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International Pixel-Stained Technopeasant Day

Posted by reudaly on April 23, 2010 in Writing |

I wish I had something new and exciting to bring you today… On this, IPST Day…

If you need something very short – you can read (for free) Grammar Nazi – my winning story on Revolution SF.

Or… I might see what I have in the back… hmmm. This is a story I wrote based on a bit of trivia from British author, Jonathan Clements. It’s short and has exhausted most of its markets. I offer it to you on IPST Day

Two O’clock John
by Rhonda Eudaly

“Am I too late?” Lorraine’s voice asked from the doorway to the condo.

“Excuse me?”

Lorraine gasped as the young man at the fireplace turned, holding an engraved pewter tankard. “John?”

“I’m Charles Cowling. Charlie. John was my grandfather. You knew him?”

“A long time ago. In the War.”

“Please, come in.”

Charlie led her over to the comfortable old sofa and set the tankard on the coffee table. She pulled an old photograph out of her handbag and stared momentarily at the young man in a military uniform with his arm around an also young and beautiful Red Cross volunteer nurse. The soldier could’ve been a picture of Charlie. He and John shared the same long, lean good looks. She handed it to Charlie. “I can’t believe how much you look like the John I knew.”

As Charlie looked at the photograph, Lorraine’s attention was drawn to the tankard on the table. She picked it up and ran loving fingertips over the smooth metal etching of the “Two O’clock John” inscription. “I can’t believe he kept this after all these years.”

“Do you know the story behind that?” Charlie asked. “Either no one in the family knew or wouldn’t tell.”

“I gave him the tankard, but the name was already his,” Lorraine said.

Her expression softened and seemed to become more like the woman in the photo. “I was a nurse during the war. I worked in a children’s ward of a community hospital.

“John was a patient in the military overflow ward. When he heard we had wounded and orphaned children, he came every day to visit them. It wasn’t easy for him either, he had a nasty leg wound from his plane being shot down. He was lucky to be alive, and he did love those children…” She let herself get lost in the memory.

# # #

“John!” the young voices chorused when they saw him hobble into the room on his crutches during her shift. “It’s Two O’clock John. He’s here! He’s here!”

“Of course, I’m here,” John replied, always with a smile or a laugh. “It’s two o’clock, isn’t it? If the Germans could set their watches by my bombing runs, then you can set yours, too. Two O’clock John is never late. You can always count on him! What do you want to hear today?”

Thin, childish voices cried out names of songs and stories. Those who were able swarmed around him and John let them despite Lorraine’s half-hearted protests. She always gave in and brought him a chair and hovered nearby as he sang and told stories to the children for an hour before Lorraine tenderly led him out of the ward and back to his own bed.

In almost no time – and yet during war, a lifetime – Lorraine heard the news that John was deemed fit for duty. She was as disappointed as the children, even though she hid it better behind the brave face of duty. She had her memories of their time spent together over tasteless hospital dinners and walks through the still intact rose garden. They stole kisses during the blackouts while they waited for the air raid sirens to stop or the bombs to drop. She never thought the biggest bomb would actually be his return to duty. Another hospital volunteer even took pictures for them to remember their time together. It had to be enough.

“The children and the nurses went in together and had this made for you. Something to remember us by…” she said, pressing a rough cloth covered bundle into his hands.

John carefully unwrapped the inscribed tankard and swallowed hard. “Two O’clock John. I’m touched. But I was just doing my part to help out… the kids don’t…”

“It was more than that, and you know it, John,” Lorraine replied, lowering her gaze so he wouldn’t see the tears pricking her eyes. “You brought light to the children’s dark lives, and to mine.”

“As you did to mine,” John replied, raising her chin until she met his eyes. “I know it’s been said before, but we do have to find what light and love we can in the darkness of war. And always remember, you can always count on Two O’clock John.” He kissed her gently as the jeep pulled up to take him back to his unit. Lorraine watched him drive away.

# # #

“You never saw him again, did you?” Charlie asked when she finished her story, once more fighting tears. He handed her a tissue from a box on the end table.

“Only once, but that was many years after the War – after he’d married your grandmother. We were friends then and after – good friends, but never more than that, even after his wife died. I never regretted a moment that he was in my life.”

“You loved him, didn’t you?”

“With all my heart. Don’t misunderstand, I love my family and my life, but there was always a special place in my heart for John.”

“Then why didn’t you…?” Charlie asked.

Lorraine smiled sadly as she set the tankard on the table. “We knew then it wasn’t… it was a romantic time, even for a war. John had obligations – promises he’d made to his family and people here. They were counting on him. He couldn’t let them down, and I couldn’t ask him to, even knowing that meant giving him up. He wouldn’t have been the man he was or the man I loved if I had. You could always count on John.”

“Would you come and speak at the funeral today?” Charlie asked. “I think he would’ve liked that.”

“I would be honored,” Lorraine answered with pride. “When is it?”

“Two o’clock.”
# # #

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