My Cardboard Balcony

Sal's Red Pajamas by Belinda Roddie Sal's red pajamas were tucked in a drawer, and when she put them on, it was like she was wearing a second layer of skin. She went downstairs to get some cocoa and spotted her husband on the couch, watching something on the TV. But he was not alone - in fact, someone was there with him, her face buried into the curve of his shoulder. Sal couldn't breathe. Suddenly, her pajamas felt like foreign clothes to her. She thumped back upstairs, loud enough for them to hear, and fell face first upon the bed. She did not want them to hear her loud cries, but soon her pajamas' hue matched her eyes.

My grandfather had fought in two wars: World War II and the Korean War. After that, he was never exactly the same. Not in a bad way, though; somehow, being a soldier had opened him up in a lot of ways, so instead of trying to appear aloof and macho, he was emotional, sympathetic, and quite the storyteller. Of course, there were nights when my grandmother would catch him awake very late, staring out the window, singing a song to himself from way back.