Love Is In The Air. . . .We Move. . . .#12

Our life had settled into a routine, and for the most part, it was
good. I enjoyed my job and it gave me a focus so I didn't have
time to think during the day about how much I missed George
and how lonely I often was. I had never been a person who was
comfortable being alone at night and that made it hard. Lee
realized this and often came and picked me up to eat dinner with
them. On nice days we would swim in their pool and Lee and I
often went shopping. I appreciated not being alone for the hours
after getting home from work until bedtime.

On George's duty weekends, I caught up on my laundry, ironing,
and other household chores. I also used that time to write to
family and friends. On the weekends he was home, he usually
worked for Jack on Saturday, but we had Friday evening and
Sunday for us.

We were eagerly awaiting the day our name would come up for
an apartment in Public Quarters so we could be together in San
Diego. I could tell it was getting harder each weekend for George
to make the commute. He was often tired and he worried about
not waking up at 3:00 Monday morning in order to be ready when
his ride came for him. This became apparent when I would often
wake up within an hour or two of when we went to bed and find
him in the bathroom shaving, in the kitchen polishing his shoes,
or sitting in a chair in his uniform with his duffel bag in his lap.
And, all of this while sound asleep. We began to worry that he
would leave the house asleep some night and wander away.

That paled in significance to a problem I was having. I mentioned
earlier that our apartment, though nice and clean, was not in the
best neighborhood. I had become aware I was being watched by
a group of young men who loitered in the apartment complex. I
didn't know if any of them were residents. This was a matter of
concern to George and may have been one reason he was showing
tendencies of not being able to sleep and sleepwalking. It became
worse when I realized one, or several of them, would appear as I
was leaving work and furtively follow me home. They seemed to
be familiar with George's schedule and know when I was alone.
Some of it may have been paranoia due to my fright, but I knew
there were nights when someone was prowling around outside.

George continued to check on our status for Public Quarters and
it seemed our name was not getting any closer to the top of the
list. He was becoming more reluctant to leave each time he came
home. We began loo9king for another apartment. We needed to
remain close to Jack and Lee and my work. We found a nice
apartment with an upcoming vacancy that was exactly what we
needed. It was even closer to Jack and Lee and near a bus stop
where I could catch a bus to work. It would be available in a
week. Fortunately, George would be home that weekend.

It was a small complex with just four duplex units. They were
well maintained with lovely landscaping, including large shade
trees. The apartment was charming. It was a studio like our
former one, with a bed that pulled out of the wall. The kitchen
and bathroom were larger, and there was a nice linen closet
which our other one didn't have. Everything was done in a
beautiful knotty pine paneling which gave it a cozy, rustic look.
It was very comfortable and we loved it.

We were delighted when we found that the couple who would
be sharing the duplex with us, were also a navy couple our age.
Mike was stationed in Long Beach. He and George often had the
same duty weekends which meant that Louise and I would not
be alone as often. We became good friends and enjoyed doing
things together. We enjoyed many of the same things. She
worked in a restaurant and my hours were better than hers, but
it still worked great for us.

We were happier, our life was easier, and without the anxiety
George had experienced worrying about my safety, he was
sleeping better and his sleepwalking episodes were tapering off.
Our routine became comfortable and I really felt like I was be-
coming a real wife and homemaker.

It was a short time after this that I discovered, and in a most
unpleasant way, that being a homemaker is not always easy. We
were assigned a day of the week to do our laundry. On that day
the washer, cloth lines and clothespins were for our use only. If
we missed our day, there was no making it up, we just had to wait
until the next week. Since I worked, I had a Saturday wash day.
This was perfect because when George was home, he worked
for Jack on that day.

Doing laundry was a chore I enjoyed. The laundry room was nice
and there was never a shortage of hot water. I loved the smell of
the hot water and the laundry detergent. This was in the days of
the wringer washing machines and my favorite part was running
the clothes through the wringer.

George had a duty weekend and I was very sick. I had been sick at
work on Friday, didn't sleep all Friday night, and was even sicker
Saturday morning. I knew I had to do our laundry as George
would need the clothes he had brought home to be washed and I
had thrown up all over the bed during the night. And so, I forced
myself out of bed and began to get the soiled things together.

The head and foot boards of the bed were made out of steel pipes. As
you pushed the bed into the wall, the foot board legs collapsed and
folded into two parts. I removed the soiled sheets and mattress pad
and decided rather than leave an unmade made in the middle of the
room, I would put it away until I could remake it. I was feeling very
faint, and as I was struggling to push it into the wall, it began to
collapse and I began to throw up. I dropped the bed and then tried
to catch it. I didn't quite make it and as the two pieces of the legs
snapped back together, three fingers on my right hand were caught
Two of them were cut to the bone. Yes, I could could literally see
the bone. As if I had not been sick enough already, now there was
throw up all over the floor and footboard and I was gushing blood
like a burst pipe. Louise was at work and Lee was not home, I was
alone. Not knowing what else to do, I wrapped my hand tightly with
a dish towel and attempted to clean up the mess as best I could under
the circumstances. I then gathered up the laundry and detergent and
staggered to the laundry room.

Leaning against the washer, I got the first load of clothes rinsed and
ready to go through the winger. I was in extreme pain and having to
do everything with my left hand. As I began to feed the clothes
through the wringer, I automatically reached with my right hand.
Somehow, probably because it was bound and hurting so much, I
couldn't move it quick enough and my hand began to be pulled
through the wringer. I have never had anything hurt that bad. I
couldn't focus to release the wringer and so as I was watching my
poor hand being pulled through, I reached over and hit reverse. I
just stood there like a statue and watched in horror as my mangled
hand was pulled back through toward me and still I couldn't think
to hit the release button.

That was the longest laundry day I had ever experienced. By the
time I was finished, I was fighting to stay on my feet. Just at that
time, Lee came by. She had been n to the Farmers Market with her
sisters and was bringing me some fresh fruit and vegetables. When
she saw my hand, which by now was black and blue in addition to
the cuts and exposed bone, she was horrified. She rushed me to
the hospital emergency room where I was given a pint of blood,
antibiotics, and sewn up. I don't remember how many stitches,
but it was a lot.

Now, you might be wondering why I didn't call a taxi to take me to
the emergency room? Honestly, I didn't even think about it. I just
knew I had to get my laundry done on my assigned day. Lee made
the bed up fresh when we got home, and boy was I ready to lay down.

I didn't go to work for several days. My boss was very understanding
about little "Suzy Homemaker" making such a mess of things. And,
when the weekend came, was I ever glad to see George and get some
well deserved, to my way of thinking anyway, sympathy.

To Be Continued. . . .