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Love Endures War: Part 1

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Love Endures War: Part 1
Tender love in a turbulent Sixties America.

Based on a post by want some fun 1951. Listen to the Podcast at Steamy Stories.



It was the summer of '69.

 It was the summer of despair.

"The heat waves shimmered in the distance, rising off

the sand in an unmerciful display of mother nature's authority. We lay where we
had been for hours, in the only good cover around. Off to the left, we heard
enemy snipers, the gunfire signaling the start of another day in Hell."

That was part of a letter Joey wrote after his unit fought

its way back to base camp. He wrote as often as he could. Sometimes, I'd find a
stack of his letters in the mailbox when I got home from work, and then, I
wouldn't hear from him for a while. Whenever his family got any news, they
would call me or visit to share the letter. I did the same for them. I always
let my folks and Joey's read what we wrote, including the parts where Joey and
I talked about getting married when he got home.

It was the summer of '59.

 That's when I met him.

Joey and I always liked each other. We were too young to

think of each other as boyfriend and girlfriend at first. His family moved into
a new house down the block the summer after third grade. I was a tomboy. I
loved to ride my bike to the schoolyard to play on the swings, seesaws, and
sliding board with the neighborhood boys. Sometimes, we'd play cowboys and
Indians on the vacant lots in our development. Nobody thought anything of it a;
me, a girl, playing with a bunch of boys. We were kids. I didn't care about the
differences between a boy's body and mine. I knew they could stand up to pee,
and I knew why. Big deal. That's the way it was. The boys knew I was different
from them between the legs. They knew that made me a girl, but otherwise, I was
one of them.

Until Joey moved in.

He was different, maybe a little quieter than the others,

more serious, more grown up. He was horrified the first time one of the boys
took a leak where I could see him. "Don't look, Sue! Harold, what do you
think you're doing? There's a GIRL here!"

"Yeah?" Fat Dennis sneered. "So what?"

"So what? So what? You can't let her see that! That's

what!"

Fat Dennis stood up. He always bullied new kids at first. He

towered over everyone, even Joey, and Joey was big, in a strong-looking way.
"Joey, you moved in two days ago, didn't you?"

"Yeah."

"That means you don't tell us what to do. If I need to

pee when I'm out here with Sue, I'll walk to the nearest tree or wall or
something and do it. We all do. So does she. She has to sit down or squat to
pee, though."

"That's wrong."

"No, she does."

"Not that part! I meant doing it in front of a

girl," Joey stated.

"Why?"

"Because it is."

"Says who? You?" Dennis taunted.

Joey stood up and looked at me. "It's also wrong to

fight, and it would be real wrong to let Sue see if anything happens."

"You gonna fight me, new kid?"

"I don't want to," Joey said.

"You chicken to lose in front of a girl?" Fat

Dennis strutted around, flapping his wings and clucking.

"No."

"You know I'd beat you up, don't you, new kid?"

"That's not how it would go," Joey chuckled.

"Big talk," Dennis threatened. "Come here and

fight me."

"No."

Dennis was pretty worked up by that point, so everyone knew

he was going to lunge at Joey. Poor Fat Dennis. Joey side-stepped, ducked
Dennis' punch, and flipped him over so he landed on his back. It knocked the
wind out of him for a couple seconds.

Joey knelt next to him. "I didn't want to do that. Are

you okay?"

Dennis wiped his eyes with his t-shirt, refusing to cry.

"What did you do?"

"Stopped the fight. I want to be your friend, Dennis. I

know you're the leader here, so I'm telling you; no peeing in front of her, and
if she needs to go, we walk away."

Fat Dennis struggled to his feet, shaking off Joey's offer

to help. "Fine, but why?"

"Do you pee in front of your mother?"

"No! Boys don't do that!"

"Right, but why not?"

"You just don't. Nobody pees in front of their mother.

Heck, that stops when you're old enough to aim it. I mean, it's your
mother!"

"You have a big sister, don't you, Dennis?"

"Yeah."

"Do you pee in front of her?"

"No!" Dennis sputtered. He looked like he was

working himself up to a second round.

"Why not?"

"Are you trying to start something, Joey? Boys don't

pee in front of their sisters. That's wrong."

"Exactly. We don't do it in front of our mothers and

sisters because it's wrong. You know why? They're girls."

"Yeah," Dennis said. Then, "Oh."

They shook hands, and with the new rule in place, Dennis

suggested a game of tackle-tag. It was his favorite game. To tag someone, you
had to knock them down. Tripping or shoving often were enough, but we usually
went home scuffed and dirty. Dennis approached the game with brute force. The
rest of us responded with agility and speed, so we were fairly matched.

Maybe Joey tried to treat me like a girl. It was easy to get

away from him when he was "It." He'd tackle the guys if he had to,
just the way they taught him, but not me.

When it was my turn to be "It," Joey was closest

to me. He ran, dodging me, until I grabbed his arm and threw myself at him. He
landed on his belly with me on his back.

"Holy cow, Sue! You hit hard!"

"Yup. You're "It." I scampered away from him.

A few turns later, he was "It" again and came after me. He caught my
one leg as I was climbing a tree and pulled me down. I landed on top of him,
breaking my fall.

Lying on his back, he laughed and picked me up by my waist

to hold over him like a trophy. "Tag. No tag-backs. You're 'It.'"

"I'm not on the ground. To tag someone, they have to

land on the ground."

He pulled me against himself and rolled us over, pinning me

under his body. "Now you're tagged." He rose up on his arms and
looked into my eyes for a moment on top of me, smiling. Then he stood up,
helped me to my feet, and ran away.

Joey fit in well enough, but sometimes he'd wander off. I

was curious about those times, so I watched him, to see where he went. I
followed him after a while and found him sitting on a big rock in the shade,
staring down the hillside at the surveyors figuring out where new streets would
go. "Penny for your thoughts, Joey."

"Oh!" He jumped like I had appeared by magic.

"Hi, Sue."

"What are you doing?"

"Sitting on this rock."

"May I sit with you?"

That was how it started.

Joey and I became friends. We spent the whole afternoon

sitting in the shade on that rock, swapping stories and getting to know each
other. The entire gang of us "Daisy Drive Devils," as our parents
called us, were friends. At least a few of us were always together. The day
after Joey and I talked, the Devils played as a group like we always did.

One morning we woke up to a steady, soaking rain. No one

ever called each other on rainy days, since none of us was allowed outside
because we would catch our death. None of our mothers understood that we would
get wet walking to the bus stop that fall, too.

We sat alone in our living rooms and watched Looney Tunes,

The Three Stooges, and game shows on television. My parents had a big,
top-of-the-line, blond oak cabinet best and an antenna on the chimney, but
after Joey moved in, I didn't spend much time in the living room, except when
"Lassie" was on, Sunday nights.

I was helping Mommy with the breakfast dishes, watching the

rain through the kitchen window, when the big black telephone on the table next
to the refrigerator rang. Since I was drying, Mommy told me to answer.
"Hello, Brown residence."

"Is that you, Sue? This is Joey. Do you want to come

play at my house? My mother says it's okay."

"It's raining."

"I can come over with a big umbrella to get you."

"Do you want to watch television?"

"We could, or we could play in the basement or my room.

Maybe we could trade baseball cards or something."

"Let me ask Mommy."

In ten minutes, Joey knocked on our door. With my shoebox of

baseball cards safe and dry under my yellow rain slicker, I splashed down the
sidewalk, protected by him.

That first day at Joey's house was an eye-opener. I had

never been in a boy's room, but I thought all they did was play with toy trucks
and soldiers and Lincoln Logs. Joey did stuff the other boys didn't do. He
played the piano. He read books. He drew pictures. He was probably the toughest
and strongest kid on the block, even though I did beat him arm wrestling once,
but he had another side. Joey showed me different things in life.

He was a collector. He had baseball cards, coins, stamps,

and models. I had my card collection and some dolls I took very good care of,
since they were going to belong to my little boy and girl someday. I knew the
value of things. Joey had some really neat stuff, and he liked things the other
kids didn't.

Every time it rained, I went to Joey's house or he came to

mine. Our parents liked each other, so our getting together was encouraged. We
were close friends. We shared secrets, fears, and dreams. We were never bored
or lonely like the other kids seemed to be when the Devils couldn't play
outside.

Joey's parents joined our church, so we were in the same

vacation Bible school class in August. By the time fourth grade started, the
grown-ups saw us as a puppy-love couple, I guess, but we were just part of the
gang to the rest of the Devils.

In seventh grade, Mom and Dad let me go to the Friday night

dances with the rest of the kids. I always went with my girlfriends, and Joey
went with the boys, old Daisy Drive Devils or teammates from the sports he
played. At that age, boys stood on one side of the gym and girls stood on the
other, both groups talking about members of the other group.

Joey knew my preferences in music. He liked some of the more

modern, edgy bands, but I still loved the crooners. I saw him break away from
his gang and go talk to the school principal, who served as DJ. I thought he
probably requested a Beach Boys song, since he and his buddies liked that
stuff, but instead, the principal got on the mike. "I have a song request.
Here's your chance, gentlemen. Ask a lady to dance."

Andy Williams sang. Mom and Dad taught me to dance so I

wouldn't look awkward, but Joey was the first boy I ever slow-danced with. I
still remember all the lyrics to "Moon River." Feeling his hand
holding mine as we moved, I knew I wasn't a child anymore, and that things
between us would change.

Monday in school, it was obvious they had, at least in the

eyes of our classmates. Girls I didn't even know told me they thought I had a
cute boyfriend. Joey told me that all his buddies referred to me as his
girlfriend. All that from one dance. We talked about it the rest of the school
year. Our friends were right. We belonged together.

Joey and I started going steady in eighth grade. The locket

he gave me for my fifteenth birthday is in its original box in my nightstand.
He bought it with money he earned doing jobs around the neighborhood. It's
still one of my most prized possessions. He turned sixteen before I did, so he
drove us to the mall so I could pick out the dress he would buy me to take me
out for my birthday dinner. When he kissed me goodnight on my front porch after
our date, he gave me one last gift; a picture of him to put in the locket I
wore whenever I dressed up for church or for him. It's still in there.

All through high school, Joey and I were inseparable. I

became a cheerleader, co-captain of the squad senior year, mainly so I could be
near him. Our parents were thrilled. My folks loved Joey, and the Ramsey's
treated me like their daughter. They trusted us, knew that we had taken a vow
in youth group to remain pure until marriage. On my eighteenth birthday he gave
me a "sweetheart ring." We were in love, the kind of love that lasts,
one built on friendship rather than hormones.

Don't get me wrong about hormones. Joey grew from a cute boy

the girls whispered about in seventh grade into one they drooled over in high
school. Guys looked at me all the time, too, but everyone knew we were
off-limits. I was his girl, and he was my man. Everyone understood. It was how
the world was meant to be.

As seniors in high school, we had the grades and credits to

get into college. I didn't need to go, since I would be a wife, homemaker, and
mother. Joey and I talked about it for years. He planned to follow in his
father's footsteps by serving his country. When he was done, we would get
married and he would continue his education.

Prom night was the night when a lot of couples had sex for

the first time. Joey and I were king and queen of the prom. More than one of
his buddies made comments about our plans for later that night, since we
weren't going to the post-prom party. One of my girlfriends teased me in the
rest-room at the prom, too.

"Are you and Joey going to do it tonight?" she

asked from the next stall.

"Do what?" I asked. I had my lap full of prom gown

skirt, trying to squat over the toilet to pee.

"It. Are you two going to do It tonight?"

"If you mean are we going to have sex, the answer is

no."

"Why not? You two have been going together for, like,

forever."

"Yes, and we promised we would wait. You and I talked

about this."

"I know, but it's Joey. He's like, your world, isn't

he? You're going to marry him, aren't you? And he's so gorgeous."

She was right. It was Joey, my gorgeous man, the man who

made me feel like a beautiful, well-loved woman. Yes, other couples would have
sex that night, couples who would never get married, who didn't love each other
like my boyfriend and I did. They didn't understand that real love doesn't need
sex. That two people can feel like they have one soul without being physically
intimate. I thought about my parents and grandparents. Surely they didn't have
sex anymore, but they still were deeply in love. That's how Joey and I were.

Being in love was natural, like getting out of bed in the

morning and brushing my teeth. Marriage and family were a given. We knew what
some of our friends did. We knew we should wait. Sex was for newlyweds,
something we would be when he got out of the Army. He left for boot camp three
days after graduation.

It was the summer of '69.

His letters during basic training were so full of love, I

thought he might surprise me and ask me to marry him when he got home. I would
have. The minister's study would have been good enough for me. We were more in
love than ever, having been apart. We both felt it, but Joey avoided any
discussion about long-term plans. We lived in the moment.

The night before he shipped out, we were in the basement

family room he and I helped Dad build, sitting together on the couch.

"Baby," Joey said, "Do you think you should

wait for me? You know there's a chance I'll never come home. I could die over
there. Maybe we should break up so you can get started on finding another
guy."

"No! There won't be another guy, Joey. I'm yours. I've

known that more than half my life."

"I feel the same way," he said, wiping my tears

with his neatly folded pocket handkerchief. "I can't imagine feeling like
this with anyone else. I thought about asking you to marry me before I ship
out, but I decided that's not fair. You're young and beautiful. You're going to
be here, and Lord knows where I'll be. Please, Sue, just write back to me when
I can write to you."

I wanted to give him my virginity that night. He deserved

it. He was the only man I would ever sleep with, and he wasn't trying anything!
"Joey, do you want to make love?"

"Please don't ask me that. I do, but I won't. We've

waited this long, honey. If I come back, we'll see if we still feel the
same."

"You're scaring me. I can't lose you." We spent

the night on the couch, kissing, cuddling, and finally sleeping in each
other’s arms, dressed except for our shoes.

I stayed at my high-school job at the diner. I didn't have

any other job skills, but I worked hard. It was good enough. Work kept me
occupied and earned some money, a nest egg for when Joey and I got married. I
didn't burn my bra. I looked forward to a couple of babies and a nice kitchen.
I didn't want a career other than wife and mother. Maybe, when the kids were
grown, I would take some classes, but hopefully, being a grandmother would take
up a lot of my time.

Joey had been gone for over two months. From the dates on

his letters, it seemed like he wrote to me and his parents almost every night,
but mail service from the jungle was sporadic. Often, we went for a week or
more without any news. The letter about him being pinned down by snipers was in
the last bundle, over two weeks earlier. As always, I was sick with worry, but
I knew things would be okay. They always were.

One night, Joey's parents rang our bell. My dad opened the

door.

"Joe, Marge, how are...." The smile crumpled off

Dad's face.

Joey's father shoved a paper into my dad's hand, and ushered

his crying wife onto the sofa.

"Hon, Joe and Marge are here. Come down here now,"

my dad called up the steps.

Mom rushed into the room, and saw Dad reading a telegram.

Joey's parents were holding each other. "Oh my God!" Mom wailed and
threw herself at Marge on the couch.

Dad hands shook as he read. "He's M I A? Missing in

Action? Joe, Marge, that could be good. That just means he's separated from his
unit, or he and some other guys are holed up somewhere with a busted radio,
doesn't it?"

Joe, Sr. growled, "It means they don't know if he's

dead but they haven't found his body, or if he's injured and dying in the
jungle, or if he's in some hospital, so damaged they don't know who he is. He
could be a P O W."

Marge and Mom started wailing in unison. I did nothing. I

probably had the same expression on my face Dad did, since I was so much like
him; stunned silence, no tears, no anguish; nothing. Numbness.

Finally, Dad said, "Maybe not. At least they haven't

found his body, so he must be alive."

Joey's father spat, "Or blown to bits or burned beyond

recognition or,..."

"Stop it!" Marge screamed. "Just stop it!

This is my baby we're talking about! Mine! I carried him inside my body for
nine months, pushed him out of me, and fed him from my breasts! Mine! You're
supposed to be making this easier for me! Dammit! You're not helping!"

"Sue, would you get Mr. and Mrs. Ramsey some iced

tea?" Dad asked in his dead voice.

Joey's mom wailed, "I don't want any damned iced tea! I

want my baby back!"

I'm strong, or maybe I'm slow, but it finally sank in. I

might never see my Joey again. I felt completely alone. Mom was awash in tears
with Marge and Joe. I looked at Dad. I never saw such a look of pained love
from him before. He helped me to the loveseat and held me while I cried. For
the first time in my life, I saw him cry too.

Joey's parents went home when Marge ran out of tears. Joe

helped her to her feet, kissed my mom on the cheek, shook Dad's hand, and then
hugged me. "I'll call you or stop by every day, whether I hear anything or
not. I know Joey wants me to do that."

When the front door closed, Mom said, "I need to go to

bed." Dad followed her up to their room. I sat on the loveseat blowing my
nose, wondering whether I would ever feel Joey's arms around me again. When I
went upstairs, I was exhausted from crying, but I couldn't sleep. I paced,
looked at photo albums, read his poems, and stared at his self-portrait he had
painted for me. I cried for two days, trying to decide whether I could ever be
happy again.

On the third day, my boss called from the diner. "Sue,

I'm trying to write next week's schedule. Will you be able to come in?"

"I'll be in tomorrow for my breakfast shift, if I still

have a job."

I was early for work the next morning, and I stayed for

another shift because one of the evening counter girls called out sick. I
worked as many hours as I could to keep from brooding at home, earning a lot in
tips from people who knew Joey. After a year of burns from spilling hot soup
and coming home smelling like fried onions, I had to do something else. I went
to the local campus of the state university to become a teacher. Maybe helping
children discover themselves would help me wait.

College was hard. I hadn't used my brain for much lately

except figuring out checks as a waitress. I spent a lot of time on my
schoolwork. That's always the way I was with school after I met Joey. He was an
all A student in elementary school, something only a few girls could do. I
really didn't think of myself as a "girl" back then. I was one of the
guys, and my grades showed it. Joey was the most masculine boy my age, and he
got better grades than me. He inspired me. He taught me to love to learn.

We were competitive all through school. We loved studying

together and partnered for projects when the teachers let us. We teased each
other about our grades, the one with fewer red marks on a paper lording it over
the other. He never let me forget that he had the better grade point average at
graduation by a lousy thousandth of a point. Now, I had no one I cared about to
compare myself to.

Getting far enough in my studies that I actually dealt with

little kids helped, whenever I was with them. At night, I grieved for the
babies I might never give Joey.

Anguish, anger, and fear of being alone forever were my

life. Love was something others had. I had baseball cards, a stack of letters,
some jewelry, and an oil painting. A woman at church helped me to cope. As bad
as things were for me, she seemed to have it worse. Her husband left her
pregnant when he was killed by a drunk driver. It was unfair. It made no sense.
Her tragedy was more final than mine and left her a single mother. The woman
was smart and strong. She focused on the good memories she had of her man and
tried to move on, and taught me to do the same. Nothing I could do would bring
Joey home to me, alive or dead. I had to live for myself.

Classmates asked me out. There were some really cute guys, a

few that could have been fun to date. But I didn't. I had lunch with them at
the snack bar, or met with them in the library to study, but they were friends.
I made them understand that. I already had a man. If that meant I went to my
grave a virgin, so be it.

It was soon after I started student teaching in my senior

year in college. Lesson plans were finished for the week. I was taking it easy,
watching a new episode of "Sanford and Son" with Mom and Dad. The
front door burst open.

"He's alive! Joey's alive!" Joe yelled, running

into the living room. Marge was right behind him, crying and laughing like she
had escaped from an asylum.

Dad grabbed the paper from Joe's hand. "Do you know

when he'll come home?"

"They're evaluating him, whatever that means. He's in a

hospital in the Philippines, but they'll bring him stateside soon. We don't
know much about how he is, except that he's alive," Joe said.

"That's enough for me," Dad laughed. "I saved

this for a special occasion. This sounds like it." He went to his liquor
cabinet and brought back a fifth of expensive Scotch.

When the bottle was empty, Mom and I made up the sofa-bed in

the family room for Joe and Marge. Dad was in no shape to help, and Mom wasn't
much better. I lay awake for hours listening to my folks snore. My Joey was
coming home. What had happened to him in the years he was away? Did he still
love me?

To be continued. Based on a post by want some fun 1951, for Literotica.

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