Part One
The Gem [1941
Forces beyond our control sometimes determine human behavior, for example a passive kiss turns out to be an ongoing affair, and then turns into a longing affair. You know, things stick to their natural world, kind of like that - I mean, oh let me give you another example; for instance, nudity captivates [a poor example I know, and it is characteristically natural (or impulsively by nature, seemingly normal) to do so. In a like manner, gravity pulls; God plantsand Satan sows. Some folks call it naturalism; I call it forces beyond our control. It's just the way it is, the way it's always been.
I read the books: Gone With the Wind, and The Great Gatsby, and The Old Man and the Sea, also, The Scarlet Letter, possibly all the so called, Great American Novels: to me they were all great tragedies; even Moby Dick, another great tragedy. What made them great was tragedy I suppose, a love gone, victory un-won. And so I shall tell you a story, it is one of many in a world of so many. A tragedy and romance mixed together, that had it not taken place, I'd not be writing this story. So tragedy has its attributes, let no one tell you different: and it has its memories. Sometimes just the memories allow us to live on in a world that would be hard to bear, too hard to bear alone.
She was born in 1920; her name was Teresa (Anton was her father's first name he had come over from Russia to America, in 1916, and fought in WWI), her boyfriend's name was Murray Young. The location of the story is in St. Paul, Minnesota, at a bar called, Gem, 1941, November 1. The snow was coming down, big flakes, settling on the her smooth youthful, milky white skin, as she, Teresa open the door to the Gem bar, with her girlfriend Dorothy alongside of her, from Long Prairie, Minnesota, down to visit her folks for the Winter Carnival, and through Christmas. She was a high school friend of Teresa's and they would remain friends for fifty years, oh she didn't know it at the time, how could she, she was only 21-years old, but six of the fifty years were already used up. Dorothy would die before her; die some twelve years before Teresa. But I'm really ahead of my story. She opened the door, and they both walked in. Neither drank that much, but Dorothy, tall, nice looking, slim at the waist, a flirt, was checking out all the guys the moment allowed to catch, with little glimpses, as they got through the door finally. She wasn't a bad flirt, just a fun flirt you could say. There were men in military uniform all about, and there was Murray.
Let's sit down over there, she pointedly said to Teresa, Dorothy with an eagle eye still scrutinizing the scene thereabouts.
Sure, was Teresa's answer, it didn't matter one way or another to her where she sat; she could see this particular man, she did not know his name yet, called Murray, at an open table with another man. The booth they chose was cozy, private an d mellow. It looked like mahogany wood with its auburn color, yet the bar was not the richly designed to have mahogany she thought. Their position in the bar was snug, concealed and calm so they both squeezed into opposite sides of it, even a mirror on the wall besides them, there they could check out the men inconspicuously.
You could see out the door the snow coming down; November in St. Paul was always winter wonderland. The city usually built a toboggan slide that reached from the Capitol, down a few blocks, ending up on 10th and Cedar streets, almost in front of St. Louis Church, and its Catholic school next to it, built in l886.
As one slid down the slide with their toboggan, they'd slide right into several stacks of hay. It looked dangerously fun, and it was exactly that, and it was all fun back in those days. And back up the long steep hill, three blocks long, one would go, once reached, youd climb the big toboggan slide stepsup twenty feet or so, and dow n again youd go, slide. It was how winters were in this Midwestern conservative city, as some have named it: the Twin Cities; but I shall leave out the rival city, Minneapolis, for they get their share of stories, and this one really does not belong across the river, the Mississippi, that separates the two cities.
Here, in the frozen north, where perhaps we all lived in a new mounting ice age, you had to make your own fun, or youd have to hibernate the winter away like a bear. To add to this winter fun, or celebration, was the Ice Castles, the local city merchants build periodically in St. Paul, along with the Winter Carnival, the Pioneer Press sponsored, and was known throughout the world.
Let's see your Id's, said the waitress - as they had sat down into the booth now. Teresa pulled hers out right away.
September, just twenty-one by a week, ok, and you miss, she put out her hand for Dorothy's:
Twenty-one by a few months; so what can I get for you yo ung ladies? Said the streetwise waitress, or seemingly so, for she talked in such a manner; she was in her late thirties.
I'll take a vodka-sour, said Dorothy with an excited smile, adding, I heard they were good, although Ive never had one, but let's try.
The waitress nodded her head as if it was a good selection.
Said Teresa with a little more reserve, How about just Coke on ice and put an olive, cherry or something in it so it looks like a drink, the waitress commented, Coke is the same price as rum and coke would be, sure you don't want a little rum in it? Teresa hesitated, Well, just, just a pinch, no more.
Teresa kept looking at the young man with his friend - the clean shaving man, he looked a bit like F. Scott Fitzgerald she thought, over by a table next to the bar, it was Murray and Stan, Murray was about five foot eight, robust, light blondish hair, but not too blond to make him a real blond; he had a freshhealthy creamy white completion, b right blue eyes, a good looker. Teresa was five foot-four inches tall, slim, with a nice full and round face, clear bluish green eyes, and a fresh look also, with a touch of reserve, and a lion in her, she kept the lion part hidden, but you knew it was there after a moment or two. But it all melted when Murray caught her glance, and her heart dropped to the floor, her mouth went dry, she quickly turned to Dorothy - as one might turn and say: what now! ~? But she did not say that, I think I stared too long at...him, see, the one drinking the beer, the blond with the, the farmer, he looks like a farmer.
Dorothy looked, the farmer was taller than Murray, and had slimmer and longer hands, and tick fingers.
He doesn't look like a dancer, said Dorothy, and I want to dance, dance and dance the night away.
You can teach him, said Teresa.
Yaw, sure, why not.
Then they both started shifting their heads towards the two strangers, Murray and Stan. Although, Stan's back was facing the girl's booth, so the best look you could get of Stan was a view or full picture of his neck and head, and lounging limps, as they moved back and forth drinking his beer; when he leaned a bit forward to talk to his friend Murray, is when you got the profile view, his nose mouth and cheek came into the picture.
Then a Nat King Cole Trio song came on the jukebox, and Murray got up, started walking toward Teresa, it was like he was transfixed on her and only her, he was captivated. Teresa's smile started emerging, her heart started pumping - pounding, she never forget this moment, this magical moment, as he neared her (step by step), oh it was but a few feet I know, but to her it took an hours breath away, and it was hard to digest, swallow, and this moment would not go away for sixty years.
Could I have this dance with you, miss...? the words echoed for her, she glanced her eyes down, thought a moment - full of emotion, looked up into his youthful face, not sure why, it was as if she had a premonition, one that said, grab the moment, the whole moment, absorb it, take it all in, and when she turned her eyes back up they caught his, they were drawn into his like some magnetic force that only God could create, it was heaven on earth. You don't create these moments; she'd say to herself in times to come, they just happen, something human beings have little control over, it is beyond our senses.
She stood up, smiled as soft a smile as anyone could, and fragility appeared in her glowing eyes as her hand met his, for she was a hard working woman, hard to melt, but she was melting - even her voice quivered a ting, had been born to a Russian Family, and raised the past several years at St. Josephs Orphanage, and when she had turned sixteen, she lived with a family that she did housework for until she was eighteen when she moved back to her fathers house. Her mother had died when she was thirteen, and with nine kids, her father could not take care of them, or her. She had learned it was part of life though and held not grudges, no ones fault, no ill will detained. She was young and lovely to look at, and it was her time, whatever happened in the past, it was as it was, times were hard, and it was her time. She stood up, My name is Teresa, she said with an excited voice, and a second big smile.
I- he was lost for words as he put out his hand, forgot his name for a second - even, I'm Murray. And he put his hand around her thin waist, moved in a bit, and they danced slowly, and he hummed with the song, and she liked his humming, as she looked up from his shoulders to his face meeting his eyes. He swallowed a ton of air trying to calm down - almost hyperventilating, and started to feel a little cramped, excited, and took in a another deep breath, so he'd calm down. He wasn't sure if she had noticed, but he did, and so he stopped and suggested they join them in the booth.
Su re, was her answer?
He looked into her eyes like a young kid would look at a bowl full of ice cream, his heart beating faster than the drums in the Nat King Cole's Trio band.
There they sat the night away, Teresa nursing her drink, and Dorothy with her farmer, who was as gentile and calm as the day is long. They got up several times, and danced: ending up, dancing the night away. He was clumsy, but for some reason she liked it, he could be taught she thought, and he was adorable in his own way: amiable. She still had that roaming eye though, and he noticed it, but she didn't notice him noticing, he just was enjoying the moment.
Do you work around here, asked Murray in his slow spoken soft voice.
Been working at White Castle, making hamburgers, but I'm going to go I think to Portland, Oregon with Dorothy, they got this community down there, with houses and all, and they pay you to work in the munitions plant. It is like a military base I heard, kind of .
Murray had heard about it and his smile disappeared for a moment and now his serious side developed. Yaw, I heard about it, good money they say, I, I am going into the Army I think, not sure yet, possibly.
Oh, she said nervously.
Maybe not, who knows; I really like you, and that could put a stopper on it; you're very lovely. She had not heard a full-grown man say that before, it took a little courage for a man to be so gracious. He was three years older than she.
I'd like to date you some more if possible? He said with a serious tone to his voice, and boyish look. She didn't say a word, just nodded her head yes, it was as if she was tongue tied, and not sure of what to say: happily tongue-tied.
Part Two
Decisions
December 7, l941. Teresa, and Murray, Stan and Dorothy, all dated for a month. Taking walks down by the Mississippi River which was but a few blocks from the Gem Bar, and would go shopping at the Emporium, and the Golden R ule, big department stores, getting ready for Christmas. It was a wonderful time for them, a breathtaking time to be alive. They talked about marriage, but only on the side, kind of testing the water one might say. Dropping a few words (a hint) here and there; Dorothy and Stan were getting it on even better than they, he was dropping over at her uncles house on Dayton Avenue daily, where Murray and Teresa would meet after her shift at White Castle, and she'd go listen to the radio at his apartment, and they'd talk. Teresa lived on Arch Street with her sisters and father. On the weekends they'd dance at the Gem, it was as life had dropped a stunning rainbow over them, a youthful, striking rainbow, and one that would never lift. But like all rainbows, God never promised they'd remain, only that He'd not destroy earth with one.
And so came December 7, 1941, the Japanese hit Peal Harbor, and the news went around the world like the eruption that covered Pompeii. It was a sa d day for America, for Murrays world; yet it woke up a sleeping giant, and now WWII would mold into the hearts of every American.
I'm going in Teresa, I've got to, said Murray at the Gem Bar one evening, as they danced, it was December 17, ten days after the attack.
I've got to join the Army; it's the thing to do.
Well, how about Stan, is he going in?
No, he got what you call flat feet, couldn't make it, 4-f they say, can't run or something; but he'd like to. He's going to marry Dorothy he told me, if she'll marry him.
She, Teresa kind of remained silent lying in his arms as they danced, thinking she was, and thinking of how her life would be without him.
Portland, is looking better, maybe Chicago, she murmured.
Did you say something Teresa? asked Murray.
Oh, nothing really, just thinking aloud.
I hope you're not mad, but I got to go... before he could finish the sentence she said:
I know, you got to go to war, it' s the way it is, isnt it. And she smiled.
Teresa, she knew he had to go, do his duty (as would her two brothers, Frank and Wally a few months down the line), because her father who came from Russia, had not been in America longer than a year before he had to go back to Europe and fight in WWI, she knew a mans world involved war and soldiering (as it would me, her son, in twenty some years down the road, when Id have to go to war in Vietnam, shed say the same thing: You got to do what you feel and think is right) it was the way it was. And in years to come, she'd also have to accept her youngest brothers death, in Italy, a few months before the war ended: WWII; and Wally would be a POW in Germany, who was one year younger than she. It was the way it was why, (who knows, whys never make sense anyways, when it comes to war); whywas not in the equation. Sometimes things determine our outcome, things beyond our imagination, our control; that was how it was looked at.
She snuggled into his arms, held in a tear never looked back up at him, it was too painful; it was shortly after that he had left. She would walk him down to the train depot, and wave him off, like so many other young boys back then, men I guess, they looked like boys with mens bodies, she told herself.
See Dennis' web site: http://dennissiluk.tripod.com
Author:: Dennis Siluk
Keywords:: Chapter Story,love story,romance story,short love story
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