TITLE: We Happy Few
Today was Easter Sunday, and it was the first time in her twenty-two years that Rose would miss a Busco holiday dinner.
Rose’s father honked the horn in three short bursts as he waited with the motor running to take her and her son to Grand Central. Still, Rose took her time walking from room to room of the rowhouse, trying to remember everything just as it was.
The newspaper clipping on the refrigerator announcing a citation for her brother’s platoon — the perfect spot to gloat to the neighborhood ladies when they came over;
The sprigs of parsley drying over the sink;
The glass doorknobs that she’d pretended were diamonds as a child;
The bed she shared with her sister with the line of masking tape dividing the dresser in half;
Her mother’s sewing machine with cloth left bunched under the needle for a curtain order from Mr. Nuccio’s candy store to keep gluttonous eyes away from the red vines after hours;
Finally, Rose’s mother at the stove in her flowered apron — always with her dark hair tied back into a bun while she was cooking.
Rose wanted to tell her how much she would miss her and how hard it was to leave. She wanted to repeat that she was moving to San Francisco because her husband asked to be near his son and in wartime we all have to make sacrifices, but her father honked again. Rose said good-bye to her mother’s back.