child inside; she told us her hair was grey, but every hot summer evening strands of red peep through her habit. Everytime she saw me smirking at them she would snap at me and tell me “stop foolin’ around girl and help this poor soldier.”
And that’s what I did. It is what I would do today and perhaps my life would never leave amputated legs or bleeding sides. I broke the horrible memory and quickly walked down the hallway. The old church bled dust and crumbled concrete. One whole side was fallen on its knees, and served as a good way to cool us now, but winter would be unbearable. The pews were stacked in a small room, at least the ones that weren’t being used by injured soldiers. I continued to walk towards Sister Jean and a short girl with black hair beside her. I looked down to see a young man in a murky uniform gasping for a breath. His eyes rolled to the ceiling and watched it, holding tightly to a rosary cascading out of his pocket.
“His main artery in his leg: it was shot. I’ll need those towels and some morphine. Go Louise.” Sister motioned the short young woman towards the wall, but the girl stood, biting her nails. Sister yapped again, “Well don’t just stand there gaping, move girl!” Suddenly, short little Louise hastened to the west wall to grab the items. Louise Pratt was from Manhattan, and never really talked much. She bit her nails constantly and yanks at her hair whenever she sees blood, which is every moment. Whenever she smiled though, there was some kind of hope that I could only find in her. Smiling is contagious, but so is the flu and wounds, and so smiling around here gets killed off quickly.
“Louise, would you like me to care for this soldier, I don’t mind if-”, I was abruptly stopped by Louise waving her hand down, signaling she could endure the blood. A year had passed, and she still was haunted by her husband’s death, although Louise always tried to hide it. It’s hard, though, when we both have to care for the ghosts of his death. Louise then etched out a sideways smile, just to give me assurance.
I stopped and stretched my back and felt the hot summer breeze flood through the broken stain-glass window. Suddenly, the ground shook, and my feet collapsed to the tile floor. An explosion rumbled through the empty halls. The cloudless sky became murky, and dust surrounded my body. Shrieks crept through the thick, dirty fog and I could hear faint commands being issued from Sister Jean. I stood up, but my body felt weak and I stumbled back down. My ears rang and my hands shook from the shock.
My head pounded as Sister Jean’s voice yelped again: “Peggy Weber, get out here! Oh, where the devil are you? We need to move some of these men away from the smoke!” I was suprised her lungs could even get that out; mine were full of dust and I wheezed up a reply. Things became a little clearer, but I still had lost my sense of direction after the fall. As I staggered towards the trail of Sister Jean’s voice, I hear a faint moan. My hands reached and touched rouch clothing, caked in debri and dust. Only one part of the soldier was damp; his whole arm was oozing life and I had to get him into clearer air. His face was covered in dirt and blood, but I didn’t try to recognize him. There was no time. I propped his shoulder over mine and together, we both slowly stumbled towards the misty light of the crumbled wall. Finally, I could see day and Sister Jean and other nurses rushing about cleaning the dirt from bloody injuries. With the bandana it my hair, I dunk it in a water bucket a nurse carried around. As I began to wipe away the dust on the soldier’s face, his eyes fluttered open. They were olive green, and sparkled through all the destruction. One tear fell down his cheek cleaning a streak of his face as he winced from the stinging salt. I gasped and descended to the dry grass.
“Peggy, It’s me”, he gasped in one, tireless breath. Johnny sat slumped against a piece of rock, his body broken, but his smile was indestructible.
“Johnny, I can’t believe...I..”, my words fell into a complete halt, and my eyes were swallowed with water. Suddenly, Johnny heaved himself forward and hugged me tighter than he ever has. Tears washed our faces from the dirt and his blood stained my clothes, but I didn’t seem to mind. We both sat there for minutes, under the evening sun and passing war planes. Everything felt complete, and those memories of the loneliness seemed to be only a build up to a wonderful finale.