The photo is given us by Sonya over at Only 100 Words.
“Your favorite, Mom, see?” my daughter asks. She’s come to visit me at the retirement home. She’s brought a bouquet of sunflowers. “Remember that German you had a crush on?”
And I smile to remember him. He was a prisoner of war. It was 1944 down in the Parish, near the Bayou. A holding place we called St. Jude’s Square – the saint of hopeless causes.
“Girls! Girls!” Sister Simone would reprimand. “Look ahead! Stop gawking!”
Each day, when our class walked round the block, we’d pass St. Jude’s Square. We’d never seen men with hair so blonde or eyes so blue. Or bodies so tall and muscular.
“Pray for their souls!” Sister Simone would plead. “Pray!”
And I did pray for their souls. I prayed that one of their souls would mesh with mine. I didn’t know any different than to follow my heart. I didn’t see anything other than sunflowers clinging to wrought iron fences and blue eyes I’d never see again.