(Please read Chapters in order)
The woman closed the door behind her and said, “Hello there. You can call me Mrs. Archibald.”
“You’re married then?” he said.
“No, not anymore.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Listen. I would love to stay and chat but I have to get to work. So goodbye Mr. Johnston,” Mrs. Archibald said as shook his right hand as his dangled at his side. Then Mr. Archibald turned and walked away down the sidewalk.
“Call me Charles!” he shouted after. “Nice woman,” he said sarcastically to himself as he opened the door and rubbed his nose before starting his ascent of the stairs.
He soon reached his new third floor apartment and opened the door with his free right hand. As he stepped into the semi-barren room, he set his box down on the floor with the others. He looked at his fake gold wrist watch and saw that it was 8:00 AM already. He had been unloading the boxes off his truck since 6:00 AM that morning and had the floor littered with almost two dozen boxes already. He hadn’t been able to sleep at the hotel last night. He never had been able to sleep at hotels. They just never felt right, not like home.
He grabbed a crescent breakfast sandwich that he had bought on the way here from the hotel and sat down on a cardboard box labeled “Books”. He peeled the aluminum foil off the sandwich and began to eat. While eating he noticed the label “Photo Albums” on a close by box. He set the sandwich on another box, leaned over and drug the “Photo Album” box in front of him. He tore the tape off the box and opened it. He reached in and out came a brown, leather bound photo album with a tan cover. He opened it slowly and saw several pictures of the most beautiful women he has ever had the pleasure of laying eyes on.
It was the beginning of the decade of the fifties. America and the world were still getting over World War II. Charles had served his country well. He was a pilot; private in Patton’s great campaign in the northern African deserts against the Desert Fox. He won two medals for his bravery and earned a scar down the back of his leg that he always thought would have provided a great story for the grandchildren.
He came home on August 2, 1946 to his wife and two young children. They were living in Pittsburg, Pennsylvania at the time. His wife had been forced to get a job to support their fledgling family. A genuine Rosie the Riveter she was. Her place of employment was at one of the local steel mills. When he got back he resumed the position as a reporter for the local newspaper. He even got a raise upon return. His boss had fought for Britain in World War I. He knew what Charles had gone through and sympathized with him, which wasn’t something Charles was used to. He took the raise nonetheless.
Now that he was back at his job, with his raise, he assumed his wife would quit her job. After all, he made plenty of money and women weren’t supposed to work anyway. Their place was at home; not in the workplace. He didn’t think he was a sexist. He didn’t believe in the whole “bare foot and pregnant” ideology. It is just that it isn’t right to make woman work, especially in a steel mill. That is how he felt. His wife didn’t share a similar sentiment however.
She didn’t want to quit. She was happy at her job. She felt a sense of empowerment ever time she picked up her paycheck. It wasn’t much but it was hers. It meant that she could finally buy things that were actually hers. No longer would she have to ask Charles for money. No longer would the name on the check read Charles. And she liked it. She liked it a lot. That job was the world to her and she wasn’t going to give it up.
Charles couldn’t understand that though. He couldn’t understand her need to have that money. He always thought she had enjoyed her life at home: playing bridge on the porch with the neighborhood ladies, taking care of the children and every Friday night she and Charles would go swing dancing at Chubby’s Ballroom in the downtown district. She had enjoyed that life but she doesn’t want to go back to that life. This new found life of hers is full of excitement and experiences that she would have never had in her old life. Charles tried to pretend he was okay with her working but he could only do it for two years. He didn’t like the way things were now. They no longer went swing dancing at Chubby’s Ballroom on Friday nights. She had to work the night shift on Friday nights.
One night he just burst and yelled at her. He told her to quit her job and come back home. He said that he missed her not being home as much. She knew he was sincere but sincerity wasn’t enough. She knew he wanted things back to the way they were before the war but she didn’t. She couldn’t go back to that life, not that she has experienced this new life.
The divorce followed shortly after. He was so ashamed by the divorce. Wives didn’t file for divorces. That just wasn’t the way things were. At least that was how things were after the war. He longed for those days before the war. His life before seemed like some fantasy to him now. And he knew he could never live that fantasy again.
He couldn’t live in Pittsburg now that they got the divorce. What would the neighbors think? So he packed his things and left. He left his wife and the two children in Pittsburg and moved to Chicago. Then he moved to Portland and then Dallas and then Atlanta. He hadn’t stayed for more than a few years at any of them. He just couldn’t live at any of those places. They just didn’t feel right. They just didn’t feel like home. And now he is here in Santa Barbra.
He suddenly slammed the photo album shut. Tears started to creep their way down his face, but only for a moment. He wiped the tears off his face with the sleeve of his flannel cotton shirt sleeve and tossed the photo album back onto the cardboard box labeled “Photo Albums.” He stood and thought to himself, “Well those boxes aren’t going to move themselves.” With that he made his way out of the apartment and down the two flights of stairs.
He quickly exited the building and walked over to his moving truck where he started work on the rear door’s latches. Not too long afterwards a young woman in light blue jeans and a pink fleece sweater emerged from the building’s door.
“Hi! I’m Katie. You must be the guy moving in to the third floor,” she said as she bounced her way over next to him.
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