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september prompts, week 1

i'm doing a once-a-day exercise with these prompts for the month of september. the first week is done and i'm proud of myself for writing something every day without skipping, and i'm excited for the rest of the month. the blurbs are all centered around meet 'em in the skies and can be found under the read more.

day 1 - coffee smell (282)

Glory glided around the Battalion office, rifling through drawers and shoving papers into a file on an errand for Sink. Carwood got lost watching her as his mind wandered to images of her in her old life, doing similar motions in a completely different world.

He pictured her parents’ diner, in its yellow and green. He could hear the clatter of utensils against plates, the lively conversation of the breakfast rush, the ding of the bell over the door. Chairs scraped against the checkerboard linoleum while bacon sizzled away on the griddle, the smell wafting across the dining area and mixing with the scent of strong black coffee that permanently floated in the air.

He saw Glory in her uniform: a sunshine yellow dress that fit like a glove, a white, spotless apron tied around her waist, and no notebook for taking orders—she had the entire menu down by heart. She glided effortlessly between tables, stopping to chat with patrons and check on everyone’s meals. How we doin’, folks? Good? I’m glad to hear it. He could be sitting in one of those booths, scanning the paper as she made her rounds. She’d smile at him as she passed him, maybe put a hand on his shoulder. Maybe…

“Lieutenant Lipton?”

Her voice pulled him back into the room, and he blinked away his daydream while his fellow officers turned to him. Glory was looking at him from the doorway, waving a pile in the air to get his attention. “You need anythin’ from Regiment?”

He shook his head after far too many seconds of staring at her. Glory nodded before turning to Ron and Dick. “Captain Speirs, Major.” Then she was gone.

day 2 - horizon (417)

“What the hell are you doing up here?” he asked as he approached.

She laughed. “I could ask you the same thing.”

He shrugged. “Came to find you.”

He leaned up against the railing next to her, bumping their elbows together as they stared out over the ocean. It was gray all around—the boat, the waves, the sky. There was no horizon, only clouds meeting water in a single, unbroken wall of nothingness that never got any closer. She hated the ominous feeling it left in the pit of her stomach, like they were being swallowed whole or heading toward the edge of something they couldn’t see.

She shivered against the wind and the sea spray that kicked up against her face. It was chilly, but she embraced it. The cold beat the smelly, humid warmth of their quarters inside.

There were only ever two modes on the ship: stifling hot or bitter cold, metallic echoes or watery silence, above deck or below deck, in or out, day or night. She was looking forward to being on land again where she could experience light chatter, a mild heat, a morning or an afternoon. She wanted some evenness, some stability, and instead of or.

“I’ve never gotten used to it—” She turned to look at Don as he spoke, breaking through her thoughts. “—the ocean, how big it is.”

She nodded, reflecting quietly on her childhood next to Lake Michigan. It was the biggest body of water she’d ever seen, and the only major one she’d known before the Samaria. The shoreline ran the entire length of the city and the water went as far as she could see. But even then, she had a sense that it ended eventually. There was an opposite shore that would stop it from spreading farther, and that was that. The ocean was different.

“It’s vast,” she said, parroting Georgina’s ‘poetic’ description, and Don chuckled.

“It’s vast.”

They were quiet for a few minutes until a light rain started.

“You’re gonna get wet,” Don observed.

Dot shrugged. “I sweat through my clothes down there anyway.”

Don stuck out his lip and nodded, but made no effort to leave, even as the wind started to blow heavier and the drops drove into their skin. She stared at him and he shrugged. “Penk and Anita are asleep, Skip’s playing cards. It’s nice to clear my head.”

She blinked, touched, and scooted closer to him so that their shoulders were completely pressed together. They watched the waves in silence.

day 3 - foggy mornings (323)

The countryside was beautiful in the light.

Fog sat on the fields like a blanket, wisping and eddying around lonesome trees and tall weeds, slowly dissipating with the coming day. The hills and distant hedgerows were muted green-grays and purples, but the sky was just breaking into brilliant orange, reds, and yellows over her left shoulder. The sight reminded her of the Impressionist paintings she studied in a class in college. Everything was washed pale, like looking through water or a thin piece of silk.

They were headed southwest, further from the dawn, so it was still cool. It would be humid later, muggy, damp, and gross, but the morning even offered a cool and gentle breeze as they walked. She was going to make the most of it now, determined to get as much of the march in as she could before the sun was up.

Dirt crunched underfoot as the company plodded along, the sergeants and platoon officers the only breaks in the two columns lining the road to Ramsbury. From her spot in the rear, Lil could just make out Welsh and Joey at the front of first platoon. Second was behind her, and Mattie had started a song back in third that hadn’t spread to the whole company yet. It was early for singing.

Lil grinned to herself as she heard Moe warbling along and turned forward, sighing into the cool wind that swept across her face.

“What’s got you smilin’?” came a gruff voice to her right as Joe Toye walked up beside her.

“It’s a beautiful morning, Joe.”

“Anything else?”

She glanced at him. “Can’t a girl have a good morning?”

“Just curious, sarge,” he responded.

She opened her mouth to shoot back an ‘about what,’ but Lt. Compton interrupted from a few feet behind them. “Get your ass back in line, Joe.”

“Yessir.” Joe parted with a nod, leaving her to ponder the morning in silence.

day 4 - jukebox (280)

Georgie could see everything from her seat beside the jukebox—the bar, the booths, and the dancefloor. She watched everything she was interested in for categorization and cataloging, making note of groups of soldiers and their drinks, where one’s hands were while dancing, which laughs were forced, whose eyes kept darting across the room. Her pen moved just slower than her thoughts as she scribbled down her observations. Flo had laughed at her for bringing a notebook on a night out, but she had her reasons.

She wondered which chapter and page this scene would appear on. Would her focus be on the rainy night or the soft yellow light or the brief specks of joy that could be found in war? She wrote that down—brief specks of joy. That was good; she could use that.

What she couldn’t see from her seat was David approaching from her left. He sat down on the chair Frankie had abandoned for a dance with Tab, slouching into the arms as he scanned across the Red Cross club. She wondered if she’d include this, if she’d have anything profound to say about being joined by a friend. She wondered if it’d be right to record his profile as she already had the words to describe him: strong, sharp jaw; long eyelashes; slight curve to the nose; soft blue eyes—a paradox.

He turned his head to her. “Dance with me.”

She snorted and continued to write, wanting to capture the way Bill was holding court with some of the replacements. David leaned in close enough that she could smell soap and paper.

“Georgie,” he said lightly, pushing her pen flat against her paper, “dance with me.”

day 5 - lighthouse (395)

It started with a letter addressed to him in messy, friendly handwriting. I’m going to be in New York… Six days between shows… Mind a guest?

Never.

George relearned Mattie.

She looked different. She was wearing her hair down in pinned rolls tucked under a scarf. No more pigtails or wispy twin braids with bows on the end, styles that easily tucked under a helmet. She had cat-eye sunglasses that his older sisters fawned over and ruby red lipstick that his younger sisters adored. Some of the girlishness was gone; she’s lost some of the roundness of her cheeks and she spoke more evenly, but some things were the same.

Her energy was still boundless. She wanted to do anything and everything he suggested, go anywhere, even do a day-and-a-half long trip to Provincetown to see the Cape. She was gracious, helping out his family when he had to work. He’d come home to see her with his mom in the kitchen, learning old Portuguese recipes despite the fact that she couldn’t cook—or minding his nieces and nephews, running around with them in the yard or helping them put on a talent show Wednesday night.

The music was still the same. She hummed all the time, in the house, in the car, in public. She laughed it off when he said he missed her voice, but he was serious. That voice had gotten him through frozen days and crossing countries by foot; it was bittersweet to hear it after two and a half years. She was humble, as always, and even bashful, demurely stammering a thank you when the whole family cheered at one of her songs playing on the radio.

The fame was new. West Warwick was a small town, but she got stopped at least once a day, usually twice, sometimes three or four times, at the diner, on the steps of the lighthouse, at the pictures with the kids. Everyone was as polite as a New Englander could be, with sorry, miss and pardon me, are you Tildie James?

He laughed the first time he heard it. You’re goin’ by Tildie now?

Please, she’d said, putting a hand on his arm, all the usual air gone from her voice. Please just call me Mattie. You know me, George.

He did, with her new sunglasses and songs on the radio. He knew her.

day 6 - bonfire (188)

It was a bonfire. That’s all it was, a bonfire.

The plane shuddered and metal screamed as Georgie was jostled to and fro in her seat, her helmet rattling around her head and her fear rattling around her heart. She squeezed her eyes shut to suppress her nausea and the smell of her own sweat.

A bonfire. That’s all it was.

Flak dinged against the hull just above her left ear and her eyes shot open, her heart in her throat. She refused to turn and survey the damage. Instead, she kept her vision firmly fixed out the open door of the plane, where she could peer into the night as they screamed through the sky. The plane bobbed and she caught flashes of the DZ ground, scenes of a town in flames. Fire danced across the rooftops, the smoke mixing with the gray haze and orange burn of artillery and tracers that ripped through the air.

It’s a bonfire, even though she could see it with her eyes. She told herself it was a bonfire. It would be safe on the ground.

It was just a bonfire.

day 7 - recipe book (237)

“You like to eat so much but you still ain’t know how to cook.”

Ellie laughed at Trip’s dig, leaning back in her seat and dabbing at the corners of her mouth with her napkin. “I do.”

“You don’t—”

“I do,” Ellie insisted. “I can make eggs and beans and—”

“Nuh-uh.” Trip propped a wiry elbow onto the table and waved her fork around accusingly. “I’m not talkin’ ‘bout that ‘ranch food’ or whatever you call it. Anyone can make beans n’ bacon if you give ‘em a skillet. I’m talkin’ ‘bout food, food you gotta mix with your hands and get all the ingredients for.”

Trip sat back and sighed, dramatics in her tone but only love in her eyes. She nodded at the food on the table and looked to Ellie. “You like this?”

“Hell yes.”

“Then I’ll write it down, get a lil’ book together. Easy recipes, nothin’ too complicated,” Trip added when she saw Ellie’s eyes widen with worry. “We can make ‘em together. I wouldn’t leave you all on your own, girl.”

Ellie stared, so full of gratitude and adoration that the light over their small dining table seemed to glow a tad brighter. She blinked and moved her gaze to the spread that Trip had prepared for dinner. “I love you,” she murmured.

Now it was Trip’s turn to laugh. “I love you, too, but we gon’ get you to cook.”

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