Tommy was running, trying to get away from Bobby Jones.
"Come back here!" he heard him shout as he rounded the corner to the village hall where a party was in full swing. It was where Tommy had just been before bumping into Bobby and knocking his drink all over him. It was a welcome party for fresh American troops who had just arrived to join the war. Americans had been in England now for a couple of years, having joined when Japan had attacked Pearl Harbour. However, more troops had arrived since. A lot more. England, it seemed, was gearing up for something big.
The party was in full swing and the sound of Glenn Miller could be heard blaring away. The GI's were getting acquainted with the local girls who were in plenty supply as most of the local men were away fighting for their country.
Tommy had been called up but had failed the medical due to flat feet and his very slim and small physique. He certainly wished he'd been fitter as he tried to run away from his assailant.
Tommy quickly realised he had run into a dead end and with nowhere left to go he backed up against a wall. Bobby came round the corner and was on top of him in no time. Punches flew. Tommy dropped to the ground.
Bobby was a local farm hand and an out and out bully. He had been called up for active duty but had managed to get out of it by being a conscientious objector. It made him very unpopular, not that he wasn't already. He was tall and strong and his face was disfigured from the years of constant fighting. He was a loner, and at the age of thirty preferred his own company which suited everyone as his personal hygiene was most definitely lacking.
"This is for spilling my drink!" He thumped and kicked Tommy. These days it seemed Bobby would use any excuse to fight.
Suddenly Tommy heard cries of pain other than his own. He looked up to see a GI laying into Bobby and deflecting any attempt from him at striking back. Bobby was losing fast and fear spread across his face, it was obvious he had met his match.
"Fuck off yank! Fuck off back home!" he said as he ran off.
The GI looked down at the sniffling boy. Tommy felt such a wimp, so helpless. He stood over him and extended a hand, "You ok?"
Tommy took his hand and the GI helped him to his feet. Tommy nodded, grateful for the help and sniffled as he came up. The man's greased jet black hair, accentuated his lean face and strong square jaw. His large brown eyes glistened like deep dark pools and seemed to smile even when he wasn't. Tommy always found the American accent interesting, but from this man it was enchanting.
"You dropped something," he stooped down and picked up a black and white photograph.
"She's pretty," he said, admiring the woman in the photo. "Who is she?"
"M-m-my mother," Tommy said.
"Is she inside?" The GI asked pointing to the village hall as he handed the photo back to Tommy.
Tommy hung his head. "She was killed in an air raid."
"Oh I'm sorry, I had no idea."
Tommy looked up at him, this large man seemed awkward, "That's ok, you weren't to know."
"My name's Ryan," The GI extended his hand again. "Ryan Monroe."
"Tommy Anderson"
Their hands touched. It sent shockwaves through Tommy's body and he was aware of the sudden arousal in his groin. There was something different about this handshake. As they stared into each others eyes Tommy could see something happening to this big GI. His face lost all expression and his eyes seemed to glaze over.
Tommy could see he was shaken as he took out a pack of woodbines and offered one to Tommy. "No thanks, I don't smoke" he said.
Ryan sat on the steps at the back entrance of the village hall. Tommy staring at him as he lit a cigarette. Ryan smiled at Tommy and patted the vacant step next to him. He didn't need telling twice. They sat beside each other in silence for a while, stealing glances, wondering what to say.
"Thanks," Tommy finally spoke.
"What for?"
"Stopping Bobby Jones."
"That big oaf? Seemed a little unfair to me. Why was he beating up on you?"
"I spilt his drink," Tommy stared at the ground.
"Hardly a reason to hit you."
"He doesn't need a reason."
Ryan drew on his cigarette, his face lighting up red from the glow of the smouldering tip.
"Where did you learn to fight like that?" Tommy asked.
"Army training. I grew up with some pretty rough cousins too, we wrestled a lot."
"I'm glad you came when you did."
Ryan smiled, "Well I was getting bored in there so I came out for a smoke."
Silence descended, both stealing glances once more. Something was happening here and they both new it.
"Er, how old are you?" Ryan asked breaking the silence.
"Eighteen."
"Really? Wow you look much younger."
"I know, it's a curse." Tommy hung his head.
Ryan placed his hand under Tommy's chin and turned his head to face him, "Hey, don't be in such a hurry to grow up. Believe me, one day you'll come to realise that it's a blessing, not a curse."
Tommy smiled and it seemed to him for a moment that Ryan might kiss him. What was he thinking?
Why would on earth a man kiss another man?
He returned his gaze back at the ground between his feet, stunned that such a thought would enter his head.
"So, if you are eighteen, and I believe you - how come you haven't been called up?"
Tommy hung his head again. "Flat feet."
Ryan's laughter was infectious. "Seriously?"
