in my mother’s boudoir, getting a glimpse into a world that would hold much more power over me, then and for the rest of my life, than any other battle could. I was privileged to be there, and I knew it.
I suppose I should confess that my erection was present throughout this entire process, and I sat in a way which would allow me to hide it as much as I possibly could. She never looked or asked or even indicated I might be in the least excited by what she was doing. To her, I was simply her boy, keeping her company and helping her get dressed. For me, it was a descent into hell and a glimpse towards heaven.
I knew I should’ve felt guilty or ashamed in those accidentally intimate times I spent with my mother, but I didn’t. You see, my father had entrusted me with her care when he left—”You’re the man of the house now, Patrick.” Perhaps I simply rationalized that he had given me his permission. But nothing happened. Not then. And I was still a boy to my mother, and thought I would remain so forever. But something changed. And that was the last and most bittersweet thing I remember about that year—Naomi, who changed the course of everything in just one night.
—
“You have to help me!”
I wasn’t paying much attention to the impassioned plea on the other side of the glass. My shift selling tickets at the bus station was over and I had a book of ration stamps to cash in—my mouth watered just thinking about eating a few ounces of meat. Old Mr. Howard, sliding into the seat I’d just vacated, would have to deal with the soldier who needed help.
“Where do you need to go, sonny?”
“No, it isn’t me, it’s my wife.” The soldier was young—my age, a little older maybe. He had a wife? The thought was a mystery to me. What must it be like to have a wife?
“All right, where does she need to go?” Mr. Howard asked.
“No, you don’t understand.” The soldier pressed his palm to the glass, as if he could reach one of us. “She’s coming. She’s coming all the way from Washington—Washington State !”
I checked to make sure the ration book was still safe in my coat pocket—the lines would be long, although maybe not too long, I thought, glancing out at the gray New England sky. No one liked to stand out in the cold, and it would be even better if it started to snow.
“What can I do for you, Sonny?” Mr. Howard was getting impatient with the piecemeal information the soldier was providing and I was impatient, too—to be gone. I shrugged on my coat, already anticipating the possibility of beef or lamb.
“She’s coming to visit me. Her mother sent her on the bus, gave her the money to come, because I had a two week furlough, and we hadn’t seen each other since I shipped out,” the soldier just kept talking, looking as if he knew he was making a long story even longer but he seemed unable to stop himself as Mr. Howard tapped his fingers on the ticket counter and I wrapped a gray scarf—my mother had knitted it for me that Christmas—around my neck.
“Sonny, I’ve got other customers.” Mr. Howard nodded to the soldier standing behind him. “Unless you’re buying a ticket…”
“You have to help me!” He was digging in his pockets, and I thought I recognized the look on his face. He looked like he was going to cry. It made me want to look away, but I was somehow transfixed by his frantic motion and I continued to watch the drama as I slipped on my gloves.
He found what he wanted, his eyes glowing with an “ah-hah!” as he opened his wallet and pulled out a twenty dollar bill. That was enough to make Mr. Howard and I both pay attention. “I’ll pay you! All you have to do is meet her bus and tell her what’s happened.”
“And what, exactly, has happened?” Mr. Howard asked.
I should have slipped out the door, but instead I took another step toward the glass as the soldier slid something else out of his wallet, slapping it up to the glass so we could see.
“This
I suppose I should confess that my erection was present throughout this entire process, and I sat in a way which would allow me to hide it as much as I possibly could. She never looked or asked or even indicated I might be in the least excited by what she was doing. To her, I was simply her boy, keeping her company and helping her get dressed. For me, it was a descent into hell and a glimpse towards heaven.
I knew I should’ve felt guilty or ashamed in those accidentally intimate times I spent with my mother, but I didn’t. You see, my father had entrusted me with her care when he left—”You’re the man of the house now, Patrick.” Perhaps I simply rationalized that he had given me his permission. But nothing happened. Not then. And I was still a boy to my mother, and thought I would remain so forever. But something changed. And that was the last and most bittersweet thing I remember about that year—Naomi, who changed the course of everything in just one night.
—
“You have to help me!”
I wasn’t paying much attention to the impassioned plea on the other side of the glass. My shift selling tickets at the bus station was over and I had a book of ration stamps to cash in—my mouth watered just thinking about eating a few ounces of meat. Old Mr. Howard, sliding into the seat I’d just vacated, would have to deal with the soldier who needed help.
“Where do you need to go, sonny?”
“No, it isn’t me, it’s my wife.” The soldier was young—my age, a little older maybe. He had a wife? The thought was a mystery to me. What must it be like to have a wife?
“All right, where does she need to go?” Mr. Howard asked.
“No, you don’t understand.” The soldier pressed his palm to the glass, as if he could reach one of us. “She’s coming. She’s coming all the way from Washington—Washington State !”
I checked to make sure the ration book was still safe in my coat pocket—the lines would be long, although maybe not too long, I thought, glancing out at the gray New England sky. No one liked to stand out in the cold, and it would be even better if it started to snow.
“What can I do for you, Sonny?” Mr. Howard was getting impatient with the piecemeal information the soldier was providing and I was impatient, too—to be gone. I shrugged on my coat, already anticipating the possibility of beef or lamb.
“She’s coming to visit me. Her mother sent her on the bus, gave her the money to come, because I had a two week furlough, and we hadn’t seen each other since I shipped out,” the soldier just kept talking, looking as if he knew he was making a long story even longer but he seemed unable to stop himself as Mr. Howard tapped his fingers on the ticket counter and I wrapped a gray scarf—my mother had knitted it for me that Christmas—around my neck.
“Sonny, I’ve got other customers.” Mr. Howard nodded to the soldier standing behind him. “Unless you’re buying a ticket…”
“You have to help me!” He was digging in his pockets, and I thought I recognized the look on his face. He looked like he was going to cry. It made me want to look away, but I was somehow transfixed by his frantic motion and I continued to watch the drama as I slipped on my gloves.
He found what he wanted, his eyes glowing with an “ah-hah!” as he opened his wallet and pulled out a twenty dollar bill. That was enough to make Mr. Howard and I both pay attention. “I’ll pay you! All you have to do is meet her bus and tell her what’s happened.”
“And what, exactly, has happened?” Mr. Howard asked.
I should have slipped out the door, but instead I took another step toward the glass as the soldier slid something else out of his wallet, slapping it up to the glass so we could see.
“This
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