Alone

Buck sat on the bench under a sign that read, "Saint Mary's Catholic Boys Orphanage." It was an ivy-covered stone building that stood a couple of blocks away from Main Street. He was tossing pebbles into a puddle that had appeared early that morning from the hard rain the night before. Buck would close his eyes and dream of a better life far away from New Orleans. He was thin, quiet, and except for infrequent celebratory moments when new children would arrive, he stayed preoccupied in his dream of the future. His clothes were tattered and unwashed. His hair was thick and cut in a bowl-like fashion.

It was common knowledge that most of the children who arrived at the Ninth Ward Orphanage came from the ladies of the evening. The ladies would become pregnant by visiting sailors or affluent cheating husbands, but when they either couldn't afford, or for reasons of influence, did not want to raise their little prizes born out of the lusty, whiskey soaked nights. So the orphanage with the hard-working women of religion would bear down to provide basic survival needs to these little less-fortunates.

Each ripple in the rain puddle carried him like a ship to distant oceans and for the adventure for which he so yearned. He had lived his fourteen years at Saint Mary's, with the ever-revolving carousel of transient brothers and guardians. This particular morning would be life-changing, though, and would take him away to places never dreamed. His home reference was a run-down shanty crowded with sibling tenants. He had recently become increasingly nervous that his day of exodus would be imminent because past experience was that the older boys left to make way for new additions.

Buck wasn't like the others. He thought about who his parents might be and how he would find them someday. He longed to be loved by someone and hoped to find a family, and an order of existence that was difficult for most during the onset of World War I. He ached for the next chapter in his life, yet he was fearful at the same time.

The heavy wooden door of the orphanage behind him creaked open. A bulky figure donning a habit stepped through. Buck looked up, and his lip began to quiver. He sensed that the time for change was here and all that remained were the spoken words. Although he had been abandoned before, this would be the time that he would feel it to his core. The seeming contradiction for him now was that he was ready for change but so afraid to go forward. Mother Rosalie stretched her winged arms toward Buck. He hesitated, thinking that if he didn't touch her, her message wouldn't penetrate his being. He reacted slowly with the hope that the words would never come; anything to prolong his stay in what had served him his entire life.

Mother Rosalie gave her normal spirited salutation.

"Good morning, Buck. Are you ready to go?"

Buck tried to smile, hoping for a new life and new opportunities, but deep within he owned an overpowering feeling of being lost again and starting all over.

She smiled as she sat beside him on the bench.

"We'll miss your help with the younger children. You have been with us for near on fourteen years."

Buck only knew the orphanage as his family. He had been abandoned as a baby, and, since his earliest recollection, had seen a revolving door of transiting, unconnected characters.

Mother Rosalie smiled, and then with her pudgy digits gestured to him for a hug.

Trembling deeply, he tearfully responded. "Please let me stay. I'll Do Anything You Want."

She quickly rebuffed. "Buck, you have to start a life of your own. You'll meet new people and learn to make choices that will change your life. You'll see many years of happiness and prosperity. God will watch over you."

Buck stood hopelessly, wiping his tears with his ragged sleeves.

Rosalie chirped again. "It wouldn't be fair to turn another away to make space for you, Son. Now, please get going before the storm comes again. Here is two dollars to get you through the next week."

He turned and walked down the street in the direction of the train station under a darkening sky. He still didn't fully comprehend that this evening he would be alone, no shelter, no food except the few pieces of bread that he had stuffed in his pockets while the others weren't looking. He wasn't far from the train station and would make his arrival there in about thirty minutes if he picked up the pace. He felt a couple of raindrops and began running to find the closest cover.

The gloominess of the day reflected his sad state of mind. His melancholy spirit was a great beginning reference, he thought, because he knew that his life could only get better. He didn't wallow in self-pity or wonder about the prospects that might become him because he had never had this freedom of feeling before. The choices that followed wouldn't be based on any experience he had known. His ignorance put him at an incredible disadvantage, and he only hoped that the world would be kind.

As Buck got closer to the train station, he marveled at the masses of men gathering. He wondered where they were all going. Mothers hugged their young sons, while young ladies kissed their husbands goodbye. Sadly, many of them would never be seen or heard from again. The conductor began to corral the young men onto the train as the outstretched arms were ripped from their loved ones. Buck wasn't sure where they were going, but he saw that they resembled him. They seemed to be going through the same process that he had experienced earlier with Mother Rosalie.

He walked out from behind the tree and headed for the train, blending in with the sea of those heading out. So, without any hesitation, he ran to catch the last open door. It all happened so quickly that he didn't think of where he was going or why. As the train departed, fathers and brothers cheered them off to war. The lost faces filled the windows as they pulled away on their journey to find their place in history. Buck sat alone, head down, and never looked back.

Anchors Aweigh

Chief Petty Officer Charlie Koberlein rested against the corner of the garage waiting for the charcoal to turn white. He pulled a pack of Chesterfields from his cuffed cotton t-shirt, tapping a cigarette out the end into his nicotine-stained fingers. As he lit the end, his mother and sister, Helen, walked out the back door carrying corn on the cob, baked beans, and rolls.

That evening in Chicago was incredibly gorgeous. Charlie threw the hamburgers and hot dogs on the grill. The smoke billowed, and he jumped back. Helen giggled.

Just then, his dad pulled up into the driveway with a six pack of Schaefer next to him on the seat. He leaned out of his truck window, smiling.

"You'd think that a big bad Chief could handle a simple grill. It'll be much easier handling the beach in Hawaii and sailing around the South Pacific."

Charlie hollered toward the house. "C'mon Granny, we don't have all night!"

His mom stood at the screen door wagging her finger. "I'll give you granny, young man. You're not that big that I won't put you over my knee."

They sat and ate quietly as the evening sunset colored the table. Charlie broke the silence. "It'll be hell for those Japs when we steam that way. We'll kick ass and then take names." His mom imparted one of her famous looks of disapproval and then looked away with sadness in her eyes. Then...