Herve Fortin jouranl entry numero dos!(: (english project)

March 7^th 1942

                It’s been exactly 4 months since that terrible incident. I came home yesterday for the first time since the attack on the harbor. Mother was more than thrilled to see me. She was weeping when she saw me walk through the front door. Hugs attacked me as my shirt got drenched of tears. All I did was smile. I couldn’t stop and that was ok! This is where I wanted to be, home. With my family and with my friends, I was relieved to be off the ship, no I was thrilled. Mother made a homemade hot meal for me. I devoured it within minutes. The taste of the buttery mashed potatoes with the thick warm delicious gravy. Salty green beans filled my mouth as it danced on my tongue. The warm biscuits just made everything better as I placed one piece in my mouth savoring the flavor.  I was used to those horribly tasting box meals that tasted like cardboard. I couldn’t thank mother enough for the meal. She would just simply smile and tell me I was worth it. She made a cake from scratch. It was delicious and my mouth watered just looking at it. It was a white cake with homemade frosting. The moist cake melted in my mouth with each bite I took.  The vanilla smell roamed the air so the kitchen smelled sweet as could be.

                Then the flashbacks began. Mother and Father asked me about the attack on Pearl Harbor. Tears filled my eyes and I felt like someone had punched me in the gut. I started talking but more and more tears came. They told me if I wasn’t ready I didn’t have to talk about it, but I simply would nod my head and say I was fine even though deep down inside I knew I really wasn’t. I told them that it was just a regular day when it happened. You could see the horror in their eyes. I knew they could see it in mine. I would slur worlds through my tears. Every now and then I would hear a sniffle from mother or father. I told them about Jonny grabbing me because my body was to numb to think. “Thank God for that boy Jonny or my beautiful son might not be alive today” mother could barley say through her tears. I could tell they were upset and relieved at the same time. I told them how I just couldn’t get the flashbacks out of my mind. Father asked if I wanted to speak to someone professional about this but I shook my head no and would carry on with my story. I told them how for a long time I was in disbelief and they said they were too after they heard the news. We all cried together and they kept telling me now happy they were I was alive. All I could say was “I am too mother, I am too.” As the day ended I crawled up in my bed that I haven’t been in for a good couple of months. As I laid under my blanket I closed my droopy eyes and drifted asleep.

~Herve Fortin