Under The Banner ▪ Band Of Brothers

...when you walk away...

May 16th 1938

I keep listening for their footsteps on the street outside. I try to hear them coming up the stairs. Maybe this was all a mistake and they'll come back for me, run away with me. Mama said they would come back for me.

Maria's attic is cold. Colder than the snow of winter, colder than the icy Neva.

Maria's attic is empty. There is a bed and a dresser but nothing else. Like she forgot about this place above her home. Is she going to forget about me?

She has baskets of roses in the corner, they are all dried and shake when the wind blows. They cast shapes on the walls. I think that's just the roses, anyway.

My hands are cold and the pages feel like they might be made of ice instead of paper. Mama said that I should write to them in this book. Papa said that they would be back.

Dear Mama,

Maria has bouquets of roses, just like you always wanted to plant.

Dear Papa,

I'm alright and I'm staying warm.

There are shapes on the walls. I don't think they are flowers. Maybe if I write them down, I'll remember where everything in the room is. So I know that I'm alone.

Empty wall. Window. Dresser. Bed. Roses. Empty wall.

No one is here. I'm alone.

Empty wall. Window. Dresser. Bed. Roses. Empty wall.

Empty wall….

I don't have a pen. I don't have icy paper. If I did, I would write:

March 24th 1945

Dear mama,

You've been dead for five years and I still think I'll hear your footsteps.

I don't have paper. I don't have anything. Journal, burned. Last tie to my mother, gone.

Why do I write letters in my head to my mother?

This plane is rattling. I don't remember it being this loud in Normandy.

Nixon looks nervous. Do I look nervous?