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ROBIN WINIFRED DIDN'T SLEEP A SINGLE OUNCE THAT NIGHT, tossing and turning in her single bed in her lifeless house. Everything seemed so washed and tobacco soaked and grey. She was laid, thinking restlessly about something that Irene had said: he'll forget about his service if you're there turning in his head. Instead, it was him turning in hers, whilst his head was full of war, and she was left to do nothing but miss out on her slumber — and just as well, the nights were drawn out long, given the summer.
But not just him: Alton More with his merry little wife Erma Jean and children back in America; Smokey Gordon who'd been so kind when Floyd Talbert was picking fun at her; Muck and Don Malarkey who'd been so keen to hear about her work; and then Shifty Powers who Harold had taken such a shine to, and Milly's poor Skinny Sisk. And it wasn't just them. It was all of Easy Company. It was Kitty's sweetheart too, the one who was waiting to tie the knot. She remembered him wearing the gold bars of lieutenant — Harry. She seldom wanted to think about how many would return home.
She couldn't for the life of her, find him on the platform. As she scoured the sea of garrison caps with the most promising of intentions, she suppressed the urge to cry. I'm never going to see him again, she thought pessimistically, he could die within his first week out there and I'd never even know.
Bud Dukeman lumbered his leather trunk beneath the window hatch, standing it on its edge. Through the hustle and bustle of Aldbourne residents saying goodbye to the men who had ended up sticking around and being a part of their lives for so long, she called, "Dukeman?" to catch his attention, "Do you know where Jim is?"
"'Course, yeah, he's just through there," Bud responded, and he pointed up towards the carriage window before grabbing her to stop her being dragged around by other residents pushing through the crowded platform. "Why? Do you need a hand?"
"Please," she responded. He gestured towards his case and offered her a hand. She took it without hesitation, stepping up onto the trunk and using the added elevation to her advantage. Tucking her hair behind her ears, she then bashed the heel of her hand against the window once she had become level with it. It was the strange sort that only opened on the upper hatches, and was sealed on every other edge — and even then, once it was slid open, there wasn't much room for any movement; certainly not enough space for her to wriggle through in her Sunday skirt, no matter how much she wished she could.
Nevertheless, Jim had to be in the train somewhere. If he was nearby, she hoped that one of his comrades would recognise her enough to clock on and point him in her direction. She cupped her hands hopefully around the edges of her eyes to try and see as far past the glass as she could, but her efforts were futile; the bustle of bodies made the men indistinguishable from one another, and in their dress uniform, they could almost all be the same man.
