They had met right after high school, during that awkward time when no one really knows what they want or how to get it. He would never forget the first time he saw her. She was sitting at the end of the bar at the Milk Maid, a local diner that, he would later discover, made her favorite strawberry milkshake. There she was, perched like a southern angel, drinking the pink concoction that perfectly matched the sheen she wore on her lips. He closed his eyes and tried to imagine what it would be like to kiss those lips. When he opened them again, he found her staring directly at him. For a minute he was sure she'd caught him staring, but at that moment--he couldn't seem to find it in him to care. Instead he got up, walked over, and asked her for a date. She politely refused at first, but somehow-between his smile and his charm-he talked her into it.
Times were tough and uncertain for many people. There was a raging war, rationing, money shortages...everywhere you looked there were people trying to do their part. Trying to make things right again. Children collected scrap metal and bottle tops, so much so that on any given day you could spy them on the street, tugging their little red wagons behind them. It was so odd to him. What used to carry memories of childhood, now carried a burden much too heavy to be pulled by any child. One crisp, autumn afternoon he got the news he had been dreading since the U.S. entered the war. The next week he boarded the bus with the rest of America's youth; all looking equally scared as hell. None of them had any idea what was coming.
He arrived safely and was immediately glad it had been an undisclosed location. He would not have wanted to know that this was what awaited him. He was also glad his family didn't know where he was. He could picture his sweet mother crying at the sight of him hunched in the corner eating something resembling pig slop. They expected him to fight a war with this in his belly?
His thoughts often drifted back to her. Her blonde hair falling just-so around her heart shaped face, the way her milky white skin seemed to glow beneath the pale moonlight, the way she always twisted her pearl necklace when she was scared..or angry...or anxious. She never let a day go by without writing to him though. It seemed a letter or two would arrive nearly other day. He looked forward to those letters with all the nervous energy of a child on the first day of school. She wrote about everything. Picking flowers on the side of the road, riding her bicycle to Downy's Creek for a swim, the newest tricks she had taught Rocky-her prized cocker spaniel-, and of course those impetuous trips to town for a strawberry milkshake. She made him laugh out loud at her declaration of being the driving force behind the success of the postal industry. He missed her. He returned home some time later to find himself more in love with her than ever. He asked her to be his wife and she accepted...without hesitation this time.
Life, all at once, took over. She taught school. He did carpentry. They had children. The years seemed to fly by with rapid succession; a blur of diapers, lunchboxes, permission slips, graduations, Christmases, play costumes, laughter and tears. He treasured every moment spent with her in his arms. The children went to college and moved away, inevitably beginning new lives of their own.
Time had drawn them both in a different light. His hair was graying and she had the slightest traces of lines on her face. He watched with amusement as she fretted over them in the bathroom mirror. She could never have been more beautiful, he was sure. He went with her to the doctor the next day. They didn't usually think it was necessary to things as a couple, especially doctor visits. One of them sitting impatiently in the doctor's office was more than enough. But today it was raining and she hated driving in the rain. So off they trudged, hoping that perhaps the rain would clear and they weren't headed towards an all day ordeal.
If he had only known, he would have held her tighter. He would have loved her without abandon. He would have taken her place. He still had no idea how he missed that red light. He was always such a conscientious driver, but something must have distracted him because the next thing he remembered, he was waking up in the bleakest of hospital rooms with nothing by his side except a beeping machine. When the doctor came in and told him what had happened, he wondered if anyone had ever actually died of a broken heart. Were there records for such things?
He spent his time in various ways. Some days he would sleep until noon. Some days he would walk the half mile up the road to the Burger Barn, this ridiculous chain restaurant that prided themselves on clogging the arteries of thousands of southern people, all out for the ultimate burger experience. They had torn down the Milk Maid a few years ago and stuck this abomination there in its place. He'd still make the trip though, just to sit where they had once sat together and drink a strawberry milkshake. They were nowhere near as good, but almost just as pink. Every day at three o'clock, he would comb his hair, put on some fresh socks, and slide into the plaid overcoat that she had given him on their 25th wedding anniversary. Sure it was worn and, he knew, completely out of style; but none of that mattered much to him. She gave it to him and for that, he would always love it.
He would walk up the long gravel driveway leading to her section of the graveyard. He always liked to clear away any dirt or leaves that may have collected since the day before. He would bend over-an increasingly hard task- and nestle the flowers beside her picture on the tombstone. It was one of his favorite photographs of her. It was taken right after their wedding ceremony and her eyes still seemed to gleam with all the happiness of being a young bride. He just stared at her. After all these years and eternity in between, she still managed to take his breath away.
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