His Autumn ON HOLD

.1948.

A/N: Bold words have been handwritten.  Please leave some feedback. I really could use it!  My boyfriend is serving as my proofreader and you all know how that goes.... He doesn't want to hurt my feelings! Haha! Also, I've chosen actors.  I know it's lame, but hey! why not?  If nothing else, we can oogle at the hotties I've picked! Any "his-I" errors are a result of a hasty switch from third to first person.  I'm catching as many as I can, but some still seem to have made it through the cracks...

I will be updating less frequently because I am working on a thesis paper, but it will be done in time for Wattys! *Fingers Crossed!*

1948

- October -

The story, our story really, began on October 22, 1948.   Though my mind has failed me in other areas, I remember that day as though it were crystal clear.  It was a different time then, yet it was the same in some regards.  It is funny how history has a peculiar way of repeating itself.  The Democratic People’s Republic of Korea just declared itself independent with the support of the Soviet Union.  A Red Scare stewed over the horizon, ushering even some of the most opinionated Americans into an era of conformity.  World War II left its scars in society’s collective conscience.  Masked by consumerism and deliberate joviality, painful memories still haunted the minds of the masses.  The country was in a panic, not unlike the one it is in today with the War on Terror.

Yet the fears that plagued the nation were not what burdened a much younger, much less cynical version of myself.  No, my twenty-year-old burdens were much more trivial, though they did not seem as such at the time.  My biggest concern was coming up with the $10 I owed my pal, if that was what I could call Benji Fletcher, after betting against Cleveland to win the World Series.

I remember that afternoon, I was on my way to meet Benji and the gang in our usual afternoon hang out- the Student Union.  On my way across the west mall, I contemplated two things- why I bet such a large sum on a game I cared very little about and how I would acquire such a daunting amount of cash.  To the first question, I quickly determined it had been a drunken stupor which altered my otherwise “flawless” judgment.  To the second problem, I could not find an answer near so easily.  Though $10 dollars might have seemed petty, in 1948 it was the equivalent of $94.  A penniless college sophomore, I needed to get creative.  More importantly though, I needed something to tell Benji, as we were about to meet. 

The Texas Student Union, built in 1933, held a prestigious air about itself.  Magnificent white stone archways supported the university’s decorous persona.  Dark mahogany paneling, underscored by elaborate French carvings, and ambient lighting set a regal yet studious atmosphere about the oversized student “living room”.  The Presidential Gallery, skirted with a fourth floor study lounge that looked down over the third floor foyer, was my favorite part of the Union.  The gallery always reminded me of what I imagined a college campus to be like.  It made the miracle of me attending college seem so much more real.

Entering the grand building, I felt my palms perspire.  Despite my agreeable demeanor, I was indeed apprehensive.  Austin was over three hours away from my hometown, so getting into money troubles was particularly foolish.  I had no family nearby on which I could rely, not that they would have given me the money anyway. 

I approached a group of young men, uniformly adorning plainly pressed trousers and white-collared shirts, posted up along the foyer wall.  I tried to play it cool, in hopes that Benji would not bring up our bet.

“What’s buzzin’, cousin,” I asked, as that was the lingo back then.

“We were just plannin’ on goin’ fishin’ fer some broads later tonight,” replied a scrappy red-headed fellow, standing in the middle of the pack.  “You in, Teddy?”