by Cameron Montanye, 17
I still remember the day I met him, though nearly sixteen years have passed since late December 1944. The war was almost over, but the pain would endure for a lifetime.
I’d been working on the train for just over a year. I was an Orderly, comforting patients until a doctor or nurse could help. Being able to help people was fulfilling, but I still dreamed of being a nurse myself someday.
I smiled as I tied back my shoulder-length hair in the mirror. My father had always wanted me to study medicine, but this was my choice. I couldn’t wait to see the smile on his face when I finally returned home.
He’d wave as I step off the boat, my mother pushing his wheelchair to greet me. I would wrap my arms around him and cry tears of joy, celebrating that the war was finally over.
Until then, I had to work harder than everyone else. I was an American on a British Red Cross Train and had to earn everything. I spent every free moment studying medicine or watching the doctors. Nothing would get in the way of my dream.
At the moment, our train rolled at full steam across France. Another battle had begun only hours ago, but the wounded would wait for no one.
I took a shaky breath as I paced the car. I shivered from a combination of the biting cold and icy nerves. Treating patients, even in the small ways I could help, meant so much to me. I couldn’t make any mistakes.
I pulled the pitcher, spool of bandages, and clean washcloths from my bedside table. I may not have the same responsibilities as the doctors and nurses, but keeping the soldiers comfortable still meant a lot.
As the train screeched to a stop, patients were carried into the train car. Orderlies raced to their sides. I wove through the chaos until I noticed an empty corner.
I rushed to the soldier’s side. The young man’s body was mangled. His side was riddled with bullet wounds and practically frozen. He looked about my age before the war had taken years from us both. I knelt to offer him water, but he hardly stirred.
I set to work at once cleaning his wounds. His breathing was so shallow, and I feared that my care wouldn’t mean much.
Doctor Carter told me the man was already in critical condition. His case was hopeless. My mind set in determination. The doctors had said that my father would die after his injury in the first war, but he had proved them wrong.
I vowed that I would stand by this man until the end. He deserved a future like my father. If he couldn’t have his life, then he deserved to know that someone cared.
Maybe he would die, but I wasn’t about to give up on this man while he was still breathing.
I sat beside the wounded man through the night, and he stirred just before dawn. He opened his eyes like he’d just woken from a dream, blinking a few times and sipping the water I’d brought. He winked at me before his eyes closed again.
I stayed at his side until Dr. Carter told me I must get some rest if I was to care for anyone. I begrudgingly obliged him.
I returned to the man in the late morning. He was drinking a thin broth.
“Hello,” he rasped.
I smiled. “Hi. Are you doing okay?”
He shrugged. “I’ll be okay when this war is over. What’s your name?”
“I’m Talia.”
“Thomas,” he smiled. “Are you the one who’s been helping me?”
“Yes.”
“Thank you,” he shivered. “Do you mind staying with me for a while?”
I stayed.
Those moments together are the brightest splotches of color in that cold winter. I wish I could’ve spent more time with him instead of tracking supplies and mixing disinfectant. I knew my work mattered, but it was hard to focus when I could see Thomas watching me intently. It was hard to work without stealing a glance at him. The moments together were so brief, but I already felt like I had known him all my life.
We both lived in England before the war, though I’m from America. We both wanted to go to medical school until the war interrupted our plans.
We both miss our families. Thomas has a younger sister. He said I would love her if we ever met.
We could hardly ever talk during the day without getting sharp looks from Dr. Carter, so most of our meetings were late into the night. We would whisper together so we didn’t disturb the sleeping soldiers, or we would sit in silence, consoled enough be each other’s presence.
“It is beautiful, you know,” he said, during one of those quiet nights, “that you can live your dream because of this war.”
I smiled. “Someday I’ll be a nurse, and you’ll be a doctor. We will both have our dreams.”
His gaze fell. “If only it were that easy,” he whispered, eyes sad. Before I could ask what he meant, he was asleep.
This was our life for the next few weeks. We would speak together in the hours after dusk, and he would smile at me throughout the day as I completed my duties. How easy this life was! The groaning of the men, grinding metal of the train, the smell of blood and antiseptic would melt away when I heard his laugh and saw his smile. I wished life could go on like this forever.
Thomas’s injuries were still critical, but he would never show me how much pain he was in. I didn’t realize that infection had set in until too late. And even then, I had been so hopeful. I had dreamed about a future together.
But I had to face reality eventually.
Thomas knew he was dying before I would admit it. He would never see his family again. One night, he took my hand. “I need you to tell my family I love them,” he whispered.
“Don’t talk like that,” I hushed him.
Thomas smiled. “love your positivity.” His dark eyes turned sad. “If only we could have met under different circumstances.”
“Meeting you was a blessing, Thomas,” I whispered.
He tried to speak but broke away coughing. I felt his forehead burning despite the biting cold and rushed to find a cool washcloth.
It’s hard to know when you do something for the last time. I didn’t know Thomas would leave me. His last day was one of our best together.
He had seemed to be doing so well, cracking jokes and smiling at me throughout the day. With the sunset came the end.
I helped him pen a letter to his family. He wanted his sister to know everything he had learned in this war. After he finished, he fished a beaten dog tag and golden ring from his coat, sealing them in the envelope. “They will understand,” he told me.
“Thomas you can’t-” I broke off, my voice hoarse. I wasn’t ready to admit that he might leave me, this man who had brought such joy into my life.
“You can’t leave me,” I whispered.
He folded my hand in his. “Everything will be okay.” I guess it was his turn to be the optimist. I turned to face him, studying his dark eyes. He pressed his forehead against mine.
“I will miss you.” He said lightly kissing me. He pulled away, eyes closing.
He knew it was his last goodbye, even though I was too afraid to see it.
It was only the next morning that I slid the letter from his already cold fingers, vowing to deliver it to his sister, Rose, myself.
The war ended several months later, and I had my whole life ahead of me. But I couldn’t live it, not yet anyway.
The moment I could, I went to the address on the envelope Thomas had left me. I spent the day with Thomas’s family, shedding tears and memories alongside them. Rose asked me how I knew Thomas, and I merely said that he was a friend. Anything more was between us two alone.
Rose seemed to understand anyway, pressing the golden ring into my palm. “He would have wanted you to have this.”
When I finally returned home to America, I hugged my father in his wheelchair. He told me he was proud of me. Everything was just how I had dreamed, and yet I felt so empty inside.
I lived my dream because he couldn’t. I spent my days because he would never be able to spend his. He gave me so much hope when he left me, although the sadness left a scar all my life.
Perhaps I used the wrong choice of words before. Thomas still gives me joy because he is not gone. He is in the stars on a clear night, the trickle of water in a quiet stream, quiet laughter in the middle of the night. And I still have the joy of knowing that, once my years have passed and I have done all I need to do, I will see him again. And that is enough.
Gilbert, Arizona
Reader’s note: I love this story, especially the unique historical background. I think the whole progression of the story is incredibly bittersweet and touching.
Bridge Ink 