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The World’s Best Turkey Sandwich

Krista Krueger

    It was World War II and he sat in an uncomfortable seat in a cramped train car. All of the men now, no longer boys, in the car were dressed exactly as he was. The interiors of their bags held the same belongings. Perhaps the only differences were that some of the men had pictures of the girl or wife from back home. He didn’t have a girl to leave behind, but he’d never been from home before. He’d been drafted into the army and the woman on his mind right then was his mother.
    He’d gone south for boot camp and they were on the train headed north to catch a ship to Africa. He smiled bitterly at the thought. Africa. How in the Hell did end up in this spot?
    The scenery had changed slowly from boarding the train to where they were stopped now. In Florida it was still balmy and warm and miserable to run for miles and do hundreds of push ups. Not that he’d enjoyed that anyway, though he used to love to go for long aimless walks when he had been home. The Carolinas were just starting to get that real winter chill. He could tell by the bundled up children who stood by the train crossings, jumping and waving mittened hands, wishing the soldiers well; waving their little American flags on wooden sticks.
    Then through a piece of Virginia and Delaware, past Washington D.C. and they had come to rest at a train stop in Maryland. Not just any part of Maryland, but his neighborhood. It was Christmas and who knew how many he would miss now? Less than six blocks away was his mother; scraping together whatever Christmas Eve dinner she and the family would be having. He had six brothers and only one other had been drafted. The lucky bastard had been stationed in Virginia, so he’d be home having some of that dinner; some of that family warmth and comfort and for a second he came very close to hating his brother.
    There was snow on the ground here, drifts of it in some places. He began to believe the stop there to clean ice from the tracks meant that God was testing him at that very moment.
    He’d taken an oath and he considered a promise a very serious and binding thing. But to see his mother, to see her face light up when he walked in the door before going overseas; he was very tempted. With all the commotion going on would anyone notice one soldier slide off the car? Many had gotten off already to stretch their legs and grab a smoke. Suppose he just took an extra long stretch of the legs and came back? Suppose he didn’t come back at all? Would it matter? If they found him, he’d go to jail. Wasn’t that better than a war in countries he didn’t know with men he wasn’t sure he could trust?
    He pulled his coat tighter around himself and went outside. He pulled a Chesterfield from his pocket and lit it, inhaling it deeply. He could do that in the cold Maryland air; he was used to it. He glanced around; no one was paying any attention to him. He was tall and had the long legs and a stride to prove it. How quickly could he get there and back? What if this was his last chance to see his mother ever again?
    He pictured the kind woman. He was the youngest of the six and he’d been special. He was prone to terrible earaches as a child and he thought of the countless times she’d cradled his head in her hand on lap; rocking softly and humming some nameless, soothing tune. Didn’t she deserve to see her son?
    That was it. His decision made, he began to edge closer to the end of the train. He knew short cuts through alleys and across the recreation center field. He was off, using the speed and lung capacity they’d beat into him to get away and hidden behind the brush as quickly as he could. Then it was darting through alleys slick with ice and snow until he was running full tilt across the field. He burst in the backdoor, his chest heaving in exhaustion, exhilaration and fear.
    “Earl!” his mother exclaimed, nearly dropping a casserole dish as a hand flew to her mouth. “What...? How...?” Then she was hugging him. Her small frame squeezing him far tighter than he thought she’d be able too. She was in tears and finally released him to dry her eyes on her apron. “What is this?” she asked.
    “I snuck away, Mom,” Earl admitted. “The train is stopped down at the station for ice removal. I couldn’t be this close and not come see you.”
    Through her joy and look of disapproval crossed her features. “You’ll get into trouble, Earl. They’ll come here for you.”
    “I’m going back now. I just wanted to see you. I don’t know when I’ll be home again. I love you mom.”
    “Oh, Earl, I know. I love you.” She looked around anxiously; knowing that he had to leave and every fiber of her being screaming for him to stay. So she did the only motherly thing she could think to do. She quickly grabbed a roll, sliced it in half, piled it high with turkey and some mayonnaise and salt and pepper. “Well, here,” she said, ironing the quiver out of her voice. “Take a sandwich with you.”
    Earl took the sandwich and ate it as he walked across the field. He’d worry about running in a few moments, but for that bit of time he was relishing in a bit of home and there was no price more worthy than that turkey sandwich on a roll.
    He lit another cigarette as he tried to casually come around the other side of the train. He was relieved to see it hadn’t moved on without him though he had no desire to go where it was headed. But he also had no desire to disappoint his mother or his father, whom he hadn’t gotten to see in the speediness of the visit.
    He inhaled on his Chesterfield as he saw his head officer coming casually toward him.
    “We did a head count Lohr. We were short one. Care to explain before I call for M.P’s?”
    Surrendered to his fate, but still sure it was worth it; he nodded his head and stood at attention. “Yes, Sir,” he answered. “I did leave. This is my neighborhood and I just couldn’t be this close to home and not go see my mother before we left.” His blue eyes were unwavering as he spoke to the Officer.
    “That’s it?” the Officer asked. “You went home and came back?”
    “Yes, Sir.”
    “To see your mother on Christmas.”
    “Yes, Sir.”
    “She must be one hell of a woman, Lohr.”
    “Yes, Sir. I believe she is.”
    “All right, Lohr. We’ll pretend this didn’t happen. I can’t say I wouldn’t do the same myself. That was very loyal of you. Very American. We need good Americans right now. Go get on the train.”
    “Thank you, Sir.”
    The train finally pulled away and that was the last Christmas home for Earl Lohr for four years. But his mother spent every Christmas Eve close to the back door, peering out from behind the curtain for her boy to come running home in case he needed another turkey sandwich.



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