At night she would whisper that she loves me, tuck me in and kiss my forehead and right before she shut my bedroom door I'd squeak: "Lay with me please? Just 'till I fall asleep." She would smile at me and climb into my bed. Wrapping her arms around me she'd hug me close, keeping me warm, keeping me safe from the war outside.
Angel-- that's her name, fought for her country and when she was out "helping children" in Afghanistan (I was a young child at the moment, too small to comprehend the concept of 'war' so that was the lie I was told) I was here praying for her with my guardian Roxy Reynolds. I had no other parents, no grandparents, no aunts or uncles. It was just me and my mother Angel, but when she was out at war it was Roxy watching me. Roxy was Angel's best mate, in fact she had been her comrade, but had long since been relieved of her duties.
When Angel returned from Afghanistan, I always found myself camping out behind the living room couch so I could listen to her play the piano. She never played for me, but I'd catch phrases like: "This is for you, Beloved." and "I wish, Leon, that you were here to play my duet with me." According to Roxy this Leon Moore was Angel's fiancé. That is, until he was captured by his enemy and was executed. He was held as a P.O.W for several months before finally being put to death. He died at 24 and had also, been Angel's best mate.
She never wanted to teach me piano, in fact, she would become slightly warlike if I pushed her to give me lessons. At the sight of my ashamed expression she'd gather me in her arms and hug me. She'd whisper apologies in my hair and I could hear her voice waver with hot tears. She always seemed to know when she was out of place and never would she go without apologizing. Apparently bringing up the piano subject reminded her too much of Leon Moore, my father. But I always forgave her.
The few times I watched her pack her green sack full of white tank tops and Navy Seal uniforms, I cried. I snuggled her pillow that I snatched from her bed. I'd suppress my whimpers into her sweet-smelling pillow case. I would watch her face twist with bitter sweet memories as they crossed her mind and then simply disappeared into nothing. She never acknowledged me, even though I was sitting before her- on her bed. I assumed that she didn't want me to see her uncertainty about leaving me; soldiers are never uncertain, never afraid. I always became cross with her and whined about her going away from me.
"I don't want you to go. I wanna come with you if you have to leave! Please mommy! Don't go." I'd say.
"Cira, there are times when you're not going to get everything you want." She replied, with a hint of irritation. "Fact is, you're going to have to deal with it and do what is expected of you. I expect you to be on your best behavior for Roxy, she has done a great deal for you and me."
My head lowered and I stared at her tear stained pillow. "I expect you to come back too me." That must have hit home because she didn't speak again. Never would she tell me the real reason, even though, that was a very good reason. I was too young to understand war, and she hid me from it.
She would be gone for months at a time and the only contact we had between each other were letters and seldom phone calls. In her neat holiday card handwriting my mother would tell me all the wonderful thing she's doing for the children of Afghanistan; giving them water, teaching them mathematics and spelling, fitting each child so they could have their own pair of clothes and shoes. Roxy always sighed at the letters and would mumble things that I could never hear, but they never sounded good; like there was some hidden meaning behind the written words. I kept everyone of my mother's letters and when I wanted to send a note of my own, Roxy would help me write it, telling me to say "hi" for her and such. I wrote about things I was learning in school and in one letter I told Angel to teach the kids a song to sing, because that day in school I had been praised for singing beautifully during music class. I even asked her if we could get a puppy when she got back to America. She wrote back and said she'd think about it.
