Dana hurried down the road toward Jesse’s. As she passed George’s small abode, a loud crash sounded from inside. Worried that something might have happened to him, Dana ran to the door and pushed it open.
“Where is it?” came George’s voice. He stumbled around the room with an empty glass in his hand. His flailing movements told Dana he was intoxicated.
“George?” said Dana, tentatively.
George looked at her with half open eyes. “Well, hello there!”
“Are you all right?”
“Never better. Never better. Uh, perhaps you can help me find my whiskey.”
Dana watched as her friend staggered around the room like an idiot. Worried, she stepped inside and closed the door. Her hand bumped something. Picking it up, Dana recognized it immediately as the jug of whiskey. She shook it. Empty.
“I think you drank it all,” she said, putting the jug back down.
“Did I?” George looked at his glass and threw it over his shoulder. “Shit. Have to make more.”
His feet tangled and he nearly fell to the floor. Dana rushed to him, and as she helped him to a chair, a concerned expression covered her face. She had never seen him like this. Actually, Dana never pegged George as one to drink.
“To my dear, dear wife.” George raised his hand to a picture of a woman, holding it as though he actually held a glass. Sobbing filled the room as he leaned over the armrest of his chair and cried. Something plopped on the wood floor.
More concerned than ever, Dana picked it up and held it out to George. “George, what’s wrong?”
He lifted his head. Seeing the locket in her outstretched hand, he took it, handling it with loving care. “This was my wife’s.”
Dana stared at the locket.
“She used to wear it all the time. Never kept any pictures in it. Just wore it cuz she thought it was pretty.”
Dana listened intently. George had never opened up before, and she didn’t like seeing him in this vulnerable state.
“She worked at the plant like me,” continued George, not able to stop now that he started. “One day, we were both scheduled to work in the incinerator.”
A sinking feeling filled Dana’s stomach. She guessed what had happened.
“Even in her grimy coveralls and bandanna, she was the prettiest thing I ever did see. We were separated by a few yards, you see. She was closest to the flames. I didn’t think anything of it. Goes with the job, and she had been there many times before.
“Well, the flames got a bit out of control that day.” George’s voice cracked. He wiped his eyes and continued. “I looked over at her, and she looked right back at me knowing what was coming. I tried to reach her. I did! But, before I could, the floor fell out underneath her and she fell right in.
“I’ll never forget her scream. I damn near threw myself in that day, but I just didn’t have the courage.”
Dana delicately placed her hand on George’s to comfort him. She didn’t know what to say. Nothing could take away the pain of losing someone close.
“That evening, I came back here. And on that table, there was this locket—her locket. She had forgotten to put it on that day. The one day she doesn’t wear it and it’s the day she died.
“That was today, you know. This very day.”
The reason for George’s drinking slapped Dana. This was the anniversary of her death. “George, I—” Dana broke off. What could she say?
George slumped over. Quickly, Dana caught him. She carefully helped him up and walked him over to his bed, covering him with a blanket. Dana picked up the locket and placed it on the table beside the bed.
“That was brave what you did today,” said George, “but you shouldn’t have done it. They ain’t likely to forget it.”
“Let’s worry about that later,” said Dana. “You rest now.”
“Sing to me, Lillian.”
Dana started at the name before realizing that George’s drunken mind was elsewhere. It was with his wife. Not wanting to disappoint him, she sang a melody that her mother once sang to her.
Gone, but never far;
invisible, but always near;
bullied, but stronger than fear;
trust Hope, your guiding star.
George’s snores filled the room, telling Dana that he had fallen asleep. Not wanting to leave him alone like this, she settled in the chair. “To hell with the curfew,” she whispered to herself.