On the Line (Memorial Day) -- PG-13
Posted: Mon May 27, 2013 5:04 am
A trifle for Memorial Day....and for all the brave souls who put their lives--
On the Line
“Hey, Mick, you got another cig?” Ray asked.
Mick frowned as he handed it over. “It’s my last one. And we’re going to be here in line for hours.”
Ray pulled out his lighter, a shiny silver Zippo, and lit the cigarette deftly, taking a long first drag. “I owe you, buddy,” he replied through a cloud of fragrant smoke.
“Yeah, I’ve heard that one before.” Mick laughed and nudged his friend’s shoulder. Despite the pre-dawn gloom, he could see Ray well enough. Nice thing about city streets. Even at 5:30 a.m., it wasn’t really dark out here. Streetlights illuminated the row of palm trees lining the downtown avenue, sending their graceful shadows in long bars across the pavement, and the long line of men that had been waiting patiently for some hours.
“Man, I could use some breakfast right about now,” Ray commented.
“Everytime I see you these days, you’re talking about food. Doesn’t Lilah keep you fed?” Mick asked. They’d already talked about everything under the sun, waiting in this line. He dug his hands deeper into the pockets of his jacket, against the early morning chill. Just because it was southern California, didn’t mean that a December night couldn’t get cold. Earlier, they’d split a pint of bourbon, which had taken off the worst of the chill, but the liquor, and the euphoria, were long gone now.
“Lilah keeps me just fine,” Ray answered with a salacious waggle of his eyebrows. “Couldn’t ask for a better wife.”
“And which of us is going to be in more trouble for this, you think? Me telling my mother, or you telling your wife?” Mick wasn’t looking forward to that part. Not at all.
Ray took another drag on his cigarette, as though considering the problem. “I’d say it works out about even. If we get a chance to go tell them, that is.”
Mick looked up and down the block. There had to be hundreds of men, like them, waiting to enlist. After yesterday’s news of the attack on Pearl Harbor, what else would any patriotic man do? He’d be willing to bet that there were similar scenes at every recruiting office in the country. “I’ll bet we have a few days. They can’t handle this many recruits all at once.”
Ray nodded. “Good point.” He dropped the butt of the cigarette and ground it out with his heel. “What time is it?”
“About ten minutes later than the last time you asked me.” He slid the cuff of the jacket back a little, and peered at his watch. It was an old one, a gift from his Uncle Mike, and the luminous numerals on the face had dimmed considerably over the years. “Looks like about 6:15.”
“And the office opens at what, eight?” Ray tapped his foot, impatient. Around them, some men had given up and sat down, backs against the brick wall of the building behind them. In fact, just a few feet away, a fellow had balanced his hat over his face, and was snoring peacefully.
“Uncle Mike always told me, the Army is all about ‘hurry up and wait,’ “ Mick said. “Guess we’re getting a head start on that.”
Ray snorted in rueful agreement. “Guess so.”
Somehow, when they’d sneaked away last night, catching the last bus downtown, it had seemed like the start of a glorious adventure. Now, the longer they waited, the more Mick thought about the chance that he might be going to his death. Or causing the deaths of others.
He had no qualms about facing down an enemy soldier, he thought. Especially the bastards that had attacked his unsuspecting country. But he’d seen enough movies, and read enough books, about the last war, to know that it wasn’t always so simple an equation. And it had occurred to him, there was no guarantee he and Ray would end up in the same outfit. Or even on the same continent.
Sure, they both planned to volunteer for the Army Air Corps, with dreams of being pilots, but Mick was realistic enough to know that once you raised your hand and swore that oath, your personal preferences were out of the mix. He supposed they’d do whatever they were told, and hope for the best.
He wondered, briefly, what it would be like to flip the collar of his jacket up to hide his features, and furtively drop out of line. To walk away from the whole thing.
He wouldn’t, of course. No more than any of these other men would. Besides, what could he possibly tell Lilah? “I let my best friend enlist without me, because when it came down to it, I was chicken”? Yeah, like he’d let that happen. He recalled a bit of schoolboy Latin he’d studied in high school. “Dulce et decorum est, pro patria mori.” At this stage, he sort of doubted that dying for his country would be sweet, but, he reflected, it surely was his duty. And he guessed that was what he’d tell his mother.
He spent some time lost in thought, wishing he had a cigarette. The day was coming, the sky gradually shifting color from black to gray as the sun rose over a horizon he couldn’t see, there among the buildings of the city.
“Hey, looks like they’re opening the office early,” Ray said suddenly, breaking into Mick’s reverie. He turned and looked Mick straight in the eye. “Before we—before we get signed up, I just wanted to say—aw, hell, Mick. Friends forever, right?”
Mick nodded, smiling. Ray was the best. Always. “Friends forever.”
Ray put out his hand, and when Mick took it, Ray passed him his prized Zippo lighter. “For luck,” he said. “Although you’ve always been lucky.”
“You don’t have to do that, buddy.”
“I want to.”
“Then, thanks.” Mick looked down at the lighter. It had been a graduation present from Ray’s father, and Mick had always admired it. He put it in his pocket.
The line started to move, and Ray moved forward with it. Mick squared his shoulders, and took a deep breath, shuffling towards his destiny.
On the Line
“Hey, Mick, you got another cig?” Ray asked.
Mick frowned as he handed it over. “It’s my last one. And we’re going to be here in line for hours.”
Ray pulled out his lighter, a shiny silver Zippo, and lit the cigarette deftly, taking a long first drag. “I owe you, buddy,” he replied through a cloud of fragrant smoke.
“Yeah, I’ve heard that one before.” Mick laughed and nudged his friend’s shoulder. Despite the pre-dawn gloom, he could see Ray well enough. Nice thing about city streets. Even at 5:30 a.m., it wasn’t really dark out here. Streetlights illuminated the row of palm trees lining the downtown avenue, sending their graceful shadows in long bars across the pavement, and the long line of men that had been waiting patiently for some hours.
“Man, I could use some breakfast right about now,” Ray commented.
“Everytime I see you these days, you’re talking about food. Doesn’t Lilah keep you fed?” Mick asked. They’d already talked about everything under the sun, waiting in this line. He dug his hands deeper into the pockets of his jacket, against the early morning chill. Just because it was southern California, didn’t mean that a December night couldn’t get cold. Earlier, they’d split a pint of bourbon, which had taken off the worst of the chill, but the liquor, and the euphoria, were long gone now.
“Lilah keeps me just fine,” Ray answered with a salacious waggle of his eyebrows. “Couldn’t ask for a better wife.”
“And which of us is going to be in more trouble for this, you think? Me telling my mother, or you telling your wife?” Mick wasn’t looking forward to that part. Not at all.
Ray took another drag on his cigarette, as though considering the problem. “I’d say it works out about even. If we get a chance to go tell them, that is.”
Mick looked up and down the block. There had to be hundreds of men, like them, waiting to enlist. After yesterday’s news of the attack on Pearl Harbor, what else would any patriotic man do? He’d be willing to bet that there were similar scenes at every recruiting office in the country. “I’ll bet we have a few days. They can’t handle this many recruits all at once.”
Ray nodded. “Good point.” He dropped the butt of the cigarette and ground it out with his heel. “What time is it?”
“About ten minutes later than the last time you asked me.” He slid the cuff of the jacket back a little, and peered at his watch. It was an old one, a gift from his Uncle Mike, and the luminous numerals on the face had dimmed considerably over the years. “Looks like about 6:15.”
“And the office opens at what, eight?” Ray tapped his foot, impatient. Around them, some men had given up and sat down, backs against the brick wall of the building behind them. In fact, just a few feet away, a fellow had balanced his hat over his face, and was snoring peacefully.
“Uncle Mike always told me, the Army is all about ‘hurry up and wait,’ “ Mick said. “Guess we’re getting a head start on that.”
Ray snorted in rueful agreement. “Guess so.”
Somehow, when they’d sneaked away last night, catching the last bus downtown, it had seemed like the start of a glorious adventure. Now, the longer they waited, the more Mick thought about the chance that he might be going to his death. Or causing the deaths of others.
He had no qualms about facing down an enemy soldier, he thought. Especially the bastards that had attacked his unsuspecting country. But he’d seen enough movies, and read enough books, about the last war, to know that it wasn’t always so simple an equation. And it had occurred to him, there was no guarantee he and Ray would end up in the same outfit. Or even on the same continent.
Sure, they both planned to volunteer for the Army Air Corps, with dreams of being pilots, but Mick was realistic enough to know that once you raised your hand and swore that oath, your personal preferences were out of the mix. He supposed they’d do whatever they were told, and hope for the best.
He wondered, briefly, what it would be like to flip the collar of his jacket up to hide his features, and furtively drop out of line. To walk away from the whole thing.
He wouldn’t, of course. No more than any of these other men would. Besides, what could he possibly tell Lilah? “I let my best friend enlist without me, because when it came down to it, I was chicken”? Yeah, like he’d let that happen. He recalled a bit of schoolboy Latin he’d studied in high school. “Dulce et decorum est, pro patria mori.” At this stage, he sort of doubted that dying for his country would be sweet, but, he reflected, it surely was his duty. And he guessed that was what he’d tell his mother.
He spent some time lost in thought, wishing he had a cigarette. The day was coming, the sky gradually shifting color from black to gray as the sun rose over a horizon he couldn’t see, there among the buildings of the city.
“Hey, looks like they’re opening the office early,” Ray said suddenly, breaking into Mick’s reverie. He turned and looked Mick straight in the eye. “Before we—before we get signed up, I just wanted to say—aw, hell, Mick. Friends forever, right?”
Mick nodded, smiling. Ray was the best. Always. “Friends forever.”
Ray put out his hand, and when Mick took it, Ray passed him his prized Zippo lighter. “For luck,” he said. “Although you’ve always been lucky.”
“You don’t have to do that, buddy.”
“I want to.”
“Then, thanks.” Mick looked down at the lighter. It had been a graduation present from Ray’s father, and Mick had always admired it. He put it in his pocket.
The line started to move, and Ray moved forward with it. Mick squared his shoulders, and took a deep breath, shuffling towards his destiny.