Your War, My War

| Chapter IV |

Nineteen thirty-nine, late September.

My days repeated for what seemed like eternities. The older I got, the more wisdom I acquired. The wiser I became, the more mature I became. And with every passing day, I become more and more lonelier. 

No one took me, no one wanted me, no one loved me. Why? What was so different about me that any other girl does not have? What do they have that I don't have? I grew insecure about my body, likes and interests, and my own thoughts. The only person I ever loved and every felt close to was Mr. Gregory.

From many visits to the outside world, I had heard news about a conflict happening. Something about -- It's just been recent that I had. I only got knowledge from what I heard from headlines and from conversations. I never fully understood any of it. 

Nineteen forty, mid-August.

"Atta girl." He says. "Yep, turn it that w- mhm. Look at you! You're a natural."

I smile at his remark. He patted me on the shoulder. He and I were fixing cylinders on a customer's car. Apparently, it was engine was smokey and so he took in the a nearby shop. 

Mr. Gregory and I have become close. He properly taught me more about school topics and everything I know about vehicles and engines. He taught me about how to use tools and how to stay safe when working with dangerous equipment. When I was younger, he would scare me with a story about dangerous equipment. He told me that one day while his father was working with a hammer, he got distracted and ended up hitting his finger instead of the nail. It worked, as I never forgot, and I never let anything distract me from then on. 

I assisted in his work, remembering names of returning customers and faces. A young boy, whose name is Edward, comes quite often on behalf of his parents. Him and I had come to know each other more and more, soon identifying each other as friends. He was an awkward boy, timid at times, but very hearted. He was very friendly, polite and kind. Nothing ruined his day; he always kept his mindset optimistic, but sometimes he lets himself become shrouded in negativity. His build was sleek and graceful. He skin tone was of a pale shade, and his very light blond hair complimented his pale tone. His eyes were beautiful light blue. 

Mr. Gregory also taught me about religion. He is a Christian. There is indeed a difference between a Catholic and a Christian. Catholics have a community relationship with God, rather than a personal one. They tend to honor different saints as well. Christians have a more personal relationship with God and believe in the Holy Trinity. Mr. Gregory told me that Catholics praise saints, and that it is considered idolatry. They believe that to get to God, they must pray to saints and that the saints will bring their needs to God. He asked me, "Why should I pray to a saint, when I can just pray to God himself?" Mr. Gregory changed my way of thinking. It made more sense. He answered all my questions. I can't wait for tonight. I'll kneel down with a smile and pray to the Lord. 

With our closeness, he also shared person information about himself. He is a Scottish man who immigrated to the U.S. just a few years ago. He is a lonely man, with no significant other nor does he bare any children of his own. I never asked of him why he is so alone. Did he have a beautiful wife who sadly passed away? Did he have a daughter like me? A son? I did wonder on that subject, but I never did ask. 

My favorite memory with Mr. Gregory was when he was showing me a journal with different drawings of plants and small insects. He enjoyed drawing as a hobby, as it helped him wind down. While he was going through the journal one day, I had finally gotten comfortable and complemented his art. At first, he carried on, respectfully taking the compliment. Once he realized I answered, he looked at me in shock. It had only taken five years, but Mr. Gregory didn't mind, as he was a very patient man. He complimented my voice. He was so excited, I thought he might have broken into tears. He hugged me tightly and I returned the hug. Before I had left that day, I had given him my name. It was an eye-opening experience on my part, as I haven't heard the sound of my voice in a very long time. It was soft, and lower in pitch. I enjoyed the sound of my voice. It was peculiar, my voice not being raspy and ugly, as I believed it would have been.