Work Text:
“Wait for me!”
BJ Hunnicutt didn’t want to wait. He wanted to push his bike off from the top of the hill and fly down it. So he propelled himself on his bike rolling down, down, down without looking back to see if Peggy was behind him. Once the bike picked up speed on their quiet Mill Valley street, he let go stretching his arms out wide, imagining himself a World War I fighter pilot like the ones Peggy and her father told him about. The pilots flew over foreign and ancient sounding places like Serbia and Romania and the Ottoman Empire. Always seeing, never getting involved. Yes, he thought as the wind pulled at his hair and the early spring afternoon sun shone in his face, I could be a fighter pilot.
The bike slowed as the road curved gently back upward, and BJ took ahold of the handles again to steer himself to a stop on the side of the street. He turned back with a wide grin to observe his path. Peggy lay sprawled in his wake, a tangle of bike pedals and dirty calico fabric and upturned legs. She was trying to hide tears as he rushed toward her.
“You didn’t wait!” She scolded. She flinched as he inspected the newest scrape on her knee. It was bleeding badly. “I wanted to go down together.”
BJ pulled her to her feet and let her dust herself off while he moved the bikes to the sidewalk. “Come on back to my house. I’ll clean you up and...” He eyed the twisted handle bars on her bike, “...straighten your handle bars too.” BJ was used to tending to Peggy’s wounds instead of disturbing either of their mothers.
“Why didn’t you wait for me?” She sniffed.
“I’m sorry, Peg.” BJ passed her his handkerchief. And he was truly sorry.
She was a tag-along, not always welcomed, sometimes in the way, but he did like her, as much as any 10 year old boy could like a girl who followed him everywhere. Was it his fault her 3 older sisters with their tea sets and sewing and interest in boys didn’t want to play her tomboy games? Peggy could hold her own when the boys on the street played rougher games like ball or hide and seek or tag. She was all skinned knees and dirty streaked cheeks and stringy pigtails. And she was really smart. A full year younger than BJ, she could spell better than he could, and she’d learned her times tables faster than he had.
Leaving left his bike at the bottom of the hill in front of his friend Mike’s house, BJ pushed Peggy’s bike up the sidewalk. Mike’s parents wouldn’t mind, and he could go back to get his later. BJ’s father’s medical bag was in the front hall. BJ grabbed it and led Peggy to the black and white tiled bathroom of his family’s arts and crafts bungalow. The scrape wasn’t as bad as it looked after BJ was able to wash blood and dirt from the tender skin. His gentle hands applied mercurochrome the the freshly cleaned wound, and then he blew on it to take out the sting. “I don’t know why we do this.” BJ chuckled softly. “Dad says we’re just blowing germs back into the wound.”
“Because it stings...ow!”
“I know. You’re being brave.” He tried to encourage her, but she shot him a withering look. She always did know when he was being patronizing. A fresh bandage came next, soft and cool.
“There. Almost good as new.” He paused. His mother would have kissed the wound. It seemed ungentlemanly not to offer some sort of comfort, but a kiss seemed too weird. Instead he brushed a hand down her shin and patted her foot before rising. “Now let’s go look at your bike. I’m pretty sure the only handlebars need adjusted.”
Just as comfortable in the garage as he was with this father’s medical bag, BJ sifted through the toolbox looking for the correct sized wrench. “Ah-ha! Three quarters inch! Hold the wheel steady for me, Peg.” She talked to him about everything and nothing while he turned the wrench on the bolt securing the handlebars, checked the spokes, and gave the chain a touch of oil.
Nothing she said needed much of a reply, but he liked listening to her voice while he worked. She told him of the latest baseball stats and the boy her oldest sister was dating. He had taken pictures of the construction of the Golden Gate Bridge on his last trip there with his father, and told Peg all about the engineering of building such a wonder. Fiddling with the tools in the box, Peggy lined each wrench up by size while she told BJ of one of her father’s fighter pilot stories during the War. It was one BJ had heard before, but it didn’t matter. BJ had every intention joining the Army’s flight school at 18, so the fighter pilot stories were his favorite.
When he walked back up the hill from retrieving his bike, Peggy was sitting on the tool bench swinging her legs and twirling the end of a pigtail in her hands. She looked easy and relaxed. “Mike’s home.” BJ said. Some of the kids are getting a baseball game together. Want to play?”
Peggy glanced down at her bandaged knee. “I think I’ve done enough damage for one day.” She grinned at her own small joke. “Besides Mother wants to teach me how to sew a hem.” With that, Peggy wrinkled her nose and hopped off the bench. “Maybe after school tomorrow instead?”
“Sure thing, Peg. See you tomorrow.” BJ walked her next door before finding his glove and bat to join the rest of the kids at Mike’s.
*****
“Want to split a Coke?” Peggy asked, watching BJ loosen his tie. “I think there’s a few left.” BJ nodded. He had escaped the wedding reception to sit on the front steps of Peggy’s family home. The June sun dipped below the skyline as the two sat together. A watery grey and pink sky reflected in in Peggy’s darker grey eyes. She sipped the Coke and passed the bottle to BJ.
“Your sister’s wedding was nice. I just had to get out of there for a while. Too many people.” He took a long drink of Coke before giving the drink back to Peggy. Nearly sixteen year old BJ was grateful weddings were few and far between on his social calendar.
“Thanks for dancing with me. I was afraid I’d be stuck with Nicholas, that boy of Dad’s friend, all night.” She huffed and leaned into his shoulder just a bit.
“What’s wrong with Nicholas? He seemed like a nice guy. Knows a lot about cars too.”
Peg grimaced. “He’s an arrogant cad. He kept talking about how lucky I was to be dancing with him.” BJ glanced at Peggy, a dim awareness stirring in him that Peggy was somehow different than his other buddies.
A low rumble started at the bottom of the hill, interrupting his thoughts. The machine climbed, straining at the top. “Will you look at that, Peggy! An Indian Scout 101. Boy, I’d love to have one of those.” BJ exclaimed watching the red motorcycle crest the hill and speed away. “That one looks like the original 1929 model with a 45 cubic inch engine and a single piece frame. The newer ones have a two-piece frame, with the front and rear halves bolted to each other at the top and to the engine at the bottom. It’s a heavier bike than the 1929 model.” He stopped momentarily for a sip of Coke. “I think Indian is shipping the newer models to Great Britain for the war.”
She responded by grinning at him and nudging her shoulder against his. BJ’s heart turned in a way he had never even thought of before. As he side glanced at Peggy in her new blue dress and carefully curled hair for the occasion, for the first time he saw her as soft and delicate and tender.
“I didn’t realize you knew so much about motorcycles.”
“Oh, well...I just read an article about them in Popular Mechanics.”
“Do you think you’ll drive one of them in the war instead of fly then?” She asked quietly. News of the escalating war efforts in Europe was beginning to consume the thoughts of nearly everyone in their circles.
BJ huffed out a sigh. “I’ve changed my mind. I think I’d rather be like Dad and care for people rather than drop bombs on them.” He stopped, horrified at the idea he’d just insulted Peggy’s father. “I...I mean...your dad did what he was told to do...it...he’s still a good person...just...”
“It’s okay. I know what you mean. You’re too gentle to hurt a person anyway.”
He could feel a blush creeping over his cheeks and hoped it wasn’t visible in the dying sunlight. To recover, he asked “I suppose Sarah will get married next year? She seems pretty serious with that Navy guy. And then you’ll be next.”
Peggy gave a little snort of derision. “My sisters might all want to just get married and be housewives, but I’m going to be a career woman. I still want to teach school. Only...can I tell you a secret? What I’d really like to do is be a journalist. But girls aren’t writers. They are teachers or nurses or they don’t work at all. I could be happy being a teacher.”
“What would you write about?”
“Anything, Beej. That’s the thing, right? Journalists write about anything. Why, I could even cover the opening of the Golden Gate Bridge.”
The two friends sat in comfortable silence until the Coke was gone and BJ’s father found the them after most the other guests had gone home. “It’s late, kids. Time to say your goodnights.”
After supper, a few nights later BJ lay on the living room rug listening to the radio and the quiet clicking of mother’s knitting needles. “Say Mom,” he rolled over to face her, “if I bought the yarn, would you knit Peggy something pretty for Christmas? One of those shawls for when she has to dress nice?”
“BJ, a piece of clothing is a very personal gift for a friend!” His mother chided, but his father looked over the paper at them both with sudden interest.
“Oh, I didn’t know...” he stammered, “I just thought...Peggy might like...” He trailed off, suddenly embarrassed that he’d even come up with such a thought to begin with. He certainly didn’t want to be thought of as a cad. “She’s my best friend, aside from Mike is all.”
Bea Hunnicutt pursed her lips as though trying to make a decision when BJ’s father intervened on his behalf. “They’re just kids, Bea. He wants to do something nice for the girl. If BJ is willing to pay for the supplies and your time, consider it, will you?”
After a long moment of silence, his mother agreed. “Well I suppose a shawl would make a nice gift, BJ, and you have known Peggy for several years. But you’ll have to earn the money for the yarn. It will take several balls. I’ll make a list of chores you can do for me to earn the money.” Jay sent a thoughtful and grateful half smile his wife’s way.
And so the day after Christmas BJ found himself in Peggy’s front sitting room nervously toying with the string on a soft package wrapped in newspaper. He suddenly had no idea why he was here or why he had six months earlier asked his mother to help him with a gift. None of his other friends were getting gifts from him. Indeed, he’d never even thought to find something for Mike.
His nerve almost left him when Peggy came in the room. “Hiya, Beej.” She smiled as though they were headed out for a bike ride or a game of baseball with the neighborhood kids. The same smile he’d seen her smile his whole life, and his shoulders relaxed a little. She held a brown paper package tied with a bit of red wool yarn.
“Do you know you’re the only person who ever calls me Beej?” He grinned.
“Oh, I’m sorry. I’ll stop if you want.”
“No. It’s all right. I like it.” He squished the package in his hands and the paper crinkled a little. “I...I brought you something.”
She perched on the edge of the couch beside him. “I got you something too.”
“Ladies first.”
“BJ Hunnicutt, did you just say ‘Ladies first?’ Since when did you ever think of me as a lady?” She laughed, pushing her shoulder against his in a teasing move, but she opened her gift nonetheless. “Oh BJ. It’s lovely! This must have cost you a fortune!” Peggy fingered the soft wool of the pale pink shawl Bea had made.
He blushed suddenly at the compliment. “Only a little sweat equity. My mom made it in exchange for odd jobs around the house.”
“Well, it’s beautiful and tell your mother I said so!” The shawl made Peggy’s grey eyes darken to almost blue when she slipped it over her shoulders.
“Here, it’s not much, but open yours.” The tag read “Merry Christmas, BJ.” in Peggy’s neat script handwriting. He could imagine her sitting at the table in the kitchen tying the yarn and using her father’s best fountain pen to carefully write out the simple sentiment.
BJ used his pocket knife to slice the yarn and slid the kraft paper off a smallish rectangular box. A photograph of an Indian Scout adorned the box. Inside was a yellow scale model of BJ’s dream motorcycle. “Peg...”
She shrugged. “I know we’re too old for toys, but I saw it in the department store downtown, and I remembered how you said you wanted one. I thought maybe until you could get a real one....”
“Gosh, it’s perfect! Thank you!”
*****
It was early fall of 1942. The whole country could talk of nothing but the war. BJ had registered for the draft a month ago after his eighteenth birthday. As an only child and a student, it was unlikely he’d be called. Yet the idea of being asked to go fight appealed to him less and less the further he moved away from that 10 year old kid who dreamed of flying planes and bombing unsuspecting villages. He hoped the Army would let him finish college and medical school. He hoped to live his life without ever having to experience first hand the horrors he saw on the newsreels that preceded the movies he and his friends went to go see on Saturday afternoons.
The boorish boy Nicholas who failed to impress Peggy three years prior had already been shipped to the European theater. Their friend Mike was preparing to enlist. Nearly everyone knew someone who knew someone who had been lost at Pearl Harbor.
The sound of a small object hitting glass caught BJ’s attention where he was hunched over his suitcase, packing the last of his belongings. On top of the blue scarf his mother had knit him to ward against the chilly winter days he nestled the yellow Indian Scout that normally sat on his desk. The bus for Stanford left in the morning. He looked up for a moment before returning to his packing. Another pebble hit the window followed by a quiet, but urgent “BJ!”
Underneath his window stood Peggy with mussed hair and torn dress and the beginnings of a bruise on her left cheek.
“Can you come out? And...” her voice quivered, “bring your dad’s medical kit?”
“Are you okay?”
“Just please come out. I’ll meet you on the back steps.”
When he met Peggy at the back door, she apologized. “I’m sorry, Beej. I know it’s your last night at home.”
“Peg, you’re bleeding! What happened!” There was a cut inside the bruise and her lip shone dark with a spot of fresh blood.
“It was that awful Scott Banning. We went to go see Casablanca and after he said since he was shipping out to the Pacific campaign next week, I should do my part to support the troops.” She dabbed at her lip with the handkerchief BJ offered.
“By doing what? Offering to be a punching bag?” His fists clenched and unclenched.
“He pulled me in the alley by the theater and tried to....” She paused. “You know...Anyway when I said no he pushed me against the wall.” She angled her head under BJ’s deft fingers as he turned her toward the light to inspect the cut on her check. “I hit my head hard.”
“Where he is now? I”m going to punch his lights out!”
She gave him the best indignant look she could. “How do you think I got this shiner? Scott hit me in self defense. I punched him right in the mouth.”
The smile of admiration on BJ’s face was not easy to hide. “You’re going to have to come in the kitchen. The light isn’t bright enough out here for me to see if you need a stitch. What cut your cheek?”
“His class ring. He backhanded me.”
Once settled at the kitchen table, BJ inspected the lump on Peggy’s head first and looked for signs of concussion. She was uncharacteristically quiet as he chipped ice off the block in the icebox and wrapped it around a tea towel. “Put this on your head until I get your face cleaned up.”
She hissed when he touched the cut with a gauze soaked in alcohol and he murmured his empathy. He then dabbed another damp gauze on her lip. “Okay. Let’s get some ice on that cheek. If you’re lucky you won’t get a black eye. I don’t think the cut needs a stitch and it should heal up with no scar.” He set a glass of water on the table near free arm. No knowing what else to do, BJ sat down so their knees were nearly touching and reached over to hold the ice pack for Peggy. The grey of her eyes shone with tears.
The silence seemed to close in on them, heavy and thick, when Peggy finally spoke. “Thank you for taking care of me.”
Setting the ice pack aside, he used a dry tea towel to dry a streak of melted ice dripping off her chin. “You don’t need me to take care of you. You do a pretty good job of taking care of yourself.” He tried to grin.
“I suppose that’s true.” Peggy mused, “But sometimes I want another person to take care of me.”
“Well that person certainly isn’t Scott Banning!” BJ’s temper flared again. “But what about Mike? You two hit it off for a while.”
Peggy laughed. “You are so dense. Mike is nice and he was the perfect gentleman, but he had it figured out.”
“Uh?”
“BJ...” Peggy’s eyes softened and she placed her hand over his resting on the table. “It’s you. It’s always been you. I don’t have a right to ask this with you leaving tomorrow, and I’ve got another year of school left, but....” He met her eyes. “Wait for me?”
The knowledge Peggy - tomboy and girl next door and best friend - was in love with him slowly impressed on his brain. “You’re right. I am dense. We could have been together sooner if only....”
“You silly man. We’ve been together our whole lives. You just didn’t know it.” She leaned in to kiss him. She smelled of lavender and vanilla and faintly of astringent. He kissed her back carefully, mindful of her injury, feeling her soft lips against his rougher chapped ones. In that kiss, BJ came to understand the twist of his heart when Peggy leaned against him or the flip of his stomach when their hands brushed together unintentionally or the lump that would form in his throat as he patched up a skinned knee. He wondered why he hadn’t come to his senses before now. The only comfort he found in wasting the last few years was at least he hadn’t wasted them dating other girls.
He dared to let his hand come up to stroke her blond hair. Peg responded by lacing together the fingers of their hands still resting on the table. When they broke apart, BJ rested his forehead on hers, savoring the intimacy, until she whispered that she must go home before her father worried.
And so BJ did wait for Peg.
He waited while she finished out her last year of high school, celebrating with her when she graduated with honors. The announcement that she would go off to Mills College in Oakland in the fall didn’t surprise him. BJ saw her off at the bus station hours before his own bus would take him back to Stanford. He gave her a small bag canvas bag his mother had shown him how to sew himself. “It’s a first aid kit so you can take care of yourself, while I can’t be there to take care of you myself.” Peg’s laughter was worth having to kiss her goodbye.
He waited again when she found a teaching job in Salinas his first year in medical school, sending letters to her as often as possible. Once a week BJ splurged on the long distance call to hear her talk about the school newspaper she and her fifth grade students had created and, in her third and last year, their wedding plans. Peg could have simply read the Greater Los Angeles phone book to him; he would have called to hear her voice.
When they were finally married, they waited together in cramped married students housing to start a family until BJ completed residency. And in 1951, weeks after they welcomed a tiny pink and bald and blue eyed bundle of peace named Erin home to their own Mill Valley bungalow, BJ stood in the kitchen holding an official manilla envelope stamped USARMY. All he could think was they would have to wait again.
*****
BJ sat with pen poised over paper for what seemed an eternity. The sound of a jeep pulling away from the compound roused him enough to begin writing. Dear Peg, Every minute of every hour of every day is what it is because of this stupid war. I work because of the war. I eat, sleep, drink, dress because of the war. I am tempted. God help me, I’m tempted at times because of this damned war. This week I was tempted. Her name is Aggie O’Shea. I’ve only met one other woman anything like her. I could have given up everything I have just to be with Aggie, but it would have all been because of the war.
He took a bite of his peanut butter and jelly sandwich, savoring the taste of fresh bread and strawberry jam that reminded him of summers in Mill Valley. A girl with blond hair and grey blue eyes and the warmth of her shoulder resting against his floated through his mind. He tore the paper from his notepad and threw it in the unlit stove.
My darling Peg, I met a girl once who became the most beautiful, amazing, intelligent, kind woman I’d ever met. It took me long enough to figure it out how much she meant to me, but once I did, all I wanted to do was spend the rest of my life by her side. This war tears me apart everyday. It twists me and turns me and sometimes I almost feel dead inside, reaching out grasping for anything that will save me. This amazing woman is my lifeline to a piece of normality, a piece of sanity. I’m hooked into a little house in MIll Valley where she lives. That lifeline gives me one tiny element of control in a situation where everything else is beyond my control. Nearly everything I do here is to get back to her. I live for tomorrow because, for me, there is no now. She asked me once to wait for her. In reality it's her that's been waiting for me all these years. Wait for me just a little longer, Peg. Wait for me....