A child in war

Denial

 “You can sleep here if you want?” Susan said, and showed me a room with grey walls, white floor, a mattress in the corner and a window without curtains.  It looked very boring, especially compared with my very pink room. 

“Thanks, but I guess my mum want me to sleep at home,” I said as kindly as I could.  Why did she want me to sleep here? 

“You can’t, Mina.  They are dead.  I know it’s hard for you to understand, but you can’t sleep at home.  You need someone to take care of you,” she said to me with a sad look. 

“What do you mean?  They can’t be dead.  I want them to be alive.”  Tears ran over my cheeks. 

She bent down and gave me a hug.  She made me feel safer.  I remembered my family had been shot, but it just seemed so unreal.  It had to be a dream.  Nothing made sense.  I cried even more and hugged her harder.  After a few minutes, I was calmed down.

“We can go and get your things tomorrow,” she said calmly.  She rose, grabbed my hand and walked to the kitchen. 

George, her husband, boiled potatoes.   He had tousled, dark hair and tired, grey eyes.  He looked much thinner than usual.  “We are almost out of potatoes and bread,” he said to Susan.

“You made something to Mina too, right?” she asked him.

“Yes, but I’m trying to say we are almost out of food.”   He seemed a bit angry.

This conversation reminded me about my parents the morning before the night they were killed.  At least I think they were killed…

“We can talk about this later,” she said through clenched teeth and looked a bit worried at me.  She pushed me to their old dining table. “You can sit here,” she said and pulled out a chair.

I climbed up on the chair and hoped their conversation would be over soon.  The chair was hard to sit on.  I couldn’t remember it was so uncomfortable to sit.  It was like two bones wanted to go through my butt.

“I can go and get some food from their house,” he said and pointed at me. “They are dead, right?”

“They are not dead, and you can’t just go and steal from them either!” I screamed to him.  I jumped off the chair and ran as fast as I could to their front door.  I just couldn’t handle a second more in this house.  I tore open the door as hard as I could and ran past things in the garden George was fixing.

“Mina, stop!” I heard behind me, but I didn’t care.  I just wanted to get away.  

I continued running as fast as I could – which according to John is not that fast – through bumpy terrain.  Everything around me looked withered and grey, but right now I didn’t care about it.  In front of me, I saw a river that ran under an old stone bridge.  Near the waterfront there were some yellow and purple flowers.  This place I think is the most beautiful place in the town, and I go here every time I want to be alone.

I sat down by the waterfront and put my fingers in the river.  The cold, running water felt comfortable and relaxing.  In spite of what recently had happened, the birds sang and the river clucked so beautifully.  Me and my best friend Gina have played here uncountable times.  We threw sticks in the river on one side of the bridge, ran to the other side and saw who’s stick arrived first, pretended we were animals, climbed the trees, played hide and seek, built things of what we found in the wood, sometimes we were allowed to swim in the river and so much more.

 I’ve never had such a good friend as Gina before.  We were in the same kindergarten, but didn’t know each other before we found that we had almost the same name.  Many people think we look similar too, but I don’t think so.  She has dimples, freckles, darker eyes than me with some brown in the middle, lighter hair and she is a bit taller than me.  We sit next to each other in school, but I haven’t seen her recently.  I asked her big sister, who is two classes over us, where she was, and she said that Gina had a little fever.  Out of nowhere I became unsure that she was still alive. 

The more I think about it, the more I know it’s true.  My family is dead.  Suddenly I got a feeling of emptiness.  Tears flowed down my cheeks and landed in the water.  Why do I cry all the time?  I wish I was more like my brother.  He never cries.  My mum says it’s nothing wrong about crying, but someone else told me it was weak to cry.

I heard steps behind me.  I guess it was Susan who had come to look after me.

“Hi, Mina!  Why are you here?” said a boy voice.

I turned around and saw a boy with blonde hair, blue-grey eyes and a scar on his right cheek.  It was Brian, John’s best friend.

Since I didn’t answer, he continued “I’m glad I met you.  How is John?”

The sound of the shot and John’s scream appeared in my head again. “H-he… He is dead” I manage to say.

“I’m sorry,” he said and turned away from me.  It was weird how he could seem not affected by the war and behave so friendly.  John and Brian were together a lot before.  They visited each other several times, and Brian was always kind to me.  Gina told me that big brothers tease little sisters.  I found out that John and Brian are different.  “I guess your parents are very upset for what happened to him,” Brian said.

I swallowed, tried to hide that I cried and said “They are dead, too.”

“But why did you survive?  Sorry, that didn’t come out right.  Who is taking care of you?  Does someone take care of you?”

I was surprised by his reaction, but answered “Susan and George.”   When I said that, I suddenly understood how bad I had behaved.  They tried to help me, but I became angry and ran away.  “I have to go,” I said and rose.

 

“Okay.  See you later, I think” I heard behind me while I walked up the hill back to Susan’s and George’s house.