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"I think I'm a little lost. I just got off the airplane and I'm supposed to go to the luggage carousel, but I started looking at posters and . . ."
A light sprang into his blue eyes.
"You're all by yourself?" he asked, folding his paper.
"Yes, sir."
"How old are you?" he asked, squinting with scrutiny.
"I'm almost sixteen and a half."
"Well, you're old enough to get about by yourself if you pay attention to directions. You're not very lost. Don't worry." He put his hand on my shoulder and turned me around and explained how to get to the luggage carousels.
After he finished, he waved
his right forefinger at me.
"Now don't go looking at all the signs, you hear?"
"I won't," I said and hurried off, his light laughter trailing behind me.
By the time I got to the place where the baggage was the passengers were all squeezing and crowding around to get their bags. I found a small opening between a young soldier and an elderly man in a suit. Once the soldier saw me, he pushed to the right so I would have more room. He had dark brown eyes and a friendly smile. His shoulders looked so broad and firm under the snug uniform jacket. I saw the ribbons over his right breast pocket and couldn't help but stare.
"This one's for marksmanship," he pointed proudly.
I blushed. One thing Mrs. Levy had advised me on the plane was not to stare at people in New York and here I was doing it again and again.
"Where are you from?" the young soldier asked. Above his other breast pocket was his last name, WILSON.
"Virginia," I said. "Cutler's Cove."
He nodded.
"I'm from Brooklyn. That's Brooooklyn New York," he added, laughing. "The fifty-first state, and boy did I miss it."
"Brooklyn's a state?" I wondered aloud. He laughed.
"What's your name?" he asked.
"Dawn."
"Dawn, I'm Private First Class, Johnny Wilson. My friends call me Butch because of my haircut," he said, wiping his right palm over his closely cut hair. "I wore it like this even before I joined the army." I smiled at him and then noticed one of my blue bags go by.
"Oh, my luggage!" I cried, reaching out in vain.
"Hold on," Private Wilson said. He slipped around some people to my left and scooped out my bag.
"Thank you," I said when he brought it back. "I have one more. I'd better keep my eyes on the luggage."
He reached over and lifted his duffle bag out from between two black trunks. Then I saw my second bag. Once again, he stabbed into the pile and got it for me.
"Thank you," I said.
"Where are you heading, Dawn? Any place in Brooklyn?" he asked hopefully.
"Oh no, I'm going to New York City," I said. He laughed again.
"Brooklyn's in New York City. Don't you know your address?"
