Aphrodite Rising

Chapter #4 - Sylvia - Life's Little Dramas

In 1942, after the Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor, my Uncle was sent West. He was to be stationed at a base in San Diego where he would be promoted and not sent out to sea nearly as often. Aunt Melinda saw this as an opportunity to be a real family again, so, in March, we packed up what we could from our little cottage, loaded it on a trailer that we hitched to Aunt Melinda's car and drove West. We had no tears for the objects we left behind as we had chosen with utmost care the items that held the most value for us, either sentimental or otherwise.

The route west was long and took us through so many places we had never been before. I had never traveled as far and Aunt Melinda had never, either. We frequently stopped to ask directions and I became ace at reading the road maps. There were small roadside motels we overnighted at along the way- Amarillo, Texas and Phoenix, Arizona were the most notable. She even made sure to drive a little off course so we could see the Grand Canyon. I bought some post cards so I could send them to my friends back home.

We arrived in San Diego five days after we had left. Uncle Henry met us at what was to be our new residence, a small two-bedroom tract house that was identical to all the ones around it. It was Navy base housing, but it was ours.

Aunt Melinda was the first out of the car and I watched from the passenger seat as she ran to Uncle Henry, threw her arms around his neck and kissed him as he swung her around. I could just feel the love emanating from them.

I silently climbed out of the car and stood in the middle of the yard observing. "How do you like it, kiddo?" my uncle asked. In my mind, the move was not only a boon for their happiness, but, to me, San Diego was nearly next door to the place I had begun to idolize- Hollywood.

"It's beautiful!" I beamed.

"Just what I was hoping to hear!" Uncle Henry ushered us inside while he told us about the house and everything around it. "There's a beach not too fat from here, you could go swimming. The school is on base, so there will be no need for public school..." His voice began to drone, a fly buzzing in my ear as I looked around.

The furnishings were sparse, not much of a sign of living there other than the food in the icebox and the coffee in the percolator on the stove, still warm, still fragrant. And it was immaculate, so clean you could eat off the floor if you needed to. As our tour progressed down a short hallway, he pointed out my room and I ducked inside. There was a twin-sized bed covered in a navy blue blanket. A lumpy pillow was at the head of it, another white blanket folded neatly at the foot. A small brass lamp sat on the nightstand and a wood-framed mirror was propped up on top of a five drawer dresser in the corner. It was plain, but I could make it mine. Before I knew it, there would be photos and playbills on the walls, an homage to my future.

I adjusted to my new school, easily making friends. With my sojourns to the theaters and cinemas in St. Louis, I had begun to idolize the faces I saw on the silver screen and I was pleased as punch when I found that there was a theater class at school. I threw myself into that class, because, to me, I had it in my ability to be every bit as good as Bette Davis, as beautiful as Ingrid Bergman, and, in my adolescent mind, had imagined myself falling in love with a man as dashing as Clark Gable.

In mid-May our class was in mid-production of "The Little Foxes" when Uncle Henry was transferred to an aircraft carrier in the Pacific. By this time, my aunt had gotten used to his long absences, though they still threw her into a tailspin of emotions. I heard them arguing when he told her about it, his insistence that the only reason he let himself be assigned to it because it promised to return him to her side in time for the birth of their first child.

Aunt Melinda was four months along and barely beginning to show the day Uncle Henry left. We accompanied him to the carrier as far as the Navy would let us, flanked by other families all facing the same separation. Instead of embracing her, Uncle Henry held his hand on her abdomen, knelt down and kissed her navel, gently cooing to his unborn child. "Daddy will be back to hold you in his arms," he hummed. "Until then, take care of Mommy." She had tears in her eyes, a mixture of fear and joy and hope as they spilled down her cheeks. "Oh, Henry," she sighed as she mussed his hair. "Promise me you'll stay safe."