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We were about ten minutes in to our journey home. The beach of Dunkirk was fading behind us. But even though the day seemed to be over, another plane emerged from the sky. It was a German fighter.
"That's a fighter!" Collins informed, he ran to Mr. Dawson who stood at the wheel. I was at his side.
"Yes, an enemy one from the south" Mr. Dawson saw the plane approaching "Alice, you take the helm. Listen for my instructions, point us south" I nodded, making my way to the steering stick at the stern of the boat.
I gripped the handle with both my hands, feeling the tension rise. Mr. Dawson held his hand out to me, waiting for the right time "Keep coming, keep coming" he told me, I hadn't shifted the stick yet. I waited for his command "Before firing he's going to drop his nose, keep it coming. Wait for him to commit to a side" he instructed. I nodded, preparing for the turn "Now!" He yelled.
I pushed the handle, veering the boat out of the way from the upcoming fighter bullets. It was a rough turn, everyone shifted to the side, but the boat remained unharmed. Once the plane roared passed us, I adjusted the handle back to its normal position and pulled my hands away.
Collins took my hand for a moment to congratulate me silently. The plane flew away from us and back towards the beach "How'd you know that anyway?" Collins asked Mr. Dawson about his knowledge of the Spit-fighters actions.
Mr. Dawson went back to the wheel with Peter, hardly glancing over his shoulder "My son is one of you, I knew he'd see us through" I pressed my lips into a thin line and looked down to my toes.
His eldest sons name was Patrick. Blonde hair, tall, and green eyes. We grew up together in the neighborhood. We went to school and played together on the street. Patrick was my best friend even in my adult years.
"You RAF?" Collins misunderstood, looking to Peter.
"No" Peter shook his head "Not me. My Brother. He died the 3rd week in to the war" he said, but he didn't sound sad. Patrick was a hero, and will be remembered as one. I smiled.
Some men from below walked up on deck to watch the sea as we approached England. I stood and talked with a handful of them, listening to their stories of the battle. It was horrific, but they did have elevated spirits. They were finally returning home. I could see the spark in their eyes under the oil stains.
Collins sat at the back of the boat alone, he looked out to the water and to the beach which was almost invisible by now. I came and sat across from him, my hands clasped together on my lap in the fading sunlight. His blue eyes shined in the evening sunset.
He gave me a small smile and turned his body to face me "So, um... do you have a family back home? Brothers, sisters... wife and kids?" I found myself asking, hoping to make it sound like a genuine question and not a desperate attempt to find a significant other.
"I have a younger sister" he said simply "Mum and Dad, but not a wife or anything like that. I'm not that lucky" he chuckled, brushing some blonde hair from his eyes "You? Siblings or...?"
I shook my head and looked out to the water "Just my Dad and I" My heart was pounding for some reason. He was sitting in front of me, this man that I met less than a day ago. I feel like he's been with me for all eternity and I'm just now seeing him.
When we reach land, he will go one way and I'll go the other. Two different people going in two different directions. It pains me to even think about it "How do you think your Farrier is?"
"Hopefully flying high" he smiled "and heading back home. Thank you for caring about him. He's one of my closest friends"
"I want to meet him" I tilted my head to the side "The famous Farrier, he seems like a swell English gentleman"
Collins laughed. His eyes crinkled and a breathtaking smile crossed his lips. I hadn't seen him laugh like this yet, I undoubtedly, unconditionally loved it.
"And I'm sure that he'd want to meet you" he placed his hand on my knee, causing my heart to skip a beat "The famous Alice who chopped me out of a sinking plane with a fishing hook and saved me from drowning" he said in a joking tone.
I wanted to say something meaningful, something that would take his breath way. Something poetic or romantic, but no words formed. Maybe when we reach shore, I'll never see him again. This could quite possibly be my last chance to speak with him.
"I think that... you did more of the saving" I said quietly with a smile. He opened his mouth to say something else, but Mr. Dawson interrupted.
"We're here" he informed, and waved to us for help. We got to our feet and went to the bow of the boat. Men and Women were standing on the pier. Dozens of other boats were already there unloading tired soldiers. The sun sank behind the buildings, leaving a canvas of stars.
Collins helped me out of the boat even though I really didn't need it. Together we retrieved the life-jackets that the men were wearing. They tossed them to us and mumbled 'thanks' before heading to the trains.
We worked for about thirty minutes in the cool night air. It almost felt strange to be back home and on land. Sometimes I felt that I was rocking like I was still on the boat. I thought of Arthur and how he was with me this morning. His face which was once beautiful had been blown away from a bomb. His harsh words and crude attitude still lingered in my mind.
Collins removed his life-jacket and tossed it into the pile of others. He ran his fingers through his blonde hair and turned to look at me "I..." he glanced his blue eyes to the train "I have to catch that train"
There was no way to hide my disappointment. I dropped my eyes to my feet, fighting my hardest to hide tears. This isn't about my feelings, this is about him going home "I know" my voice cracked, I hated myself for that "You need to go home, you deserve it" I met his eyes "and maybe one day I'll see you flying around in the sky"
"I'll keep a sharp eye out" he took my hand in his. Don't think of me as a hopeless romantic, but his hand fit in mind like it was made just for me. I didn't want him to let go, not now, not ever.
Soldiers barged past us, making their way to the train which was whistling. It was time to go. He glanced back to the train, his grip on my hand tightening "Goodbye Alice" he whispered my name and disappeared in the crowd. Just before he went, he placed a gentle kiss on my fingers. I felt his lips linger even though he was already gone.
I brought my fingers to my lips and closed my tear filled eyes. This was the hardest part of the day, the farewell. I lost my first love, and my almost true love all in one day.
Mr. Dawson approached me and guided me away from the train yard. We stood and watched them take off down the tracks to another part of London. The boy with emerald eyes, the man with blue eyes, all the people I met today on the journey are now gone. Collins is gone. His train dispersed in the darkness of the tracks and that was that.
