I’ll Never Forget that Day
By E.R. York
She was what many would call a precocious child, winsome and charming. Her laughing hazel eyes never seemed to lack the sparkle of mischief. But as the little girl listened to the old sailor tell his tale that day, her eyes were somber. Deep and sad. Dark storm clouds had overtaken the bright sun. Kamala listened intensely as he spoke…
“I’ll never forget that morning. The sounds, the smells, the fear that froze me right to the spot where I stood. I had just finished breakfast and was heading over to my duty station when I heard it, a soft buzzing drone, far off in the distance. I didn’t give it much thought at first. My buddy, Joe, and I just kept on walking across the deck of the ship, the Arizona. My brother Don was there too. I was lucky enough to be stationed aboard the same ship as my best friend from way back in grammar school and my big brother, too. To us it was just an ordinary day. We laughed at how hungover we were, we had had quite a night that evening before.”
“God, we were in Hawaii! Pretty exciting for small town kids from Iowa. I had only just arrived a few nights before and last night was my first trip into town. My brother had been here a while longer and he was well acquainted with Hotel Street. They had warned us about how to behave and what to watch out for down there, but hell, we were a couple of young pups on the loose! What a time we had!”
“All that disappeared forever that morning. That far off buzz got louder and louder and finally we both looked up. We couldn’t even tell what it was at first, just a couple of tiny planes. But geez, they were heading straight for the harbor! I don’t think we figured out what was happening till the little planes dove down and swooped across the deck of the ship. That first big blast knocked me on my ass.”
“Then all hell broke loose. It was chaos. People running all over, screaming orders and manning stations. I finally got to my feet but when I looked around my buddy was missing. I couldn’t find him. Bombs were falling and crashing everywhere. I ran around calling for my buddy but with no luck. When one of the bombs hit forward of the ship, between the #1 and #2 turrets, I knew the ship was going to go down. I watched the forward decks start to collapse in on themselves and that’s when I knew I had better run for my life.”
“I made it to the side and just dove over the side. The smoke was so thick I couldn’t even see the water below. When I hit the water, it was nothing like I had imagined the Pacific Ocean sea water would be like. It was thick with oil and fuel and blood and the bodies of sailors, even pieces of bodies. I thought I’d drown when I hit the water. At that moment, I’d have preferred it, I think. But I didn’t drown. I swam. I swam hard and as fast as I could. I mustered all the strength I could find in myself that day and swam for the shore.”
“I swam and I prayed and I dug deep for the courage to keep my arms and legs moving through all that floating death. The bombs kept falling all around me but I just kept swimming till finally I pulled myself up on the shore. When I looked back toward the Harbor, I found myself wishing I had died along with my comrades. I coughed and spat and cried and prayed some more.”
“I never saw either my brother or my buddy again. 2400 people lost their lives in that attack. But not everyone died the day of the bombing. Some lingered, trapped below decks on ships trapped in the Harbor. We did our best to rescue them. We dove down day after day, I was one of the divers who worked to save those trapped on the lower decks of the Arizona. For days I dove down beside the ship, and pounded on the side, hoping to receive a faint pounding in response. Day after day, I pounded. Day after day, they answered. Till finally the pounding faded away, becoming fainter and fainter. Finally one day, there was no response. They had survived over a week. Passing must have been blessed relief.”
“I have never stopped missing my brother and my buddy. I have never stopped blaming myself for being alive when they are not. For a long time I wished it had been me who had not survived, instead of them or at least alongside them. I did finally move on, move away from the pain of losing them. But I’ll never forget that day.”
Then the old sailor stopped talking, and looked far off in the distance, lost in a distant memory. Tears welled in his sad ancient eyes. A silent crowd had gathered as he had told his tale. But at that moment, the old sailor and the little girl were alone.
He reached under his chair and brought out a tattered old photo album. He opened it for the little girl to view. There on the page was a faded black and white photograph of three smiling young sailors, their mugs of beer lifted as high as their spirits must have been at the moment. The boys leaned close and hugged each other in the embrace of young men who will be friends forever. Their laughing innocent eyes held no clue of the horror that awaited them in just a few short hours. For now, though, they could laugh and drink and believe in a lifetime of good times.
Kamala’s eyes filled with tears as she viewed the image of the three boys, frozen in time. She lifted her face from the album, reached her small hands up and circled them around the old sailor’s neck. Together they wept, for all the young boys who must face the horrors of war.
