It's July of 1942. Most of the people who hurry along the hot streets of New York City are women and children. The men are middle aged or older, not considered physically capable of fighting the war overseas. Many women wear the black of mourning, signifying that their husbands have fallen in battle.
Two nicely dressed men board a bus in Manhattan. They're young men, not dressed in any type of military uniform that might suggest shore leave, and receive many stares, some simply curious, others hostile. These two men were able avoid the draft for medical reasons. While their peers fight a growing enemy, they live a life as close to luxury as one can get in these hard times. They talk for a few blocks, watching the other passengers enter and exit. When they reach Midtown, they halt in their speech, attention focused on one person getting on the bus.
It's a young woman in a serious, dark grey pantsuit. Despite the concealing, modest outfit, they find her attractive, with pale skin and dark hair that falls level with her chin. She sits down in an empty seat, surrounded by other people and yet so obviously alone. Mostly she looks at the door, as if eager to get off the bus as quickly as possible.
A passenger sitting next to the woman stands up and leaves at the next stop. One of the young men moves quickly to take the seat. The woman glances at him but otherwise does not acknowledge his presence. He notices that the outer ends of her eyebrows are somewhat upturned, giving her a slightly angered look. He grins at her.
"Hello," he says in a voice deeper than usual. He thinks it makes him sound better. She barely looks at him.
"Hello." Her voice is just louder than a whisper.
"So…you're dressed up for work?" he asks suavely, unable to think of another topic.
She raises an eyebrow for a moment. "No," she answers as she turns towards him. Her voice is oddly even, and a serious expression never leaves her face. He wonders if his question has somehow insulted her.
"Oh." He fumbles for something else to say. He then decides to stick with a classic topic. As she begins to turn around again he asks, "Nice weather, isn't it?" He is barely able to stop himself from visibly wincing; it sounded better in his head.
A short hesitation, and then, "I suppose it is pleasant." He wishes she would show some sort of emotion on her face or in her voice. After a few quite moments he speaks again.
"Is your husband fighting in the war?" He decides to make a move and is pleased when she replies.
"I am not married." He smiles at her and reaches forward to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear. Suddenly she looks down at her lap, turning her head away from him and putting his target out of reach. They've reached the next stop. "I must leave here." She gets up quickly and exits through the door.
The young man leans back in his seat, embarrassed. His friend comes to sit next to him. "What were you thinking? She could've been a widow or something." The first man sighs.
"I was thinking that she's pretty." His friend shakes his head disappointedly.
"You'll never learn."
Back at the bus stop, waiting for the next bus to come so she can resume her course, the young woman stands eerily still as other begin to gather, several complaining angrily that they missed the last bus. She thinks about what has just occurred, and is relieved that the man did not move her hair. She did not think he would react well to seeing the pointed tips of her ears.
