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For the War Effort

Andrea Briggs

They’d turned the radio on an hour ago to some music
program neither of them is really listening to, carols filtering
through the dust in the air to settle between them like the soft
touches Freddie keeps stroking along Ira’s shoulders. The corner
of a week-old newspaper sticks out from underneath a pair of
trousers on the chair, clipped black words boldly declaring “ —
AR ON U.S. —MBING OF PEARL —OSEVELT ACTS.”
It’s too early yet for either one of them to consider show-
ering, making breakfast, moving from where Ira has his legs
tangled up with Freddie’s in the sheets, one arm draped over
Freddie’s stomach. It’s a rare thing, to wake up together in Fred-
die’s apartment, and Ira fully intends on enjoying the morning.
“I’ve been doing some thinking,” Freddie says halfway
through “Winter Wonderland.”
“Now, there’s a dangerous proposition,” says Ira, turn-
ing his face up from Freddie’s chest with a yawn and getting a
sharp rap of fingers between his shoulder blades in response. He
laughs. Freddie doesn’t.
“I was thinking about visiting my mother over Christmas.”
“You’re gonna drive all the way to Cleveland from here?”
Ira resettles himself and closes his eyes. “Just wire her, or some-
thing.”
“I think it’s important,” Freddie says. “We’re at war now.

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