“It gets cold inside.”Jessica waved goodbye to them and walked towards the dressing room as Brad and Sandra went to the concession stand. “I could use a hot coffee, would you like anything hot?”Brad gave a light laugh, thinking, “Yeah I’d like to have your hot looking body in bed!” “A hot chocolate would be fine, thank you.”Brad let Sandra lead the way to find a place to sit and watch the game. The rink was small with seating for about 500 on the side opposite of the team benches.“Here should be okay,” Susan said of the seating area away from the growing crowd. She placed her coffee down and taking the blankets from brad, spread on the cold wooden plank. She sat and brad did beside her. “There now, we’ll be comfy cozy,” she smiled covering them with the blanket and patting his right leg.Susan unbuttoned her winter coat, spreading the material to each side. When Brad wasn’t looking she unfastened two buttons on her top. She purposely didn’t wear a bra and leaning a certain way would. The smells, noise, disease, fear and sheer terror, somehow, not transferred by the silver screen and all the tricks of modern film making.He had watched the ruins of buildings being rebuilt, almost in an unseemly haste, as if to purge the lingering scars of destruction from sight and therefore, from memory. Mental scars could not be rebuilt or expunged from the mind so easily. Time was to be the only healer and that, not very successful in its efforts.Every year, the ever dwindling numbers of ex-service men, filed along the Mall in a proud march, to lay wreaths of poppies at the Cenotaph and pay their respects. Each with his own story of his part in the last world war, Each holding their memories of fallen comrades, small and large victories, amusing anecdotes and tales to enthral young children, or bore the elder, young men. Not all of the war had been about blood and guts, mud, hard rations or killing the Germans and the Japanese. Some of it had lighter moments, but not much.Every.
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