#Irene Marie Moor Malarkey

[pastlivesandpurplepuppets]

What he loved about her was that she was different from the others when it came to Don’s war baggage. When he was suddenly in tears because someone reminded him of Skip Muck, she understood. She listened. She cared. A grenade of bad memories could explode on Don, and he and Irene could pick up right where they left off. As if nothing at all had changed. As if she could love him, protect him, keep him safe from the war—for now and forever. Never mind that Irene, like Don, was only human, and the ghosts of Bastogne were insidious. Years later he was asked what it was like for him after returning from the war. “Tough,” he said. “Tough meaning what?” probed the journalist doing the interview. “It was hell.” “What was the worst it ever got?”

“The worst?” His eyes were misting before he opened his mouth to speak. He sniffed. “Every evening after work,” he said, “I’d go out for a drink. And at the bottom of my glass of scotch… I’d see the faces… of every man I left in Bastogne.”

~ Bob Welch