Deportation At Breakfast (A Ryden Short Story)

Deportation At Breakfast

The sweet smell of sweat lingers after husband and wife have been shoved out of their lifelong home. Reduced to their religion, they are thrown into a truck that takes them to an unknown destination somewhere where they will be harmed in ways one does not want to imagine.

The scene repeats itself daily, families ripped out of their lives only because they were born Jewish, scum in the eyes of the national socialists that rule the country.

A family is torn apart today, the son of sixteen years, having slept at his friend's house, is somewhat safe as his parents are gone and destined to never come back alive.

-

"They took them" I breathe, still taking in the facts. I have to restrain myself from screaming, trashing the rooms and pounding on the walls. I wipe away the tears on my face and look at my best friend in helpless demeanor.

It was his birthday. The only wish Ryan had was to have me sleep over, no matter how risky it was. My family is Jewish and therefore banned from having any contact with people that aren't. Ryan and I, however, have been friends for all of our lives. Our parents know each other, are almost as close. In these times of danger you need good, trustworthy friends and I am grateful to know this family since they could have easily abandoned us like the rest of scared citizens, hidden behind their living room curtains and constantly glimpsing outside to check the real world.

Beside all these thoughts and the ever-throbbing thought of my parents that are probably cramped up in this old grubby truck, a question pops up in my head: What am I gonna do? I can't just go back home. People are going to notice and then get me, too.

Sensing my inner conflicts, Ryan clears his throat. "Guess the bed is gonna stay up for a while. You're obviously staying with us, Bren. Mum?"

His mother appears in the door frame, her face as white as the walls.

"Brendon's going to stay here, isn't he?" Ryan asks, a threatening undertone lacing his words. "Think of all he's done for us. Remember when Dad-"

"Enough, Ryan" his mother cuts him off. I don't want to think about it either. The time when Ryan's father was found dead dead, eyes still open in front of the door when all he had done was give a poor man a slice of bread. A poor Jew, I might add.

My best friend's mother pulls me in for a hug. Ever since I was little, she's been like an aunt to me.

"It's going to be okay" she whispers. "They would have wanted  you to be safe rather than them. Now-" At this her voice starts shaking because of the absurd normality she tries to find. "-it's time for breakfast. Keep it up, keep it going" she then mumbles to herself while Ryan and I prepare the meal.

-

It has been about two years. The war has ended just a couple of days ago and I'm still alive, even healthy and well. Ryan and his mother have done more for me than I could have ever imagined.

It's still dangerous to go out on the streets since a lot of ominous individuals are inhabiting the dark corners. But the danger doesn't specify in religion anymore. It's almost safe to walk around as a Jew and although some people like to shout nasty things in my direction, I'm not physically harmed in any way.

I don't think about my parents a lot anymore. There is too much else I have to concentrate on and right now, cleaning the house is the main thing. It's going to be the day my parents were taken away from home in just a couple of days and we decided to commemorate them in honor of all they've ever done for us.

When I hear knocking on the door, I open it for Ryan and instantly take some of the groceries he's been carrying. I drop them on the counter in the kitchen and turn around, only to see Ryan in front of me, shaking and with tousled hair.

"What's wrong?" I ask, nervously biting my lip.

"Your parents" he begins, slightly out of breath. "I found them."

-

Lying before me is my mother's grey corpse. Dull eyes are still open to the world and stare at me until I turn away. Everything is repeating itself as I mix up the current situation with Ryan's father. On top of it all, my dad is just lying a few feet further down the hill we're standing on. I'm shaking in agonizing anger as I pull my father up to be rested next to his wife. Lastly, I shut their eyes to make it appear as if they're sleeping.

"It's time to let them go" Ryan's voice appears behind me. I nod, still fighting against the tears and turn around. His mother didn't want to accompany us; it would have been too much to take in.

"They look like they were in so much pain, Ryan" I say, my voice trembling and I finally let the tears stream down my face.

The brunette-haired boy takes me in his arms and soothingly rubs my back.

"But the point is, they were. They aren't anymore, you know? They're just fine now."

I let out a sob of a mixture of grief and relief.

"It's going to be okay. You can't fix it, but it's gonna work out somehow, Brendon" he tells me and pulls away, looking me in the eyes. I nod.

He rests his hand on my shoulder. "I know the world's a broken bone. But melt your headaches, call it home."