Homecoming by crstlbtrfly

187 13 14
                                    

London, 1945

My attention is drawn to the laughing group of pub patrons as they stumble out of the front door. A couple that lags behind the crowd pauses in the doorway. The young soldier takes his female companion in his arms and dips her back as he presses his lips to hers in a heated kiss. As he rights her I can see that her cheeks are flushed from their very public exchange. She stands on her tiptoes and places a playful kiss on his cheek before taking his hand. The two rush out to catch up with the others and continue their homecoming celebration elsewhere.

I glance around the dimly lit room to find that other than the resident drunk, Pete, I'm the only customer left. Shifting forward on my bar stool I cross my legs and smooth out the skirt of my favorite red dress. With a sigh I look down the amber liquid in my glass that went stale hours ago.

"Looks as if your mysterious soldier missed the train again, eh, Elsie," Sam the bartender says as he wipes down the counter tops. 

"He'll show up, eventually," I say with forced indifference as I run my hand over my brunette curls and check that my hair pins are still in place. It took me hours to get my appearance just the way I wanted. I worked vigorously to ensure that the black liner around my blue eyes had precise winged tips and that the shade of red lipstick I chose complemented my complexion. The outcome of the evening may be outside of my control but I still want to look my best.

Sam comes to stand in front of me on the other side of the bar, takes my drink and replaces it with a tumbler of ice and rum. "A young woman like you shouldn't be spending every Tuesday night alone in a pub. You've caught the attention of several of the lads returning home from the war and you've turned them all down."

"I'm only here for one person, therefore there is no sense in wasting my time with anyone else," I smile before taking a sip of my new drink.

"It's no use, Sam. She'll be back in that bar stool next week and the week after that. I'm starting to believe she is crazier than me," Pete slurs from his seat in the far corner.

"Be nice to the lass you bloody drunk or I'll be kicking your arse out of me pub," Sam scolds.

I can hardly be mad at Pete after all he does have a point. For the past two months I've returned to this pub by the train station every Tuesday. I always sit in this exact same seat and hope that a soldier that I've never met face to face will walk through the doors. I don't have the faintest idea what he looks like but I've had a very clear glimpse of his heart.

Over a year ago my best friend talked me into writing an encouraging letter to a soldiers fighting in the war. The note was fairly generic since I didn't know the man that would randomly receive it and I didn't think anything would come of it. A month later I was surprised to find an envelope in my mailbox addressed to me, it was a response. My letter had made its way into the hands of a young man from Cheshire, named Harry. He expressed how reading my words had felt like the tiniest ray of light in his dark situation. After learning how I had affected him, I had to keep writing and that was the beginning of our ongoing correspondence.

As time sauntered on our letters became more in depth. I learned about the things he missed back home, his friends and his family. He began describing to me his love for art and music and how he wanted to build a future based on those passions. He also dedicated potions of the letters to the growing connection he felt between us. I was quick to confess that I was feeling the same and that is what led to our plans to meet. We promised that the day he returned to England that we would have our first encounter at this very pub. I've kept my word and for the past eight weeks since the war ended I've been patiently awaiting his arrival.

Perhaps I'm completely pathetic to be wasting my time on a man I scarcely know and have never seen. Harry could have easily changed his mind about meeting me and continued his journey home. It also does not bode well for me that I've not communicated with him since before the war was declared over. The last letter that I sent to him has gone unanswered and the possibilities for his failure to reply are heart wrenching to consider. I won't think the worst; I must believe that he will return safely and that our story will happily unfold as we planned.

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