He would have let it end in Europe had he known that debating whether or not to step into a busy road was so difficult. That was the only thing tolerable about New York; the constant busy roads. It was a nice reminder that he could always take an accidental spill onto the pavement if the day finally deemed it fit. And that day was nigh. 

It was dark. As dark as it could be in New York and the night time traffic was picking up speed. He watched the crosswalk sign turn red and took his last steps onto the newly patched cement. Out of the corner of his eye he could see a taxi heading his way. He smiled. Closing his eyes, he let the buzz of the colorful city take him.

“STOP!” Came a high voice. The screech of car brakes and blinding headlights flooding the man's senses.

He opened his eyes to the taxi in front of him. Empty eyes staring up at him from the shiny reflection of the hood. A car door slams and he looks up to see a red haired woman running towards him. 

“What in God’s name are you doing?!” She shouts, her voice rough.

“Sorry ma’am,” The man said with a shaky tip of his hat. “Wasn’t paying attention. Sorry for frightening you.”

“Almost gave me a heart attack is what you did,” She says through a newly lit cigarette. She shoved one into his hand and waved off her taxi. 

“You owe me a drink for scarin’ me,” She laughs nervously. “Come on I know a great club.”

The man didn’t have time to protest as she grabbed his hand, crushing the cigarette she had given him in the process and dragging him down the street. They weave through hoards of pink and blue dresses. Hearing the praises of America through every club doorway. The once tantalizing city lights blur into white hoards as they run. Finally they came upon a small club just off of an intersection. 

Once inside the two are met with the familiar stench of cigarettes and booze. The woman drags him to two empty seats at the end of the bar.

“One Gin Rickey!” She shouts to the barkeep, “What do you want?”

“Huh? Oh! The same.” The man manages to cough out. He hadn’t expected to last longer than ten o’cloak, muchless with a woman.

“Two Gin Rickeys! The man gets the bill!” 

Not long after the two strangers are given their drinks. Taking a sip the man finally takes a look at his new acquaintance. Her bobbed red hair framed her pale face with ease. Her eyes matched the rind of the lime in her drink. She was beautiful.

“So, you new to New York? Not many pedestrians step into the road to wait for a taxi.” She asked. The man blushed, lips taut with embarrassment.

“What about you?” The man asked. “Sure you know your way around but that country drawl means there's more than meets the eye.” 

“My husband was injured in combat and relieved of his service. When his ship docked here he told me that he had to stay and wanted me to come live uptown. I was livin’ in Oklahoma with my mother at the time so you can imagine how amazing living in the city was to a little country girl like me.”

He took another sip of his drink, “Well, is it amazing?”

“Huh?”

“Living in New York, is it everything you dreamed?”

Her eyes widened for a moment, face slack.

“Oh, it's amazing!” She laughs. The nervous slant of her brow would say otherwise. “But enough about me you still haven’t answered my question.”

“I’m a lot like your husband ma’am. Docked here in New York after V-E and didn’t wanna leave.”

“What’d your mother and father think a’ that?”

The man laughs. “I don’t know. If I had a direct line to heaven maybe I’d call and ask.”

The woman's face paled, her red lipstick glistening like blood.

“I’m sorry I shouldn’t have assumed-”

“It's alright ma’am. I had the war to distract me from their passing. A week after their funeral I was drafted.”

“I can’t imagine what that must’ve felt like.” 

“Not as bad as I thought it would. Your view of death gets a little twisted out on the front lines,” He said honestly. They were staring at each other, eyes locked. Both unsure of what to say to each other. The club patrons do it for them as they erupt into song.

“Over hill, over dale

As we hit the dusty trail, 

And those caissons go rolling along!”

The man goes pale. The field before him, decimated by enemy fire. The stench of death leaks from his brothers open flesh. His rifle, a constant in this in the everflashing terrain is gone. What is he going to do? He feels a hand on his shoulder, the krauts aren’t going to take him today.

“What the hell are you doing!” Someone yells. The french field disappears. He’s holding onto someone's wrist, it's the womans. He looks into her green eyes. A moment ago they were sparkling and soft, now they bore into the man with terror. She rips her wrist from his grasp and gets up from her seat. Over the sea of singing bodies he follows her. Stumbling out onto the sidewalk the cool night air takes his breath away.

“Are all you army boys the same!” She shouts, her breath wet and laboured. “Y’all seem so nice and pure, finally tired from playing the hero! Then the next thing you know their swingin’ on ya!” 

“I’m sorry ma’am really I am-”

“I know you are and that's what makes it so hard to leave!” She puts a hand over her mouth, eyes wide. Both stare at each other silently. Shakily, the woman lights a cigarette and leans against the outer club wall as she finishes it. The man offers her his arm.

“You don’t have to take it but,” He tries to think of a way to make the night up to her. “But I hear the park is beautiful at night.”

They take a seat on a bench silently when they reach the park. Neither one saying or doing anything for a long time. The woman clears her throat.

“I saw you before my taxi driver did,” The woman whispers into the night. Composing herself as stray tears fall from her eyes. “I could have let him kill you, I know that's what you wanted.”

The man stiffened, “Then why didn’t you?”

“Because you remind me of my husband,” She spits angrily. “Your empty eyes were almost relieved that you could finally take the cowards way out.”

The man is quiet.

“My husband has the same eyes, but his way out is only temporary.”

“Booze.” The man responds.

“Sometimes. But most of the time it's to fight the krauts that lurk in our house.”

The man looks at her, confused. Up close he can see her wrinkles, how her makeup settles into the creases. Her hair is thin and smells of leftover heat from the curlers. 

“Sometimes, if the shadows are just right, he thinks the krauts have snuck in. ‘Sends him into rage.” She looks at her lap, an unlit cigarette rests on it, “I’m usually in the way of that rage.”

“Why don’t you leave him?” The man asks bluntly.

“Because it's what he does after that always makes me stay.” She hesitates for a moment then picks up the man's hand and places it on her cheek. Then moves his other hand so it runs through her hair. 

“He always does this.” She smiles. The man looks into her eyes, they glisten in the moonlight. Both sit unmoving, eyes locked.

“After he apologizes,” She says into the silence. “He finally does this.”

She kisses him, staining his mouth with her lipstick. A church bell rings; both open their eyes in surprise. The woman pulls away.

“I shouldn’t have done that,” She says softly, even in the dim light the man can see her blush. “I don’t even know your name.”

“It's Peter. Peter Nowicki.” The woman doesn’t respond, her eyes now watching the faraway trees sway in the breeze. She stands.

“Well Peter, it's time for me to go.” Abruptly she starts back towards the city.

“You can’t go back to your husband.” He calls out as he gets up from the bench.

“It's America I can do what I want.”

“You’re right, but I know that's not what you want to do.”

She stops in her tracks and faces Peter. She lights a cigarette. They stand silently, the sounds of the city filling the air. The woman stares at her feet as she smokes. She takes in a deep breath and breathing out a puff of smoke she says, “Marie.”

Peter looks at her, “Huh?”

“My name. It's Marie Kelly.” 

Peter smiles. “Well, it's nice to meet you Mrs.Marie Kelly.”

“It’s good to meet you too Mr. Peter Nowicki,” Marie smiles back at him. They both start to laugh.

“What are we gonna do?” She laughs quietly. Peter puts his arm out for her to take.

“We’ll let the city decide.” He says. She takes his arm and they head back to the glowing city.

They weave through the crowds, neither making a point to find a destination. A building catches Peter’s eye, he stops.

“This the right one?” He says to Marie as he motions to the train station before them. 

“It’ll get me home.” Marie says to him as she eyes the schedule. The city buzz fills the awkward silence between them. Marie unravels her arm from Peters but takes his hand instead of walking into the building by herself. Peter hesitates for a moment at the touch but entwines his fingers into hers. She pulls him into the station.

They stand hand and hand waiting for the train. Their grip on each other turning their knuckles white. The train pulls up. Maire doesn’t move. She waits for the train to fill then finally lets go of Peter's hand. Neither say goodbye.

Peter watches Marie enter the train, she turns around and gives him one final smile from a window. Peter lights a cigarette. He walks out of the station onto the sidewalk. He waits for the crosswalk signal to turn green, then makes his way home.