All About Love (Writing excerpt)
THE APARTMENT SCENE
from All About Love: Elizabeth’s Story
by Randy Kinnamon
Copyright © 2010 by Randall U. Kinnamon
To be released on July 6, 2010
A loud knock at the door woke Elizabeth from a sound sleep.
Who could be calling in the middle of the night? Elizabeth wondered. She stumbled to the front door and asked, “Who’s there?”
“Ma’am,” came a man’s muffled voice through the closed door, “I’m Lt. Blackstone from the United States Navy with some very important news. I’m here with Commander Belmont.”
“The Navy?” Elizabeth questioned. “What time is it anyway?”
“It’s ten in the morning. May we come in?”
Ten o’clock! Elizabeth never slept in so late, and even though she wasn’t dressed she was eager to hear what the men had to say.
“C’mon in and make yourselves comfortable while I freshen up a bit.”
Elizabeth opened the apartment door and the men stepped inside and sat on her sofa in the living room. The lieutenant was in his 20s and the commander in his 50s. They looked strangely familiar to Elizabeth, as if she might have seen them while volunteering at the Fresno V.A. Hospital. Both men were in full Navy dress uniform, reminding Elizabeth of that visit so many years ago when two Navy officers explained how Fred and the entire crew of the USS Pompano were missing in action and presumed dead.
What could her unexpected visitors want? Elizabeth’s heart jumped into her throat as she went into the bedroom to change into something more appropriate for guests.
The two new officers talked between themselves in low voices while Elizabeth finished getting dressed and returned to the living room.
“So tell me what’s so important.”
“We’re here with news about Electrician’s Mate Fred J. Kirschbaum,” said Lt. Blackstone.
“My Freddie?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“What about him?”
“Well, ma’am . . . Elizabeth . . . as incredible as it sounds, just today he’s been asking for you.”
“What! He’s alive? My Freddie is alive? How is that possible?”
Lt. Blackstone glanced over at Commander Belmont, gesturing for help.
“Elizabeth,” the silver-haired commander said, “in September of 1945, just a few weeks after the war ended in the Pacific, your husband Fred was found with 39 other servicemen in a Japanese prison. You were never contacted because Fred had no I.D. so we didn’t know his identity.”
“Why didn’t you just ask him who he was?”
“Fred had amnesia when he was found. For the past forty-seven years he has been living as patient John Doe at the San Francisco Veteran’s Hospital.”
Despite her shock about hearing this fantastic news and being overwhelmed with emotion, Elizabeth struggled to regain her composure and was determined to get some answers, finally, after all the years of not knowing.
Elizabeth stammered for words, “But . . . how? Why? When did you finally learn Fred’s true identity?”
“Like I said, Fred had amnesia, until yesterday. He has regained his memory and now he’s asking for you.”
Elizabeth’s eyes filled with tears, not of sadness, but of joy. Freddie was alive and he was asking for her! All of her hopes and dreams of love, true love, rushed through her heart in a tremendous flood of happiness and contentment.
“I want to see my Freddie, right now!” Elizabeth said.
“Yes, of course,” the commander replied, “but there is something you should know before we take you to him.”
Just then Elizabeth imagined that certainly a good man like Freddie, even with his amnesia during all those years, would have found a good woman to love.
“Is he married?” Elizabeth asked, trembling.
“Married? No ma’am, he never married.”
Elizabeth gave a silent sigh of relief.
“There’s really no way to break it to you gently, Elizabeth. The Japanese were not very kind to our servicemen who were captured during the war. Some of them were badly beaten, some had their fingers amputated during torture, and still others had their eyes gouged out.”
“My Freddie! Tell me what happened to my Freddie!” Elizabeth demanded.
“Fred was castrated.”
“Castrated!” There was silence for what seemed like several minutes as Elizabeth pondered the horrible news. But Freddie was alive and he still wanted her. No matter what he suffered in life, no matter what condition he was in, she was ready to accept him and love him as he was.
“Ma’am,” the lieutenant said, “a car is waiting to take you to see Fred.”
“Yes, take me to my Freddie.”
Elizabeth and the two men stood up and walked to the door.
Then Elizabeth’s alarm clock went off, startling her. It was 6 AM and she woke up in her bed, alone, to discover that the whole encounter with Lt. Blackstone and Commander Belmont was only a dream.
Elizabeth wept.
* * *
Mom called me at home in Seattle and shared her dream with me. I regret now that I did not accept it for what is was–an expression of her inmost desires. Instead I analyzed the dream like a psychology student writing a college thesis.
“Mom,” I said on the telephone, “Don’t you see that your subconscious mind has devised a way for Fred to still be alive, for him to have a valid reason for not contacting you all these years, and for it to be impossible for him to have been unfaithful to you? It’s all very Freudian.”
I knew my mother’s feelings were hurt; her silence during my brief pause on the phone was all I should have needed to hear. But I didn’t stop.
“Lt. Blackstone? Commander Belmont? Come on, Mom! Those are just street names in Fresno, and your mind made those names up as part of your dream fantasy.”
More silence from the other end of the line.
“Fred is dead,” I said flatly. “He died fifty years ago. I know that it must be difficult for you to accept because there was no body, no funeral, and no closure. But it’s time to accept reality. Fred is dead.”
There it was. I said what had to be said. I said exactly what Mom needed to hear. There was more silence and then finally she spoke.
“Son,” my mother said with the slightest quiver in her voice, “you just don’t understand, and perhaps you’ll never understand until you’ve loved and lost. I love Fred with everything I am, and I cannot give up on him if there is even the slightest sliver of hope that he’s still alive.”
“But what about Daddy? Does he count for anything?”
Never before had I questioned my mother’s love for my father, and I should not have questioned it then. Mom, in a measured expression of gracious restraint, proceeded to recite her love for my Daddy, telling me of the good times they shared and the awful experiences they endured, “for richer for poorer, for better for worse, in sickness and in health . . . .” I got the message loud and clear–Momma’s love was big enough for us all, including Freddie.
My mother’s words that day reminded me of a profound truth from a favorite Cole Porter lyric, “Until you’ve lived a lot, and loved a lot, and lost a lot, you won’t know Paree.” Maybe my mother was right. Maybe I would never understand her life, her loves, and her losses until fully living my own. After this conversation, at least I gained new respect for my mother as I was only beginning to understand the tremendous capacity of her love.