Captain America // I Promised You A Date
—- I had to have the courage to risk living —-
My Channel: NewMoonInTheSummers
”One thing people were learning from that war: not to waste any time.”
From the novelisation of Captain America.
The Dinner | Steve & Peggy
This was not supposed to be unnerving as it was. She had briefly met Mrs. Rogers before. The woman seemed to be one who was an open book. A few moments of examining Steve’s mother would show you how agreeable she was. Peggy sighed, entering Steve’s walk up, heels clicking in the stairwell. Another gulp of air. Her fingers clawed around the railing, pausing while she stood in front of the familiar marked doorway. Perhaps dressing this way came off as stiff. Her eyes wandered down, examining herself in a new and critical light. She wore black heels and a matching black crepe dress, short sleeves barely covering her shoulders. Dear God, I look like I’m going to a funeral. Why can’t I be more relaxed? The only hope she saw was the pie carrier tucked under her right arm, light ribbon tied around the crafty basket case.
She silently said a thank you to her friend for reminding her that one always brought something when visiting. The recipe was neatly resting in her mother’s recipe box. The little index card was in unfamiliar hand. It was most likely her grandmother’s. Peggy’s nervous and jumpy nature now was nothing compared to earlier while she stared at the lined up ingredients on the countertop. The pent up energy was so strong that she disobeyed the recipe. Banana pudding from scratch, it would be. By the time the pie and tin was slowly slid into the case, Peggy felt a smile spread and a relaxation of her muscles.
With an apprehensive chuckle, the brunette could make out the din behind the door. There was shuffling, plates clattering, and hushed orders. “I guess I’m early.” Her wristwatch revealed the opposite and a frown formed. She gave the Rogers a few more minutes, waiting until there was nothing but silence. Shoulders squared, Peggy’s finger gingerly pressed at the doorbell. If she could flounder her way through JROTC and M.U.N, this should be nothing. Should be. Her arm cradled the pie tighter, fingers tapping a small rhythm against her thigh. Her mind comfortingly tried to remind her that this was a small surprise for Steve’s mother, not a moment to highlight her own qualities but it failed in the end. Even that damned song Breathe was doing no good. Peggy wavered, uncertain if she should ring again. With all the commotion in the flat it was possible they did not even hear that she was there. Finger sliding from her thigh to hover in the air, she withdrew it at the jiggle of the doorknob.
The Nearness of You
There were times when staying with her grandparents left her in awe. The parents of her mother, that is. Their story was recounted many times through her life but it always felt like the first time. They were a constant presence in her life if not by person then by telephone. She enjoyed the brief stays her family could afford once or twice a year to the small brick house in West Sussex. The aura of the room was nostalgia. Peggy felt special stepping into the house with its unchanging furniture and fine floral wallpaper.
The gramophone she treasured played the smooth harmonies of the Boswell Sisters nearly every visit. The nights were serene in the dim light, as she lay sprawled over the round rug in front of the old radio. This night, her grandparents were in the kitchen, lathering each used dish with soap. Grandma Marguerite was humming with perfect pitch as her grandfather swayed slowly, a youthful chuckle escaping. By now, Peggy had crawled to lean against the bottom half of the loveseat, watching the couple through the kitchen doorway.
It felt like a film. She could not hear their words, only see their lips move. The plates were neglected as her Grandpa Jon stopped the water flow from the sink and wrapped his hand around his wife, dishtowel still between his fingers. As their trio eased into the next line, Grandma moved in closer, arms cradling him to close the gap. It started as a drawn out shuffle. Their feet made soft pats against the wooden floor while Grandma’s teal blue dress moved back and forth.
These motions were recognisable. They swayed, Grandpa pressing them cheek to cheek. This was the box step in its slowest and most off-beat form. She could recall the times she had seen it. Fingers laced tight, they both closed their eyes, focused in one spot. There were a few kisses, laughs and whispers until silence had replaced the deep singing.
Water was splashing over the porcelain and cabinets opened only shortly to be closed again. Peggy slinked back to her comfortable part of the rug, eyelids fluttering, and nose inhaling Grandma’s sweet perfume. Someone had placed another record. The small noise of the needle being dropped made it known. It was another slow song. Her grandparents were sunny again.