#aug 1943

August was supposed to be a fun month. It felt like the heart of summer, Central Park was the place to be, ice cream was a treat and baseball season was in full swing. Though this August would be unlike any other he’d experienced.

4 am, pouring rain and all he could think about was the letter he received two days ago. He’d told his mother that afternoon then gone out and spent his week’s wages in the local bar. Whiskey shot after whiskey shot until he’d bled his wallet dry. He hadn’t wanted to go home. He hadn’t wanted to go back and tell Parker about being called up to fight. He didn’t want to dwell on the lingering thoughts in the back of his mind, that he didn’t want to go, that he might not come back. He was supposed to focus on the good right? Was he a coward?

Everyone went with smiling faces. They were all excited and proud to be chosen, so why didn’t he feel that way? He was being an idiot surely? One thing Cooper knew was that he couldn’t let anyone think he was a coward. He’d fake it till he made it. Focus on the energy of everyone around him. Basic training started next week and that was it, he’d be shipped over to France to fight the good fight, with a weapon he’d only shot with his Grandfather. 

“I’m in over my head,” he muttered to himself, hands in his pockets as he slowly took the walk home. The city was in a dim out. The lights stayed off or low to confuse overhead planes. Thankfully they didn’t live too close to the docks or harbour; there’d been a bombing there not too long ago. 

Walking up the fire escape, he went to hid bedroom window and slid it up quietly. He hadn’t wanted to go in through the front door, risk bumping into his flat mate and best friend. He wanted to skulk in through the window, collapse on his bed and wallow in self-pity. Just one more night, one more night before he threw on the act for everyone else. It wasn’t uncommon for Cooper to come in late so maybe Parker would’ve made the usual suspect that he was out “schmoozing some poor girl with his handsome face” as his friend had often called it.

Climbing through the window, the brown liquor hadn’t quite killed the hyper-awareness he was teeming with so he didn’t feel drunk. Sliding the window shut, he jumped when he recognised a silhouette in the doorway.

“Jerk. Nearly gave me a heart attack lurking in the dark,” he muttered at his friend before throwing his soaked jacket onto the back of the desk chair. Ruffling his hand through the black locks that were plastered to his head, he shuddered slightly as a chill ran through his spine.Peeling his shirt off, he threw it at the laundry basket before kicking his shoes into the far corner of the room.  

“Didn’t mean to wake you, m’sorry.” 

@parker-stephens40