The Wife Draft (Peterick)

France: The Exordium

It was the worst idea that one could have. That is, sending a journalist into the middle of a world war, all for the attempt to cop out a cheap story and bloody photographs. To say the least, my time in Europe was traumatic. And taking said trip with photographer Brendon Urie did not improve my case.

That's not to say that Brendon wasn't a phenomenal chap. He'd been a pal of mine ever since the paper hired him a couple years prior. Even after my promotion to editor, we were still sent out on missions (as Brendon liked to refer to them) together. Brendon was young and vibrant with a girl back home to return to. I was pushing past thirty with an apartment in Pittsburgh that I shared with myself.

Brendon loved talking up his new bride. She was the cat's meow, and I just wanted for him to shut up about her. Not that Sarah wasn't a lovely lady, but I knew her personally. I didn't need the recap.

To me, finding a wife just seemed like a chore. I went steady once with a modest damsel named Ashlee, yet, much to my mother's dismay, we parted on irreparable terms. Not to say that she wasn't still a friend of mine. She was the one who figured me out, but she never sold me out.

I sighed, flipping through the pages of notes I scribbled down throughout Brendon and I's trip across the continent. Over a month of my life spent dodging a war I wasn't a part of. To Brendon, it was all an amazing thrill. To me, it was hell in an unnatural environment.

I was more than thrilled to get on the plane in two evenings and return to my cramped office in Pittsburgh. I was more comfortable writing there than where I could hear endless gunshots.

Brendon just wanted to return to his wife. He had a portfolio of photographs for the massive story we would publish in a couple weeks, and Sarah wanted to hear about everything. Maybe Brendon just had a hardier stomach than I did, but I couldn't bear to think back on some of the things I'd seen. I didn't want to reread some of the narratives that families submitted to me or look at the pictures. I wanted to pretend the war wasn't happening and focus on my own life. That probably made me the one with the problem.

I didn't hear anything from the other side of the wall, so I assumed that Brendon was asleep. The kid could sleep through anything.

I laid down on the lumpy bed after putting my papers back into my suitcase. I stared at the ceiling, blinking hard to try and make images go away. If I fell asleep, the pictures would haunt my dreams.

Tomorrow was my final day before I would have to pack up. Brendon planned on staying at the hotel, but I wanted to go out and explore. Was it a good idea? Probably not. The German Army controlled Paris, and my senior editor wanted to put me right in the middle of it. I thought maybe I would get lucky and a soldier would kill me.

I'm sure it was inappropriate of me to think that way, but it wasn't like I had anyone to go home to. Not even a dog. I guess I was lonlier than I wanted to admit.

But that didn't matter. Nothing did. I just wanted to return home. Maybe something good would come.

Brendon and I were in the southern half of the country, still under control of the French government. Sure, the city of Vichy was lovely, but there was still the looming dread of knowing the Germans were to the north in the same country I was harbored in.

I didn't want to think about war anymore. Especially now that America entered, there was always the fear that when I got my mail, there would be a draft letter waiting for me. But that was all I could ever have waiting for me.

For being the most liked person in the city, I sure didn't care for anyone. There was always a girl interested in courting me, but I couldn't do it. I wasn't capable of loving any of them.

I already accepted that I would be a bachelor forever, no matter how many girls were available to me.

Everyone thought I was perfect. Everyone assumed I was happy. The only thing missing from my life was a wife. I believed for the longest time that was the case, too. But I got older. And I got lonelier with every girl I dated.

Maybe I would never fall in love. But that was fine. Eventually, I would die and literally nothing would matter. Was trying worth it? No. I would die a bachelor. End of story.