Rita Petry-Personal Narrative

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Her name was Rita Petry. I met her at a family barbecue on a warm summer’s evening in 1945 Rhode Island. My new brother-in-law, Hank, introduced her to me. “George! Meet my friend here. Rita,” Hank said as he approached me with a bottle of beer in his hand. She was trailing behind, and at the first glance at her red dress and beaming blue eyes, I smiled like an idiot, and immediately fell in love with her. “Hello there,” she said with the most warming tone of voice I have ever heard. My mouth opened, but no words came out. I could not think of what to say to her. I started moving my hands hoping to make it less awkward, but I just ended up looking like one of those sign language gorillas that knows how to ask for grapes. Rita glanced at …show more content…

It was August 14, 1945 and we were taking a train to Midtown to see a showing of “A Bell for Adano.” I was so nervous, I had my Navy uniform on that I had specially tailored back in Rhode Island to make me feel more confident, but it wasn’t working all that well. I never had good luck on dates. Once in high school, when I was sixteen, I was at a dinner with a girl and I had a plate full of this European stuff that was delicious. I was gobbling it down, and right when I thought the date was going well, I felt a slight turning in my stomach. I was letting out revolting gas leaks from my behind. I tried to play it off as if it was the woman behind me, but I am a horrible liar. I prayed for better luck on this one. We finally arrived at the Radio City Music Hall and took our seats. During the show, I couldn’t focus. I kept glancing over at her and repositioning myself in the seat. Everything I did, I felt like she noticed, and it made me even more nervous. I went for one more big reposition, trying to be inconspicuous. Then I felt a sharp twist in the back of my thigh and I immediately clenched the arm of my chair as hard as I could. “Geeeahh,” I whimpered, silently to …show more content…

Rita took my hand without saying anything, followed the joyous crowd, and rushed to Childs Bar just a few blocks away. My heart was racing with excitement; I couldn’t hold back a smile if I tried. The bartender lined up glasses down the bar and just kept on pouring. I popped one drink in after another, while Rita sat back and cheered. Rita and I continued on to Times Square. I was stumbling on my feet, and as we crossed Seventh Avenue at 44th street, my confidence shot up. I thought to myself, “I’m gonna kiss her.” I spun around to look at Rita, but she was not there. I turn back to look in front of me and I see her standing about ten feet away from me, wondering around, looking at all the people in celebration. She seemed to have somehow changed into a nurse’s uniform. I was a bit confused, but I didn’t care. I marched my way towards her, took her hand, spun her around to a dip, and landed my lips against hers. Time, at that moment, seemed to stand still. It was perfect. A camera man kneeled down near us and snapped a picture of us, which came with a quick pop sound and a white

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