In 1943, as World War II casts a shadow over the lives of those at home, Ridgeview High's Homecoming game is a bright spot for Margaret Carmichael, the school's beloved cheer captain. Known for her kindness and good-girl image, Margaret has spent ye...
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Weeks crept by in shades of dull gray, each one blending into the next as I waited, hoping that any minute there'd be a response from Andrew. School was endless and quiet, with that empty desk beside me a gnawing reminder of where he should be. Every now and then, I would catch myself drifting, staring out the window, wondering where he was, and if he was safe. By Sunday, the longing turned into a constant ache, one I couldn't shake no matter how hard I tried.
That afternoon, I was heading up the front porch steps when I saw it, a letter, tucked neatly in the mailbox. My heart jumped as I spotted his handwriting, clear and familiar, scrawled across the envelope. With a rush of excitement, I flew to my room, kicking the door shut as I slumped onto my bed. My curls fanned out around me as I clutched the letter, feeling the outline of his words beneath the envelope. I hesitated, tracing my fingers over the red seal. The thought of his hands sealing this letter, of him out there thinking of me, was almost too much to bear. But I couldn't wait any longer, I tore it open.
In his familiar, messy handwriting, he'd written:
Dear Margaret, Being away from you has taught me more than any training ever could, mostly how empty the world is without you in it.I got your letter, and every word I read made me feel as though you were right here beside me, your laughter filling the gaps between sentences. I miss you terribly and count the days, hoping that with each passing one, I'm closer to seeing you again. Until then, I'm here, thinking of you always. Yours forever, Andrew.
I could feel my heart swelling as I finished, tears welling in my eyes. Clutching his letter, I smiled, feeling closer to him than I had in weeks. I placed the letter carefully on my desk, admiring it like a trophy, a reminder that he was still with me, even if from afar. Without thinking, I grabbed a pen and paper, pouring my heart into a reply. I answered each of his questions, teased him lightly for his words, and finished with, "I love you." I pressed my lipstick to the paper, leaving a soft kiss mark beside my name.
I sent the reply out for delivery, leaving the post office with a giddiness. The day slipped by, every moment filled with thoughts of him. As I did chores around the house, and did embroidery with my mom, Andrew was all that occupied my mind. By Monday morning, I felt like I was practically floating, knowing he'd be reading my letter soon enough, even if not today. I twirled around the house in my favourite pink lace pyjamas, feeling light as air, and even hummed a little as I got ready.
A sudden, harsh knock at the door shattered the quiet. Curiosity gripped me, and I peeked down the hall. My mother, her face tense, quickly gestured for me to stay back. She crept toward the door, hardly making a sound on the floor. She carefully peeked past the curtains, and twisted the handle, opening the door. Outside stood a tall man, medals gleaming on his uniform, his expression serious.
"Hello? How can I help you, sir?" She asked softly, leaning her hip against the frame of the door, and crossing her arms. He paused, then said something I couldn't quite hear, and then I saw it, the colour drained from my mother's face. Her hand flew to her mouth, a strangled gasp escaping her. I frowned, now standing in the middle of the hall. I rushed to her side, ignoring her gentle efforts to hold me back. The man's gaze softened as he looked at me, and I caught the faint tremor in his eyes. I asked what was wrong, my voice barely above a whisper. There was a painful, deafening silence. I grew frustrated when I tried to read the man's face, but he was silent, just standing there with his hat in his hands. He glanced at my mother, who was still pale with shock. I clenched my fists, feeling the impatience rise like a wave.
