I shut my eyes and I'm on the platform. There are noises all around, but I can only hear our hearts beating together. The station is full of insulting odors, but I only smell you, my love --the starch and wool of your RAF uniform and the Old Spice on your soft cheeks.
I cling to that memory of the platform, but there are others. The day you walked me home from school at age fifteen. Stealing our first kiss in the shadows of the underground during an all night air raid. Laughing at a time when we didn't have anything at all to laugh about.
We were barely more than children, both just eighteen when our banns were posted and we stood in front of the vicar. It was nineteen-forty and we had to grow up fast. Still I cling to our goodbye on the platform more than our wedding night when we allowed lust and love to help us find our way together.
Why the platform? Because that was when you'd promised you would come back to me.
I can still smell the faint scent of Old Spice when I shut my eyes. When I open them I look down at the worn, thin paper of the telegram in my red, irritated hands.
I must sleep for tomorrow, I'll wake early to take our son to nursery while I scrub floors all day so I can feed him.
I look up and say aloud, "Sleep well, my love. I'll see you in my dreams."
YOU ARE READING
Chick Lit Weekly Prompt Entries 2018 and Flash Fiction Prompts
ChickLitBest ranks #2 Short Story Collection and #3 Contest Winner This is a collection of Weekly Prompt entries. Each story is unique and varied. Enjoy. Contains winning Prompt #27 The Beautiful Day. My first Prompt #5 Alone was the winning prompt and is...
