One of Us
276 Words
One of Us
Leslie Atwater’s days were lived in light, darkness, and shadow. Outwardly, he seemed normal, but within, he was empty and shattered. His core or essence was gone; it disappeared the night Edward died. Leslie walked among the living, but he felt he was not a part of them. He saw no future for England, and especially no future for himself after the terror of the Blitz. It was all one unending nightmare.
They used to laugh together on their way to work—Edward rushing to pick up his daily assignment for The Globe, and Leslie to The Cozy Corner, where he clerked for a small bookshop. Edward would point out a fellow who’d glanced their way or a couple of gents walking close together, chatting, and he’d say, “Wonder if they’re one of us?” One of us. Leslie had met others like him and some even became acquaintances, but he never had intimate male friends. And no one had lit the spark like Edward had. One of us meant something then, to both of them, but now Edward rarely looked at other men. He had no reason to. He kept his head down when he passed them on the street or he looked the other way, pretending to be fascinated by a billboard on a passing bus, or some other street attraction. In September the Blitz came, and he and Edward in their life together snatched what moments they could in between the nightly blackouts, air raids, and bombings. But by December Leslie’s status had changed markedly and irretrievably. He was no longer Edward’s loving companion. He was now on his own, and alone, and one of us meant very little to him.
- Writer
