Remembering the Ghost of You

October 31st, 1944

“I can’t believe you’re only seventeen. You’re a fucking baby,” Bob laughed as we shared a drink in celebration of Frank’s birthday. Esmerie was asleep on my cot in my tent, so I had been able to sneak out and have a drink with the guys. Frank shrugged sheepishly.
“I feel way older,” he admitted.
“Makes sense. We’re out here in this fucked up world,” I said and they nodded.
“But god you’re a baby. How’d you get out here?” Bob asked. Frank shrugged.
“I used my cousins’ papers. He can’t serve because he has a heart condition. He’s 21 and they were skeptical, but let me in.”
“I’d be skeptical. You look twelve,” Bob laughed. Frank smiled.
“I don’t regret it though. I’ll regret it if I die, but I wanted to be out here helping people,” Frank said and I shook my head. “I know you don’t get it Gee. But think, if you didn’t come here you wouldn’t have met Esmerie or realized how much you loved Rebecca.”
“I know,” I sighed. But those were small favors compared to the torture out here. We were always cold and hungry and about to go in the line of fire again. Those small graces could easily disappear if I die. Bob patted my back.
“Cheer up man. It’s his birthday!” he exclaimed and I downed my drink.
“So what?”
“He’s right. This hardly feels like a birthday,” Frank said.
“Aw Frankie don’t be down cause of me,” I said and he shrugged.
“It’s true though. I’m sitting in a ruined Paris days away from marching to my death again,” he said sourly.
“See what you did Gerard!” Bob exclaimed. “Be happy Frank. It’s another birthday. It means you’re surviving all of this fucking shit.”
“I guess,” he said. The silence in our group was broken by Esmerie.
“Why are you out of bed?” I asked her when she poked her head out of the tent. She gave me a sheepish smile.
“Aww look at daddy Gerard,” Bob smirked and Esmerie came running over to me.
“Why are you awake?” I asked her again. She whispered something in my ear and I smiled. “Okay, you’ve got five minutes.” I told her and she walked over to Frank. Her blonde curls were a mess and the cold air turned her cheeks pink. She wore her large nightshirt from the hospital as well as one of my shirts and my socks.
“Here,” she said and held out a little box to Frank. During the day she had stayed at the old nurses’ house. Her house remained mostly intact. Frank opened the box and pulled out a piece of paper and a large piece of licorice. He smiled.
“That’s us,” she told him and climbed into his lap. “Bon anniversaire,” she said and hugged him. He nuzzled her cheek.
“You know how to brighten birthdays,” he told her. “Thanks.” I smiled. She truly was the only light in these dark times.