Saturday, March 14, 2009

WOULD-BE WIDOW (flash fiction)

I have a cold. Massive insomnia. Can't breathe, Stuffed. On stupid meds that are keeping me up... This is the result.

Josephine and her husband Bill Cummings were married only a year before Uncle Sam tapped his shoulder.

The morning he shipped out for basic training, he walked the plank in 'Ra-Ra' fashion and told her, "No matter what happens, keep going... We don't wanna speak German."

After two numb years, her daily routine had become almost commonplace - at work by 7 a.m. and in bed 13 hours later, six days a week.

One night after another laborious day at the textile mill there was certified note from the U.S. War Department stapled to her tenement door instead of a monthly love letter from Bill.

It said they would be back at 9 a.m. the next morning.

Hours later at the Automat, Josephine stared down at her coffee fighting to stay awake because she couldn't come to terms with the fact that she would wake up a widow.

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