I was on my front porch, drinking a hot cup of my favorite ginger tea and smoking a cigarette when I saw a teal Cadillac pulling over in front of my house. A tall, well-built man, wearing a fancy army uniform completely decorated with badges, got out of the car seeming to look for the address of the house in front of him. He walked at a fast pace towards me.

“Are you Tudor Maricescu?” said the man, mispronouncing every syllable of my name.

“Yes, I believe I am,” I answered back to him with a confused look on my face.

“I do not like giving ‘the news’ to my future soldiers. If you are indeed Tudor, you have the honor to be selected by the United States Army to be a part of our journey to free Europe of the fascist Germans.”

I was shocked; I didn’t know what to think or expect, and if I remember correctly, I even forgot what breathing was. What about the house that I just bought? What about all the friends I had here? I was a mess.

When we departed from the harbor in June I was sweating and I had a feeling that this was a one-way ticket to Deathville, Normandy. There were three guys in my cabin. The first one was George. He was born in Orlando but grew up in the suburbs of Boston, with a wealthy family by his side. George was the type of person that likes to gossip and have a chit-chat while other people work. Then there was Francois. Frenchie is what everybody called him. He immigrated to the US when he was a teenager, just like me. My favorite roommate was Big John. He was very tall and well built, he was towering over every soldier on our ship. His most distinctive feature, though, was his mustache. He was very proud of it, he combed it every day. The thing about Big John was that he didn’t talk, not under any circumstances. Maybe that’s why I liked him after all.

After a few days, we were told that we are reaching the beach, later to be named Omaha. My hands commenced to sweat. I squinted from a distance at the mighty Atlantic wall, built by the Germans, that everybody was talking about. When our boat’s ramp hit the sand I knew it was time. We started shooting aimlessly at invisible enemies. We just had to get off the beach and try to find the rest of the unit. With the Air Force overheard, the Navy shelling, the enemy firing at you and you firing at them, it was just total chaos. Nobody landed where they were supposed to.  Everybody was shooting just so they can cover other people or just to scare the enemy. As we got in close enough … we could see dead soldiers on the beach.

“I never thought of coming back home under these circumstances,” said Francois.

“I could’ve been sitting in my garden, watering my tulips, so stop talking about circumstances!” said George with a harsh tone.

“Dieee!” screamed Big John, running towards the german defense with his big M1919 Browning machine gun, while we looked confused at each other.

 After long bloody battles, the Germans retreated and we took over the beach. We settled camp immediately, so we could take care of the wounded and bury the dead. Thousands of soldiers gathered around the dead bodies and said a prayer; I lost friends, but I was proud of them, as they had completed their mission. Soon we took over the city, and later on liberating the whole country all the way to the capital. Taking Paris was very complicated, we couldn’t have done it without the French Resistance. 

When our victory was declared, we had our victory parade on the Champs-Elysees. After that, we all packed our stuff and hopped on our long-awaited boat ride home. The time we spent on the boat was full of stories and talks about what we’d all gone through.

I was in the military bus, waiting for it to reach my address and drop me off. My front porch, my swinging chair, my roses, they were all right in front of me and I couldn’t believe it; I made it back. I went straight to the kitchen and boiled some water for my tea.