Ernie’s Choice - Chapter One of WIP - A Day Out of Time

With his free hand, Ernie Atwood pulled his fraying brown book bag farther up onto his shoulder. He heard the spare pieces of change clang around in the side pocket. Checking to make sure that all of the money was still present and accounted for, Ernie sighed with relief. He would never admit it to the kids at his school, but that money was earmarked for a Lone Ranger Luminous Blackout Kit. At sixteen years old, Ernie’s mother thought that he would have grown out of his collectibles, but she was wrong. There was just something about hearing the adventures of the Lone Ranger and Tonto that made Ernie want to put on a mask and apprehend his own bandits.

“Hiya! Wait up!”

Ernie looked behind him to see his best friend Billy running; his thick-rimmed black glasses sliding precariously down his nose and his orange-blonde curls bouncing free of the rough hairbrush strokes that his mother had no doubt forced him to sit through. Ernie could smell the extra pomade that Mrs. Chase applied to Billy’s hair in an attempt to tame the wild locks. It never worked. Billy’s wild look contrasted with Ernie’s seemingly perfect composure. From the tips of his toes to the top of his head, Ernie looked like absolute perfection personified. His long legs ensured that he stood at least a head taller than everyone else in his class, his green eyes were unobstructed by panes of glass, and his chocolatey-brown hair swept elegantly off to one side in the perfect imitation of Cary Grant.

“Where are you going?” Billy asked, out of breath.

Ernie stopped walking, setting his bag down on the dusty alley tarmac. He held out his hand, and Billy grasped it quickly, pumping it up and down to complete the pair’s secret handshake.

“I’m on my way to the Post Office. Want to come with?” Ernie looked down the alley lined with closed garage doors and leafy trees peeking out between each structure. A couple of buildings down, a man wearing dark denim pants and a white shirt with rolled up sleeves had his head buried in the open hood of a 1938 Chevy Coupe. A tuft of smoke erupted from where the engine was and the man swore loudly.

“Sure, I’ll walk with you!”

Billy and Ernie had been friends since they were toddlers and they had been through a lot together. One time, Ernie had carried Billy all the way back to his house from Lake Michigan when he stepped on some glass and sliced his foot open from heel to big toe. Billy paid Ernie back not too long after that when Ernie was caught sneaking in late after finally taking Susan Mercer down to Navy Pier for a date. Susan’s parents allowed her to wear bright red lipstick, and every boy in Ernie and Billy’s class wanted kiss her because of it. Ernie had taken Susan on the Ferris wheel and they had split a Coke, and by the end of the night, Ernie realized that kissing Susan Mercer wasn’t as exciting as it was supposed to be. Her vapid conversation topics were a bore, and Ernie didn’t have enough money to keep her entertained. It had taken him longer than he anticipated to work up the courage to pucker up, eyes closed, and lean in for a kiss. So once he had dropped Susan off at home and made his way to his own front door, it was already two hours after curfew. Billy promised Ernie’s parents that it had been his fault that Ernie came home late. Mr. and Mrs. Atwood could never say “no” once Billy flashed them the signature crooked smile that made it look like his freckles were dancing across his cheeks, and Ernie was let off the hook.

“What are you going to the Post Office for?” Billy asked as he and Ernie turned the corner at the end of the alley. Billy looked both ways cautiously. Ernie knew that Billy’s parents didn’t like him taking shortcuts through alleys, and it always made the smaller boy nervous.

Ernie patted the side pocket of his bag proudly.

“I saved up enough to mail in for the Blackout Kit!”

Billy’s forehead creased slightly as he raised his eyebrow at his best friend.

“You mean you’re actually going to waste your money on a toy? I’ll never understand you, Ernest Atwood!”

Ernie’s feet skidded beneath him as he came to a sudden halt; Billy continued walking, talking to nobody in particular until he noticed his friend’s absence and doubled back. Ernie was staring at the newspaper stand, his mouth moving minutely as he read the headlines on the Chicago Tribune.

“Hey kid!” the man inside of the portable newspaper cart slammed his hand on the front of the paper that Ernie was reading. “If you want to read that, you’re going to have to buy it first!”

“But mister, I’m only reading the headlines!” Ernie protested.

The salesman jutted out his hand, palm up, toward the center of Ernie’s chest.

“Two cents, or move along,” he coughed out in a rough voice as a cigarette hung limply from his bottom lip.

“C’mon Ern, just pay him or leave.” Billy hated any sort of confrontation.

Ernie looked up at the sallow face of the salesman. If he paid him, he wouldn’t have enough to send out for his Lone Ranger Luminous Blackout Kit. However, maybe his friends and his parents were right. There was a war going on, and it was time for him to grow up.

Ernie slid his book bag off of his shoulder and rested it on his foot. He fished his hand into the side

pocket and pulled out two worn copper pennies and put them in the newspaper seller’s outstretched hand. The man moved his other hand away from the top copy of the Chicago Tribune reluctantly and Ernie picked it up, shaking it out the way he had seen his father shake newspaper before he sipped his morning coffee.

SOLOMONS HIT BY JAP FLEET the Tribune proclaimed in big, bold letters across the top of the paper. Right underneath that in slightly smaller letters, RUSH 18-19 YEAR DRAFT TO MEET 7,500,000 GOAL. Ernie looked over his shoulder. Billy was reading the headlines, his eyes growing wider.

“Seven and a half million! Do you think they really mean seven and a half million?”

Ernie nodded his head. His father had been grumbling about the war for years, and now that it had been ten months since the attack on Pearl Harbor and America’s involvement in the war, it made sense that they would need to amplify their forces for a final push. At least Ernie hoped that it would be a final push. It seemed that it had been Ernie’s whole life that he had heard snide remarks about Nazis and now the Japanese. He was ready for it all to end.

Ernie sat roughly on the nearest stoop and waited for Billy to join him. He placed the paper on his knees with the call for young men to fight for the safety of their country staring him in the face.

“I want to enlist,” Ernie finally spoke. He sat up straighter when he said it and tilted his head back, imagining the form of Uncle Sam cheering him on in the distance.

“You can’t!” Billy cried. “You’re only sixteen. They won’t let you! It says eighteen year olds.”

Ernie pursed his lips.

“I’m gonna do this, Bill. Anyway, I look older than I am. I’m the tallest in our class! They’ll never even know.”

Billy spluttered. “Yeah well, I…I’m gonna…I’ll…I’ll tell your mom!”

Ernie stood up, his extra height made Billy recede further into the stoop.

“You would never, Wilbur Chase!” Ernie spat out his best friend’s given name angrily. He knew how much he hated the name “Wilbur”. He had insisted that his friends and family call him “Billy” even before his fifth birthday. Ernie never used Billy’s real name unless he was seriously angry.

Billy stood up to his full height and puffed out his chest in an attempt to look intimidating.

“Don’t do this, Ernest Atwood.”

Ernie ran his tongue along his front teeth the way he always did when he was thinking.

“Come with me, then.”

“What?” Billy exclaimed. That was the last thing he wanted to do.

“If you want to do the right thing, come with me,” Ernie said calmly. “Think about it. I’ll go to the recruitment office tomorrow, right after school lets out.”

Before Billy could reply, Ernie walked quickly away.

***

The next afternoon was raining and cold. Ernie stood under the meager awning that jutted out over the sidewalk in front of the recruitment office. He watched as a steady stream of men and boys walked past him, pulling on the heavy door, and walking resolutely inside to take up their place in the ranks of brave American men. Ernie felt like a ridiculous child perched on the steps leading to the doors of his future. Shaking, Ernie looked down at his watch. It was nearly four o’clock. Okay, he thought to himself, I will wait until exactly four, then I will go in. Ernie watched as the longer, slimmer hand on his watch wound around the face, pulling the heavier hand resolutely behind it. It clicked into position. He took a deep breath, steadying his racing heart, and set his foot down closer to the doorway. He reached out a shaking hand and grasped the handle; it was still warm from the dozen or so other hands that had pulled it open in the past five minutes. Ernie tugged at the door, closed his eyes, and stepped through.

When he opened his eyes, his jaw dropped but his scream was trapped, dying in his chest.